Do you still love me

 

The ghost of Christmas Past

 

Blessed be

Velumbound

Do you like listening

to these

lost voices?

Here's another

Sometimes

I look for my twin candle

to see

if it still burns

My soulmate

and gateway

to new worlds

For now

I'm a ghost

of Christmas Past

A sin eater

from dog-eared days

that now

seems to always last

I walk

through schools of thoughts like Archimedes

Remembering

carefully

How things used to be

I still breathe in the sweet musk

Even in this swirling dust

Now I live on where angels fear to tread

Under this black sky

Where I wander and cry

Alone

Now

Why couldn't we make it

After all we've been through

The wars and sweet victories

I know now

I'm a shadow walker

But

if I could

I wouldn't take you for granted

No yellow gold would buy this old soul

Not anything

So if you hear this

Always know...

Even in here

I'll carry you

In this endless cold

To new places and higher kingdoms

For the now dead

Never get old

Blessed be

Velumbound...

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy 

Loss

 

(A lone voice whispers)

There's a great sadness still in me

That reaches from here to the holy sea

Sometimes, I can feel it pushing hard against my hippocampus

Whenever I try to remember us

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

The Lone Disciple Speaks

 

(A lone voice whispers)

Are you

Like a lone bottle 

A rare Nebuchadnezzar 

Floating in the middle of the blue sea 

A lonely spirit who can think of no other greater devotion 

Then being the yellow sandy beach

To parts of a seemingly never-ending 

Undulating ocean 

Like a white feather blowing randomly in its four winds 

Filled with emotions 

Are you one of the Blessed who are also the Broken 

Who must endure 

The dark clouds

And waters of damnation 

In slow motion 

The kind who hides in long shadows of commotion 

Those deemed blind and impure by mankind 

But always secretly looking for a cure 

For

Blessed are those who cry out 

For a form of rescue

As life pulses and tests you 

Blessed are the ones who suffer from love withdrawals 

Linked to quarrels of joy and mirth

Here

Hidden 

Just somewhere

On Earth 

For I will make them Most High

Said The Lord 

Blessed are the stranded

Castaways filled with despair 

As they sit there

Crying in silence 

Thinking no one cares

Upstairs 

Blessed are those love torn who shake their fists in fury 

At the watching heavens

Angelic jury's 

Cursing them 

Slowly dying

Feeling cursed 

Before their spirit bursts

And they end up in a shiny black hearse 

You are not alone

For I'm empty in spirit too 

Broken

And I see you 

For

We are kin 

Two strangers

Walking hand in hand 

As these deep occult waters run

Over everything 

Corrupting all they touch

With their insidious sin 

So if you don't know where you belong 

Can't navigate alone 

No place to lay your head

And no heart to call your home 

Take my words and then call my name 

So we can dance together in the pouring rain 

So you're not on your own 

And together

Entwined 

We'll purge our pain 

    

For we are blessed 

Two of

The Lords best 

True survivors

Enduring life 

And all its emotions 

For sometimes in life

Circumstance and fate

Might have built 

High walls to climb 

To reach your souls

Nickels or dimes 

And there's no guilt

To confess

In women or man 

If you feel stranded or split 

Between love and hate 

For The Lord so loved the broken 

And so I have spoken 

Just you wait

One day he'll open up the crimson gates 

Just keep praying

For hope always appears 

When everything seems dark and too late 

For there are some things that sometimes need to be broken 

Such as stubbornness

Pride

And many other sinful habits 

For when we feel lost in our total brokenness

God can build us back 

up 

For

The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those

Who are crushed in spirit

(Psalm 34:18)

So if you live in a painful place, but are also contrite with him

There is still hope

Which will miraculously appear to help you cope 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

One for the slow dance lovers

 

The King of all Darkness

 

Seduction

 Seduction 

(A sweet voice from The Seventies, sings. Can you hear him?)

Hey... Turn those lights down low 

Come a little closer, baby Nice and slow

Let's dance together 

On our own dance floor

Hold me in your arms tonight 

And love me a little more

Move and sway 

To the music playing soft

Like a dream that's floating by 

And carrying us off

Touch me gently 

Let that sweet fire start

Burning through the night

In this heart full of longing

Turn those lights down low 

Don't let this feeling go

Hold me close and never let me go 

Turn those lights down low 

Baby, nice and slow 

Tonight we're lost in the glow

Turn the lights down low 

Let's slow dance across the floor 

Before we kiss 

Like we've never kissed before

Turn the lights down low 

Move a little closer still

For a love like this 

Gives my heart such a thrill

And while the music plays 

We'll hold each other tight

Praying this love is real 

As we dance into the night

Move in closer 

In every little way 

Let's forget tomorrow 

And live for this moment today

Time stands still 

As the record softly spins

One of Teddy's sweet love songs 

And the magic begins

Turn the lights down low 

Let's slow dance across the floor 

Before we kiss 

Like we've never kissed before

Turn the lights down low 

Move a little closer still 

For a love like this 

Can only end in bliss

Can only end in bliss 

Can only end in bliss

Tonight

In bliss

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Loneliness

 

(A lone voice whispers)

Hey you...

It's been a long, long road

Since I walked away

When it was getting real

And I never found the words to say

Hey you

I know I left when it was getting real

And now I finally understand

Exactly how you feel

I've spent some lonely nights

Walking roads I thought I'd own

But every mile I traveled

Just brought me back alone

And the rain keeps falling

On the mistakes I've made

Some memories fade away

But yours refuse to fade

I know I left when it was getting real

And now I know

How you feel

What was ours

Can never be the same

But while we're standing here

Calling each other's name

Maybe time can heal

What pride tore apart

Maybe we can start again

Right where we are

And though the seasons change

Your love still grows in me

Like an old oak tree

By a river running free

We were young

And chasing dreams we couldn't hold

I thought freedom meant leaving

Now freedom just feels cold

The echoes of your laughter

Still linger in these halls

And every little memory

Still hangs upon these walls

If forgiveness has a doorway

I'm standing at the frame

Not asking for forever

Just hoping for your name

I know I left when it was getting real

And now I know

How you feel

What was ours

Can never be the same

But while we're standing here

Calling each other's name

Maybe time can heal

What pride tore apart

Maybe we can start again

Right where we are

And though the seasons change

Your love still grows in me

Like an old oak tree

By a river running free

If tomorrow never brings us

Back to where we used to be

I'll still thank Heaven

For the love you gave to me

And if friendship is the only road

That's left for us to take

I'll walk it with a grateful heart

For old time's sake

 I know I left when it was getting real

And now I know

How you feel

What will be

Will be

That's plain to see

But your love tree

Still grows in me

And every branch reminds me

Of what we used to be

Your love tree

Still grows in me... 

Hey you...

I finally know

How you feel...

"I know I left..." 

"When it was getting real"

"And now I know..."

"How you feel..." 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy 

What are you looking for?

 (A lone voice whispers)

Tell me…

When the noise finally stops…

When the advertisements no longer speak…

When the glowing screens go black…

When the crowds disappear into their homes…

Who remains with you then?

Who are you…

Without performance?

Without your carefully arranged masks…

Your titles…

Your curated moralities?

For many walk this earth believing they are free…

Yet every movement…

Every opinion…

Every hunger…

Was quietly placed inside them…

By unseen hands.

Families.

Governments.

Religions.

Algorithms.

Tribes.

Invisible architects of the inner cathedral.

And so few ask themselves…

Which thoughts are truly theirs.

For self-knowledge is not comfort.

No…

It is excavation.

The sacred horror of pulling stone away from your own buried face.

To look inward long enough…

Is to eventually encounter contradiction?

Darkness beside light.

Mercy beside cruelty.

Desire beside holiness.

The wolf…

And the lamb…

Drinking from the same black river.

And still…

You continue.

Because somewhere deep within the human spirit…

There exists a longing not even modernity could extinguish.

A yearning for mystery.

For initiation.

For meaning.

For something greater than consumption.

This is why ruins fascinate you.

Why abandoned churches still feel sacred.

Why candlelight softens grief.

Why storms make poets of the lonely.

Why the sea reminds you of eternity.

You were never designed merely to produce…

Consume…

And vanish.

Your soul rejects such small prisons.

And perhaps that is why you are here now…

Listening from some quiet room…

Some sleepless bed…

Some moving train beneath a dying evening sky.

Searching.

Not for certainty…

But for recognition.

To feel seen…

By something unseen.

And maybe the abyss people fear…

Is not death at all.

Maybe it is silence.

For in silence…

There is nowhere left to run.

Only remembrance.

Remembrance of who you were…

Before the world told you who to become.

So light your candle carefully, traveller.

Guard your inner flame from false prophets…

False saviours…

And false selves.

For not every light leads upward.

Some merely illuminate the cage.

Nosce te ipsum.

Know thyself

And if your reflection trembles in the mirror tonight…

Do not be afraid.

Many things awaken…

Once truly observed.

Blessed be.

What will be…

Will be.

Velumbound.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy 

Relationships

 Senryu

At the very core

Is yearning to be cherished 

Our endless desire

575

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

A poem exploring the fundamental human need for affection, validation, and emotional connection within relationships. 

Universal Truth:

Line 1.

Vulnerability is the foundation of intimacy.

Human Condition:

Line 2.

The pursuit of love is an infinite, lifelong journey.

Emotional Core:

Line 3.

Strip away conflict, and only the need for belonging remains. 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Mistress of the Shadows

 

Rebirth

 

Sometimes, all you can do is smile as the world turns. As your old world burns.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Sometimes, a smile is the only way to find your footing when everything around you changes. It represents acceptance, resilience, and the quiet understanding that an ending is also a beginning.

Press play

 

Friendships

 

Senryu

Title.

Friendships 

Sometimes in darkness

You need a bright human light

To guide quietly 

575

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

            Senryu are 3-line, unrhymed Japanese poems (often 5-7-5 syllables) focusing on human nature, irony, and humor, rather than nature. 

Known as "human haiku," they offer witty, sometimes cynical snapshots of daily life and human flaws.

Image shared under fair usage policy.

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 

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.

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. 

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.