Channelling HP Lovecraft Part 3

 

Madam Astor…

The Dream Enchanter…

From The Great In-Between…

(A lone voice whispers) 

In a dark dream, every night

In The Great In-Between when I sleep

It’s always the same…

I hear you scream

“I’m here…”

In your soft pulsating voice

Hidden unseen

As if you had no choice

Then out of the void

Through the blackened heat

You appear half-ghost

On my midnight street

My heart beats faster

You take my hand

Lead me deeper still

To the Hereafter land

Call me Madam Astor

The Dream Enchanter

Pull me deeper into you

My soul’s captor

In the dark, you whisper low

Where the lost ones go

In The Great In-Between

You’ll never let me go

Call me Madam Astor

Don’t let me wake

If this is death

It’s a risk I’ll take

Hidden in shadows, you bend down slow

“Call me Madam Astor… this realm’s Pastor…”

Your fingertips trace

A haunting tune on my skin

As my spirit shakes

And my pulse caves in

Astral sweat drips

My vision spins

My soul cries out

Tempted by sin

You dig your nails in deeper still

A ghostly touch I cannot kill

“Sooon…”

You breathe into my ear

“In two nights’ fall…

I will appear…

Call me Madam Astor

The Dream Enchanter

Pull me deeper into you

My soul’s captor

When the midnight king falls down

And the morning wears its crown

You’ll return to claim

What death has found

Call me Madam Astor

I hear your call

If I’m yours forever

I will fall

At the Blue Portal… I stand alone

Your voice like bells inside my bones

Gone… but not for long

I feel your spell where I belong

Time moves fast

When you’ve been marked

By something ancient…

Something dark…

Call me Madam Astor

My Dream Enchanter

Take my hand beyond

This mortal anchor

In The Great In-Between

We reunite

Lovers reborn

In endless night

Call me Madam Astor

Your ghostly wife

The one you loved

Before death took your life

Tonight… I know…

You’ll return…

Madam Astor…

I’m ready…

I'm ready to burn...

For I know

I'll never learn

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

Channelling HP Lovecraft Part 2

 

Part 2 of Channeling H.P. Lovecraft.

 (A lone voice whispers.)

 Her ruby eyes 

When she appeared knocking softly on my front door

Wore me out instantaneously with revolving shadows

Blooming with mystical colours of deep dreams

Echos of an unexplored multiverse 

A place where unfulfilled desires and cravings linked to lust

Could be so easily dissolved and resolved

They whispered of archaic realms

Revolving around humanity 

Like old satellites unseen 

Twinkling with sparkling obsidian dust infused with a fervent red shimmer 

Of something transmigrational

Something so mysterious and sensuous 

That when she suddenly willed it to appear 

You could sense it would be utterly insatiable 

Her smile carried a hidden memorandum and invitation 

That was inescapable 

For with one look 

You knew her courage was unshakable 

She appeared to me like a ghost in the night

Offered me a sharp drink 

To sink before our libidos began to fight

Her real name was truly a mystery to me 

As I wait impatiently by the fireplace 

At The Shadow and Key 

For her return 

But when I pause and reflect 

Will I ever learn

And like so many before me 

Will I come to eventually understand

That she's just one of the many saboteurs 

Sent by the hidden Masters at Arms 

Like wild-eyed birds as this world turns 

Or am I just another blind fool 

Looking for love 

As the world stands at one minute to midnight

Before everything goes nuclear and everyone burns 

At The Shadow and Key 

My humble abode

By the raging blue sea

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Channelling HP Lovecraft

 

Part 1

(A lone voice whispers)

At the Most High Temple

On the unmapped mountains 

Once climbed recklessly by illuminated souls such as 

Nostradamus or Louis Bellefontaine 

To meet the neverending sensation

The imperceptible incarnation emitting that magnetic pull and lull

Which haunted their every waking seconds and vivid dreams

With its unwarranted invasion

Who many contemporary colleagues 

Then viewed as touched with a trace of Darkened Lilith Madness

For when the Mighty Dagon 

The mythical beast of the Deep North Sea 

Heard my calls for knowledge and wisdom 

Sent blowing like paper boats

Sailing through the world's silence 

Of the vicious violence in the Middle East

Overflowing with prayers 

Spiritually charged with erratic need 

He too sent me a personal invitation

Which would lead me into a new age of transformation 

To the lonely place where I lived by the raging sea

Known only to a select few 

As The Shadow and The Key

The Dagon

Invisible invader of the human thalamus

The Dream Walker

Whisperer in the Darkness

Came to me in Kansas

At midnight

With lightning and thunder announcing his sudden arrival 

At the Shadow and The Key

It told me deep occult secrets

Only kept in the heavily guarded vaults 

Beyond the Blue Door of the Marianas Trench

Sealed by incarnations and potent harming spells

To deflect the Broken

Seething and entrenched with dark dreams seeking only revenge 

It spoke of red wars

Red rivers

Broken dreams

Torn minds and souls

Power-hungry controlled pawns used by unspoken things like it

Supernatural creatures

Which create their new forms of piety by handing out subliminal lyric sheets 

So they can keep the hypnotised singing their war songs

It warned me of a lady in blue

A shadow walker who would soon call to the Shadow and The Key

And offer me glorious pleasure as we lay entwined by the sea

It said to choose wisely for the Red Wars

The red rivers of Broken Dreams and Torn minds and Souls

Would soon need someone strong 

To lessen the blows from those pulling the strings

For the unseen monsters in control

Someone to soothe their pain with illuminated prose

And then with a crash of white lightning

Striking the fireplace clock 

Right in its timekeeper's small face

It was gone

The Mighty Dogan told me a time and date

She would arrive

Idh-yaa

Or to some Quum-yaa

Cthulhu's Mate

The Mighty Mother or the Gothic Matriarch 

One of the last Great Old Ones 

But to me

Just The Lady in Blue who with her love

Would could carry the velvety tainted baskets 

Filled with the snakes of corruption that could worsen the planet's fate

Well

Today's the foretold date

And the time is tonight at eight

Sitting here by the soft sea

Warm in my refuge from the world 

In my beige smoker's jacket 

In The Shadow and The Key

Shall I answer the door when she knocks and be a gracious host

Or should I ignore it and try to bring hope to the world 

By starting my new form of poetic Renaissance

To soothe the few when they need it the most 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Canto Dreams

 

Foundation.

Does society, peer pressure, family or religion, hinder many when searching for love?

(A weary voice whispers)

Like a slave to love

I once looked for true completeness 

But like Beatrice and Dante, 

There was always a great barrier 

Between us

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Have you been bewitched, too?

 

(A lone voice whispers) 

Daylight may softly whisper it's but an hour away

But such is the spiritual power of your divine company, 

I will stay

Transformed emotionally beyond all known boundaries of esoteric norm 

By your captivating form

While your carefully chosen words like spoken spells

Holds me and unfolds me

And it's where I want to forever stay

An hour away from sunrise, 

Laid together 

Entwined 

Listening to the early morning birds play 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Foundation.

Have you ever experienced that magical moment, when you want the night to never end?

The letter to Annabelle

 

Foundation.

Even after all these years, do you still remember someone special?

Title.

A View to a Kill.

(A lone voice whispers as a man in a nursing home writes his last diary letter)

From beyond the sacred river

Came fear like a lone-wolf stalking in the Wild Canadian cold.

I know what we had I should have clung onto like precious gold. 

But curiosity called me like Ligeia, the siren into her red fold.

So now I'm lost at sea like Peter, who was fishing.

Before someone special appeared at Galilee.

So like autumn leaves, all now on the ground, blowing through my memories wild forests.

No longer green but brown.

Just know I still treasure all the sunsets where we were by angels seen. 

For even though the Fallen One opened his wings and broke us down.

Our old love still sings such a sweet symphony.

That follows me still and makes my heart beat faster, every time. 

I swallow one of your memory pills. 

That returns me like a spy but with no free will.

In my own version of View to a Kill.

This last letter is for Annabelle, my childhood love, who I once knew.

Just know, I've always missed you.

 (C) Copyright John Duffy

Are you a three to seven or eleven or more is heaven?

 

(A lone voice whispers)

Should 21st Century poetry

For the new minds of a culturally bombarded generation 

Be limited from 3 to 7 lines?

Before you answer:

To me personally, even though to answer, makes my Heart aches 

I like reading poetry built around subtlety

Concealed layers or secretive depths

Relatable interchangeable meanings

Powerful raw stuff that sometimes leaves your eyes wet

Unearthed within deciphering their carefully crafted imagery or subtext

3 to 7 lines of reading, might sound like heaven, but I'm old school 

Give me Lord Byron 

Shelley or Keats 

But I guess 

Like an Ode to a Nightingale

Maybe that's the beauty of poetry as She walks in Beauty

And like To a Skylark

It must sing

So I can only hope new generations enjoy poetry, so it continues to thrive and still live 

Within whichever form, and exciting tales that will continue to make their own hearts beat 

With all it can give

But for me

Reading deep poetry 

Feels like sitting briefly, metaphorically, underneath a Cherry Blossom Tree

Enjoying a delicious drop of spiritual tranquility 

Are you too, old school and what emotional fluctuations resonate within you?

 

Are you a three to seven or more like:

Eleven or more is heaven

Reader or writer 

Who enjoys late all-nighters

(C) Copyright John Duffy

Are you just sinful?

 

(A lone voice whispers)

In the beginning 

Did you secretly 

Walk like a curious

Enigmatic Charles Darwin

Looking

Whilst

Lost in Youth

Seeking The Meaning of Sin

To clandestine dark places where

Angels

Without harps 

Profusely lambast and

Sing

Searching

Through concealed ancient manuscript and treatises

Seduced by Mistresses and Masters

Of Seductions

By their ever-changing winds

And rhymes

And now 

Are you still covertly

Only understood 

By a select few

Riding your Pale Horse

Tempestuously

Through lost

Biographies of Old Beliefs

Always on the lookout for engagements

A means to sometimes

Circumvent dark

Carnal release

Or are you still drinking Cool-Aid

From the Matrix’s ever spinning

Propaganda's machine

As the Cosmic Serpent

Of your own Apocalypse

Approaches with such devious guile

Heralding a new divine invasion

Of your own United Nations

So you still dwell in

A new vision of Gilgamesh

Wallowing in previous dark memories of Sins

Of old encounters and embraces

Of its sensuous

Flesh

Or are you a new lost Nikola Tesla

Lost in the folds of deep personal histories

Overwhelmed

With impropriety and greed

Still seemingly held in check

By fingerprints of

Memories Old Gods

But still always courageously

Praying silently to the skies

Trying to save

Your soul

Always praying someone

Hears you and your deeds and comes down 

To intercede

Copyright John Duffy

Want to start at the beginning?

A blog on WordPress from 2015

Link above. 

Creative writing for over ten years. Starting at the beginning. 

Before poetry and music. 

The transformation from 2015 to 2026 is such a beautiful surprise. 

Where will the evolution be in another ten years? 

Filmmaker! 

Salute. 

Revelation 501

 

(A lone voice whispers) 

Did you know. 

The Matrix tries to rewrite the memory of the new civilisation after the previous one reaches the truth. 

Maybe you are a reborn truth seeker from the past. 

Seeking a means to find clarity on your epic, eternal journey. 

And it's why you're here at last. 

And maybe I'm just another torchbearer amongst many:

 lighting your way. 

Blessed be. Velumbound. 

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy