Wednesday, July 14, 2021
Thursday, July 1, 2021
The Watcher Speaks
Press play. Salute.
That they who really know me
Call me the living flame
For like my old Ma
Who was once born and raised beside the clear still waters of the Louisiana's deep Bayous
I inherited her gift to draw lonely souls
Like Gypsy moths right out of their self imposed darkness
Unconsciously drawn whilst deep down inside they're always smiling but constantly just wanting and needing more
Whenever I shine my bright light of illumination and attention right on them
And whisper their secret God-given name
It's just the eternal price I pay now like my good old Ma
Bless her soul
For trying to summon a new light to shine in others and for them to try to live a new worthy life
When they can stand proudly unafraid and unashamed
And say to the watching stars and all other delirious eyes
I matter!
Copyright John Duffy
Tuesday, June 8, 2021
Salve et Vale (L)
An exotic sweet voice calls me to newer lands.
In case you're curious or inquisitive, they were never about anyone living in particular, but simply references from whence I sometimes visit.
A new road has suddenly reared right up in front of me and started calling.
If you're here just visiting, I send you blessings from the Red Church and best wishes from the Great In-Between.
This was always going to happen, and it's why I made that book which cover is above if you choose to look.
The link is below.
That voice I sometimes hear told me to ✍
My last piece.
Sometimes
You've just got to be brave enough to say goodbye to old ways and try to heal raw opened emotional sores as you look to life to give you more
It may feel like you've been through all the worlds many wars but nobody's perfect and everybody has their scars and sometimes unspoken flaws
Some may choose to hide it so well and smile and try to put on a favourite well-loved mask
And some don't
Some may say strange things in tempestuous moments of heat as they sharpen their ferocious claws
And some may say nothing at all
But just think
People are just human after all
Misfits in the grandest of schemes wandering around like lost little children
After they've been given a life's spiritual work permit
But you know
I've already lived five times in 6 hundred years
Lived
Loved and cried some many wet tears
Now I've returned for the seventh
And here's what I know as I return from a short stint before I go back to my place in Heaven
Life and all its emotional connections are simply explained in one line of poetry
Which is written in bold italics in God's eternal archives
What to know what it is?
It simply says
Do the best with your time before you too have to die
Copyright John Duffy
The Cry of the Beloved
(A lone voice whispers)
I miss you my only love more so at this time of year
The soft smiles
Holding warm smooth hands as we once walked for country miles
Watching the yellow and red sunset as the daylight bowed and dipped
Kissing the lands below and whispering goodbye
I miss you my only love more so
At this time of year
Looking through old photographs and then visiting old memories and all their stimulating road maps
Sitting together watching old films like Doctor Zhivago with popcorn on television
Laying in bed
Huddled together naked under warm sheets and talking shamelessly
About how we made it through the fire and ice and all life's many inquisitions
I miss you my only love more so
At this time of year
It's the same in every memory I find
Whenever I remember when you were just mine
Maybe you'll come round and put your angelic arms around me
Kiss me softly on the forehead and say everything will be just fine
For it's always just you I'd like to see
Still standing smiling like in our favourite photograph underneath our prized old apple tree
On this our old farm but deep down I know it cannot be
For you're in Heaven
Hidden in a place
The living can never see
But still
I just miss you more so my only love
At this time of year
When my old world suddenly burns and I remember why
For you're no longer here
Copyright John Duffy
Monday, June 7, 2021
Mr Dark Eyes Speaks
Press play. Salute.
Tenebris Oculi (L) AKA Robert Olmstead
(A lone voice whispers)
To all the mysterious souls just lost beyond my second sight and long reach
Hiding somewhere unknown in Father Times long silver grass
Lying scattered across all the bluest of ocean's and before all the greatest of Antarctic lakes
Quietly reading and trying to compose inspired poetry
Beseeching their inner minds great portico to quickly open
And spill forth
Secretive words only once whispered and spoken in the darkest of corridors
Celebrating the festival of Karneia on the fourth
By the Pythia to bathe within its spectacular potency
In ancient Apollo's
candlelit yellow temples in Pompeii
In cold wintery nights
May these channelled words find a way
To weave a magical spell to beguile your own inquisitive mind and everlasting soul
To be slowly opened up with Apollo's ritual athame everywhere you go
For you to then find the courage to breach your own inner great gates
To finally find and drink from that mystical ever-flowing well
Found in the centre of all things
By only the true believers like you and the many travellers of the profound
Seeking to taste whatever their spirits really desire and then hoping to make the return journey home
Filled and sated and dancing mentally to a new sound
Announcing the arrival of their life's only holy obligation
To then write profusely
Be it at midnight or throughout the long days
Recalling and narrating the many sacred strands
And complex explorations of the many layers of human emotions
That comes smiling or snarling their way
From those just hidden beneath all blue and green seas
The Great Old Ones
So be it
Copyright John Duffy
Sunday, June 6, 2021
Poetry
The Virgin of Luca Speaks
Saturday, June 5, 2021
Romeo Dreams
(A lone voice whispers)
I sometimes still in this grey silence
Covet the one thing I searched for all my life up to until I was seventy-five
Even on the night I chose to die
Tragically remembering dark memories when I was once alive
In the darkest of empires lost in the blackest of nights
Haunted and stalked by all those little invisible irrational demons
Who delivered a metaphorical death by a thousand painful cuts
Which numbed all my feelings
As I once wallowed and walked in such profound misery
Stuck within a seemingly perpetual rut
But now I walk free for they've all been exorcised and extinguished
For although I never savoured the sweet-tasting and everlasting impressions of true loves sacred first kiss
Even when it seemed to materialize
And a dark hand always appeared to pull it back into the violet maelstrom
Of humanities deep swirling mists
I can now see a shimmering crimson light on in the distance
After all these years
Even though every time I previously looked especially at Christmas
It just seemed to turn on and off and I always appeared to just miss her like a faint whisper
But now she
The Goddess imbued with so many beautiful gifts
Appears to me willingly with no perceived resistance
I now feel like Michelangelo sculpting PietÃ
Totally lost in the joys of this life's new amazing creations
Now I can truly appreciate her
For I currently see multicoloured rainbows everywhere I go
And all my footsteps echo and resonate a new emotion for I now swim mentally
In a new unexplored ocean
And what was once an unknown mysterious experience to me
Is now my glorious sunlight
As every day feels like I'm walking hand in hand on yellow soft sands
Beside the sea with my first love who I just found out when we finally met and she whispered that she waited because
She always just missed me
Copyright John Duffy
Thursday, June 3, 2021
Dolor
Press play. Salute.
(A lone voice whispers)
Does fear in whatever form it chooses to appear in
Like a shapeshifting configuration of self-depreciation
Announcing the possible visitations sin
Emotional physically or spiritual
The three intricately laid foundation stones which it builds up from when it first enters the skin
Affect the way the Native finds new roads or instead chooses lonely highways to navigate life
Does its carefully leather-bound invisible suitcases they might present to then be carried everywhere like priceless jewels
Contain handwritten contracts to avoid taking chances
On people places or newer experiences and to always seek to abstain
Never to seek unfamiliar lands of hope to help them renew
As pledges once written in silence
Prevents them from embracing their secret God-given name to empower them to pull through
Does Dolor's archaic supernatural form take a strange irregular shape
Which keeps them invariably on the run
As it guides all their emotions like a machiavellian orchestral conductor
From which it transpires there is no escape
Under the dire threat of the sword of Antipathy
As it seduces them perpetually and becomes their only lover
Did you know Dolor is simply Fear translated into Latin
Will you find the strength and courage to throw its gifts of free suitcases
Into the gushing four winds and let the Trinity of Holy lights
Come steamrolling in
Copyright John Duffy
Automatic Writing
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