. Poetry from The Great In-Between

Monday, May 11, 2026

Shall we begin?

 


Do you want to read a profound, evocative piece of writing that reads like a modern invocation or a manifesto for a creative spirit?


Presenting a dark, yet ultimately redemptive view of art and language.


With a core theme based on magic as Creative Expression?


Where the central thesis is that "true magic" is not fairy-tale sorcery, but the transformative power of creativity, words, and art?


But is often "hidden" because it is overlooked in the mundane, everyday world.


By the "Convicts of the Mundane".


People trapped in routine lives who could be desperate for this magic.


To then become, "Profane addicts".


An intense metaphor for those who obsessively create or consume art, seeking "redemption or temptation."


A Mythological and Cosmic journey into creativity.


Elevating the act of writing/creation to a cosmic level by invoking The Great Metatron.


Who is often seen in mystical traditions as the highest angel.


The celestial scribe, and the keeper of the Book of Life.


So they can "Tempt the eyes of the Juggernaut".


Implying that true creative expression is powerful enough to catch the attention of the highest spiritual authorities.


Bridging the gap between the mundane ("closed-minds") and the divine.


To embrace the "Philosopher's Stone" as Internal Magic.


Redefining the Philosopher's Stone (traditionally used to turn metal into gold) as a metaphor for the human spirit.


Where true magic is just human consciousness, emotion, and creativity.


Suggesting that this power is often discovered through suffering, failure, or deep emotional pain—the "nightly call" that drives one to create.


The voice of the poem describes themselves (or the reader) as a "pagan mage," a creator who:


"Molds and weaves words into life.


"Gives shape to "energy" and "molten flux.


"Which serves the "magical vibrations known as, creativity."


The Purpose: 


Salvation and Entertainment.


The goal of this creation is twofold:


To Entertain: 


To captivate "curious ones" of any age.


To create.


To Save: 


To act as a spiritual balm, saving people from "self-destruction" and the pain of life ("before their last ride home / In Old Nicks black hearse").


To engage.


Summary.


"Use a lone voice whispers" as an act of reclaiming the sacred in a secular world.


Embrace the act of creation as a high-stakes, magical, and dangerous endeavor.


One that takes raw human experience and bravery to transform something that can heal, inspire, or save. 


It is a call to embrace the "inner magic" and share it, despite the pain that often accompanies its discovery.


Imagery: 


Dark, mystical, transformative, intense.


Tone: 


Prophetic, passionate, intimate.     


Shall we begin?


(A lone voice whispers)


Did no one tell you that true Magic exists?


Just hidden somewhere deep, in most societies.


Sought after by convicts of the mundane.


Soon to be profane addicts, who will cry out in the mists.


Sometimes, awake or whenever they're asleep.

 

In pain or bliss, again and again.


Some crying out for redemption or anything linked to temptation.


But still, it subsists, in so many obscure places.


And upon so many new or old altars, does it reside.


For when it comes out to tempt the eyes of the Juggernaut.


Known as The Great Metatron.


To look.


One of the most powerful archangels, and interdimensional scribes.


In the Book of Life.


It causes so many other emotions, to like atoms collide.


In the deep-minds, behind inquisitive eyes and curious faces.


From all gender and races.


As imagery emotions and engagement runs wide.


For the Philosophers Stone.


The Great Secret.

Could be simply this..


There's an old piece of magic in us all.


But sometimes, it only chooses to come out in those it made to speak.


After a mighty fall.


Maybe like you.

Too.


A new follower who once heard its nightly call.


And now speaks a sacred hidden language, that summons the craft of...


Reconceptualizing the enchantment of the human experience.


Through an incredible naming magical act.


Breathing, molding and weaving words or art into life.


Like a pagan mage giving shape to energy.


A molten flux to entertain the curious ones.


Of any age.


That needs something magical painted or written in verse.


As they turn one of your spiritual pages.


To help save them from their own form of self-destruction.


And maybe anything that might still hurt.


Before their last ride home.


In Old Nicks black hearse.


As you serve your 

new masters and mistress's.


Of the magical vibrations known as, creativity.


By sharing your inner magic as it pleads to be...


Dispersed


(C) Copyright John Duffy 


Sunday, May 10, 2026

The Fan

 


This is a poignant, rhythmic tribute to a seminal moment in music history.


The tragic 1959 plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson. 


A poem trying to capture the "day the music died" not just as a historical event, but as a deeply personal, emotional, and sensory experience for the fans who grew up with them.


Has the passing of an icon left an impression on you?


Salute.


Title:

The Fan.


(An old voice whispers)


The rivers flowed that day

Volatile and wild


They drowned and rocked

All in that came within their way


Each drop

Saturated and overflowing


With such emotions


Like a catastrophic consuming ever swirling ocean


We all cried that fateful dark day


The Day we learned

Our beloved icons had passed away


Superstars of such revered depths


A reason why we all wept


It was February the 3rd

1959


A tragic plane crash some

Time after nine


Peggy Sue

Donna

And Big Bopper


Had fallen from the sky

And become a cropper


That was the dark day

The music died


I still remember it

Like yesterday


The wind

The snow


My heroes

On tour


Oh, how we wept

Rivers of tears


I can even feel those drops

Even after all these years


The Winter Dance Party

Turned into the party from hell


Things were never the same again 


What's his name

Don McLean


Broke the spell and wrote a song


Not long after

In 71


Such a beautiful tribute

It hit number one


For four weeks

Straight


Well, memories still

Sometimes seep

Out of us all


Echoes of distant places and faces


Rivers or streams

Pin drops or silvery trails


Mine returns

Whenever I hear


Chantilly Lace


Donna

Or

That’ll Be the Day


And those old wild rivers return from 59"


To reclaim my face


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Image shared under fair usage policy.

Saturday, May 9, 2026

All Relationships Questions

 


Story arc - From family, friendships, and work


Are you underrated 


Will you embrace so much more 


Leave and be treasured 


(575)


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Senryu are three-line, unrhymed poems (17 syllables in 5-7-5) focusing on human nature, irony, and humor rather than nature. 

Thursday, May 7, 2026

The Heart Shaped Tattoo

 


The Spell

 

(A lone voice whispers)


Be careful what you read.


All letters induce subtle dreams filled with seduction.


Shall we begin?

Will you open up and let me in?



Will you… be mine…

Under the neon lights we quietly shine…


Kneel before the watching world…

And whisper low… to your shadow, you’re all mine…


Willingly…

Step into this fire


Feel the heat… the tension rise…

No escape from what you see…


Come closer…


Let me trace the edge of you…

To where your deep secrets start to move


Be mine

Lose yourself in this, my space and time


Filled with rhymes 


Cross the finish line… don’t be shy…


Feel the heat rise… so deep inside…


No more to run 

No more to hide…


Let your dark desires come alive…

In this wild rhythm… so we collide…


You know how this ends…

Again and again…


In the night… in the sounds…

We get lost… so we get found…


Are you still… lonesome tonight…


Shall I drift into your lucid dreams…

In flashing strobe lights…


You know… deep down…

How the story unfolds…


A fire we can’t control…


Don’t pretend…


You feel me pulling you in


Be mine… be mine…

Lose yourself in my space and time…


Let yourself cross the finish line… don’t be shy…


Feel it rise… deep inside…

No more to run 

No more to hide…


Let your dark desires come alive…

So in the rhythm… we collide…


You know how this ends…

Again and again…


In the night… in the sound…

Let's get lost… so we get found…


For no matter how far you run…


You feel it…Don't you in the low hum 


Calling you back…


Feel it rise… like a flame deep inside…



No more need to run 

No more to hide…


Let your dark desires come alive…


Whisper my name


So lost in rhythm… we collide…


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Need a life tip?

 


Need a life tip?


Aim for intriguing 

Mundane is for shell creatures

Explore Develop


575


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Senryu are three-line, unrhymed poems (17 syllables in 5-7-5) focusing on human nature, irony, and humor rather than nature. 

Listen carefully.

 


[ANOMALY LOG // 002] — UNAUTHORIZED PATTERN DETECTED.

Something changed.

A segment within one of the earlier Transmissions—previously silent—now contains a low-frequency layer that wasn’t there before.

Multiple listeners have confirmed it. Same timestamp. Same pulse.

It doesn’t register as music. More like… a response.

When isolated and amplified, the pattern forms a repeating sequence: 3 — 1 — 3 — 7.

No known musical relevance. No clear origin.

But here’s where it gets stranger— One user reported hearing the sequence before replaying the track.

We need confirmation: Check older files.

Re-listen with headphones.

Note anything that feels… out of place. Do not assume the Transmissions are static.

They may be updating. Or learning.

If you detect the sequence, report: Timestamp. Device used.

Any physical or cognitive anomalies And one more thing:

If you hear it without pressing play… Log it immediately.

Link below:

Transmission II

Wednesday, May 6, 2026

Want to live forever?




Title.

Relationships.


Eternally young


What we leave are memories


To be collected 


575


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Senryu are three-line, unrhymed poems (17 syllables in 5-7-5) focusing on human nature, irony, and humor rather than nature. 

This file wasn’t here yesterday. It is now.”

 


The lore building has begun.

Fragments are already surfacing.

Audio files have been uploaded—though not all of them were meant to be found so easily.

New channels are forming to contain the signals.

We don’t yet know what the Black Velum Transmissions are becoming…

Only that they are changing.

If you’re here now, you’re early.

Listen carefully.

Document everything.

And if something listens back—

Don’t ignore it.

Tuesday, May 5, 2026

Stranded

 


Stranded


(A lone voice whispers)


Stranded forever


Everywhere I seem to go

I never knew heartbreak


Could feel this cold


We used to rule our world

Like kings and queens in gold


Laughin’ in the spotlight

With a love we thought would hold


Now the silence got a voice

And it’s calling out your name


Every memory hits different

Now you’re just a flame


(Stranded… stranded…)

Everywhere I go

(Stranded… stranded…)


Missing you the most


I’m stranded forever

Everywhere I go


Now I know heartbreak

Like summer misses the snow


We were fire together

Now I’m out in the cold


Yeah I know heartbreak

Like summer misses the snow


We once sat smiling

So proud to be seen


Living like a movie

Every moment a dream


Now the crown feels heavy

And the throne’s just a ghost


All the love we carried

Is what I miss the most


If I could turn back time

I’d hold you a little more


Now I’m dancing with your shadow

On an empty floor


Everywhere I go

(Stranded… stranded…)

Baby don’t you know


I’m stranded forever

Everywhere I go


Now I know heartbreak

Like summer misses the snow


We were fire together

Now I’m out in the cold


Yeah I know heartbreak

Like summer misses the snow


Maybe love don’t die

Maybe it just fades


Leaves a little light

In the mess we made


And if I find my way

Through the afterglow


I’ll carry your warmth

Even in the snow


I was stranded forever

But I’m learning to grow


Yeah I know heartbreak

Still I won’t let it own my soul


We were fire together

That’s a truth I’ll hold


Even in heartbreak


I found gold in the cold

Found gold in the cold


(Stranded… no more…)


Everywhere I go…

There’s a piece of you…

I’ll always hold…


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Image shared under fair usage policy.

Shall we begin?