Have you been to Shamballa?

  

Press play and let the music wash over you as you read.

Salute.

(A lone voice whispers)

Like a lonely

Helpless castaway 

Walking 

Lost

Amongst inner indistinct stars 

In my deep sleep

I opened my green eyes

Yearning

To gaze upon the blue 

Undulating

Seas of Tranquillity

Beyond fear

Reason or hope

Looking for a new 

Freedom

Beyond irreducible traces 

Of all known possibilities 

To try to cope

With this thing 

Broken in two

But instead

When my emerald eyes 

Opened

I saw I had ventured

To the soft sandy shores 

Illuminated by magnificent 

Sparkling red candlelights

A place where lost souls travel to 

In The Off Limits Zones

When feeling lonely 

 

Or depressed 

At midnight

Within this beloved 

Sleeping state

With a sharp crackle 

Of unearthly thunder and lightning 

You appeared

And I saw you

The only one

Bequeathed

Who I had been 

Summoning

And as we met 

And embraced 

Upon those lucid 

Imagined seashores

And held on to each other so 

Tightly 

I wondered down 

Deep spiritual paths

Mentally 

To the Nexus 

Of all my Eternity

Past the crying 

Banshee Queens

The spellbound 

Soul Keepers 

Of all Humanity 

Past the forgotten 

Pagan Ages 

Of Dark Shadows

Once so long ago cast 

By The Wing Makers 

From The Black Holes 

Of Bastos

And

Thought

As the world around me spun

Like a revolving glass kaleidoscope 

Will she still love me tonight 

Wherever she is

This ageless beauty I always 

Seem to chase 

To run to

In full flight

The one I once wished 

To live with 

Until my last night

Who still leaves me 

Lonely and drowning 

In cold wet tears 

In the middle of this plight

Or am I just another nightly 

Visitor

To that magnificent seashore

I visit 

Just past the Merovingian lightning

Solar Storms

As I dream 

Always appearing to walk 

Its twisted dark pathways 

Towards

A dark place filled with self ruination

With so many others 

To that dam place

I am cursed

To revisit 

And dream about

On the stroke of every midnight 

Shamballa

The Wetlands of the Unforgiving

The Island of the Lost

In the Great In-Between

Where Ageless Elementals 

Stalk and hunt the living 

As they wander around 

Lost

In the 5th Mystical Realm

Of the 

Unseen  

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Images shared under fair usage policy from Pinterest.

If Evil had a name. Would one be...Politician?

 

(A lone voice whispers)

If we

Legion

The bringers of absolute corruption had a name

Our human name 

Would be that 

Of nearly all politicians

Worldwide 

For we

The Collective 

Are like the long-lost twins 

Of the legendary painting 

Of Dorian Gray

Greedy inhabitants of secret societies 

Just hidden in plain sight

Which lies in the middle of any town or city

Even those listed

So faraway 

And after the stroke of midnight

When you 

And all the world 

Sleeps

With no sense of decency or a drop of pity

Me and my ilk  

Peel back 

The black silt 

And write new corrupted laws

To push-up taxes and write cruel inhuman legislation 

That we then invoke 

With ceremonial magic

To creep in

To then drink victorious in paid-for bars

Roaring in jest

Like hungry sea devils

From the sopping wet shores 

Of your nightly dreams

As your soul  

In daylight 

Watches the news 

In blinded servitude 

And like unchained slaves 

You all unconsciously weep 

Depressed 

About all our so obvious 

Deceits

For while you all 

Unknowingly sleep

Every week

Every minute

We smile 

Wave

And continue 

To make 

Dystopian plans

To control and contain you

From your taxpayers keeps 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Politics

Poli

Derived from the Ancient Greek πολύς polús

Meaning many, much.

 

Tics

Ticks are external parasites, living by feeding on the blood of mammals, birds, and sometimes reptiles and amphibians.

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Have you been to Tribulation City

Press play before you read. Salute.

(A lone voice whispers)

Have you been to Tribulation City 

When quite a severe darkness started residing 

In the centre of your soul

Without pity

A deep place where nobody now visits 

A secret place no one can ever know

Exists

As you act to hide the pain 

Like the lead actor

In a Hollywood show 

Did your wild rose get plucked

Intimately by someone you thought you loved

Only to be left 

Wilting 

Heartbroken and feeling totally exposed and juxtaposed 

Some say the true price of knowing love 

Is to endure loss 

At some time 

So have you been an actor 

In one of its endless plays

Titled

Love Crimes

Filled with wild emotions

That just live to pivot 

Between Love

And all its rainbows of total devotion

All the time

To hate

Where so many go

To drown in its boiling-hot oceans

Of feelings 

Which becomes the only paradigm 

They know

I too 

Still miss my old love

As times flows

A woman of such stunning grace

Moses have would have surely wept 

If he could have only seen 

Her glorious face

But it's now too late

And I'm just another lost soul

Feeling so guilty

Walking 

Lost in the evergrowing crowds 

Of those never at peace

 

Where a lone drum beats 

Forever looking for Lilly 

In the mean streets of

Tribulation City 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Inspired by quite a sad film I watched, late last night.

We've all been to Tribulation City if we're honest.

Everyone has had a painful breakup. 

Maybe from youth or even recently.

Going from the incredible highs to the sudden depressing lows.

It's 3.43 am, and I'm planning strategies for next week. 

Do all-driven personalities ever get enough sleep?

Answers are welcome on a postcard to:

 

123 Insomnia Avenue

Just Past The Park

Never Never Land 

Be safe all. Salute.

tribulation

/ˌtrɪbjʊˈleɪʃ(ə)n/

Learn to pronounce

noun

1. a cause of great trouble or suffering.

   • a state of great trouble or suffering.

     
     

If Grief was a Senryu

• 
  
• 
• 
  
• 
  
•   Like a message lost
• 
  
• As unknown high seas claimed them
• 
  
• Should you swim to look
• 
  
• 
  
• (C)
• Copyright John Duffy
• 
  
• 
  
• A recent theme from an exploration of human emotions.
• 
  
• The questions asked in quiet reflection of the soul, enduring grief.
• 
  
• Should we cling onto those dearly, departed?
• 
  
• 
  
• The Sea
• 
  
• 
  
• The metaphor reflecting the emotional ocean of feelings linked to loss.
• 
  
• Such as denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
• 
  
• 
  
• The image in the bottle.

• Reflects the emotional attachments surrounding the person in question.

Like a message in a bottle.

• 
  
• Such as memories. Stories, etc.
• 
  
• Personally, I think we should always keep looking for them.
• 
  

• To swim deep in that ocean.
• Come what may.
• 
  
• Salute.

• Senryu
• Senryū is a Japanese form of short poetry similar to haiku in construction: three lines with 17 syllables. 

Line 1 has 5.

Line 2 has 7.

Line 3 has 5

• 
  
• Senryū tends to be about human emotions.
• 
  
• 
  

Don't give them Pandemic Amnesty

 

(A lone voice whispers)

I feel like my whole soul has just suddenly died

In so many unfathomable ways

And tonight

As I look back from all the way in here

Lost in the white noise of The Great In-Between

I can vaguely remember with now no fear 

Or sad tears 

I once cried

Of opening my pale blue eyes 

In our bedroom 

Yesterday

Looking for my one true love 

Wrapped up in our warm winter blankets

Sabrina

To say

What shall we do today

To then be hit in the chest

By the Mystery Punch of the Cosmic Thunderbolt

That I was leaving her and all

I once knew and loved behind 

Forever and going on a new quest 

And as I started to spasm 

Scream inside and fit

It felt like I was been pulled towards

A bright White Light

Called The Shift of All Ages

As spoken about 

As I now know

In mysterious books

Written for unseen Mages

By a strange magnetic

Force 

A strange archaeology

Hidden right out of 

Sight 

Snow covered the cold grounds

Below

As the harsh winter winds 

Blew through 

As Time and Sacred Geometry 

Weaved and flowed

And as my life on Earth drew to a close

With a burst of silver 

Zero Point Energy 

As sure as Father Christmas 

Knows where to go 

I can only pray 

Those who got paid

By those Brotherhoods 

And Secret Societies 

In control 

The end game grave diggers 

And global tomb builders

So others like me 

Are too early waylaid 

By Sudden Death 

Blood clots and heart attacks

Get a lump of black coal and time behind 

Cold steel doors

For I can only pray

Karma has cruel identification cards 

And freedom passports too

For science is a killer

For all those betrayed

Like me

Who trusted the news 

And showed the watching world

Our compliance 

It's just a shame we

The many

Won't be there

When the revelations pour in

And brand new purple Karma Cards 

And new Freedom Passports are handed out

As they stand in front of a jury

Feeling for the first time

Afraid

The newly condemned 

Handcuffed by their mortal greed 

Linked to choosing sin

To then be dragged kicking and screaming 

To jail

To a new life

No longer rich

But poor

Riddled with lice

Washing toilets and mopping cold floors for years

Like another poor son of a gun

Who took blood money for fun

Causing people to die early

Under the glare of the moon 

Or the rising sun

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Images shared under fair usage policy from Pinterest.

After reading about the drastic rise in sudden deaths, happening on a huge scale, worldwide. 

I had a feverish impulse to write this. As if guided.

Did I channel one of the tragic souls no longer around?

I hope so.

R.I.P

The Golden Tree called Dementia

 My late post.

Salute.

Failing memory and old age. 

I once talked to a man who said he could remember what he did twenty-five years ago, but not what he did two minutes ago. 

Such a tragic thing but they still shine so bright. 

This is for you, William. 

Salute. 

The Old Man.

I once walked tripping through LSD Strawberry Fields forever 

As the Beetles sang

In good old 1967

Danced in the hot Summer of Love

Watching some my old musical heroes 

Some now in heaven

Janis Joplin

The Who

Joe Cocker and the legendary Phoenix

Jimi Hendrix played

Woodstock in Sixty-nine 

When free love didn't cost a penny or dime

I was young ready and I stayed alive 

Listening to the 

Bee Gees in the Seventies

I relaxed with Frankie and his Two Tribes in The Eighties 

While Princess Diana got married with all the pomp and regal festivities

Flew a kite on holiday with my first love 

With our holy Madonna 

Listening like a virgin on my new Walkman

As her wild music awakened rather strange urges

All those memories 

I still love 

But now they slowly fall like wind-swept golden leaves 

From my memory tree

And all I can do 

Is watch as they are slowly burnt as they are set free

It's a tragic thing being that solitary thing 

That not only I can see

As this dreadful disease consumes every single beautiful memory of me

But my Memory tree still has so many golden leaves 

That I still live 

And in a wilful celebration of inner strength

To  you dearest reader 

This is one of my last poems

 I chose to give

Remember me and be happy 

For one day

You might forget all the beautiful things

You once did

When you truly lived  

William Wildchurch

The Third

From Somewhere in Toronto

Canada

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

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The Voicemail left for Monica

(A lone voice whispers)  

Don't disguise your profound love for me

With such acts of disdain

But later tonight  

When it gets late

Let my mind

Reach out as I send it  

And touch you

Through my supernatural senses

To soothe any pain  

That may remain

To reach out

To gently touch  

And caress

Your inner core and silhouette

To unlock  

That secret lock

To the very doorway  

To your soul

So I can walk past all the strutting catwalks

Filled with figures

From years and years  

Of so many well-built defences

Until I see the real you

And you give me  

That look

That feverish look that whispers

In an unspoken language

Of a sensuous love

That will come  

Calling

One that can pull you up  

By your coattails

If you're falling

One look that  

No one

Who sees it

Could ever  

Forget

One that paints a fascinating tapestry

Of contrasting images and whispering emotions

Painted with such striking brush strokes

Capturing incredible longing and intensity

Pierre-Auguste Renoir  

Would surly

Dance in the Country

A tapestry vibrating with a symphony of well-orchestrated bodies

Two  

In slow motion

In late-night acts of fingertips and devotion

For true love only comes around

Once in your lifetime

Like when Adam first found Eve

At the Dawn of Time  

In The Garden of Eden

In Zero BC

So Monica  

Here's my number

077532103

Call me

(C)  

Copyright John Duffy

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If Covid was a Senryu

 

(A lone voice whispers)

Sudden Deaths worldwide 

(5)

How can those presenters sleep 

(7)

Hold them to account 

(5)

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

A senryu must be exactly 3 lines.

Like a Haiku, a senryu must follow the 5-7-5 format:

The first line must have 5 syllables.

The second line must have 7 syllables.

The third line must have 5 syllables.

A senryu focuses on humans and usually contains irony.

It usually focuses on human nature.

It is not written about nature or the seasons.

A senryu does not have to rhyme.

Excess death figures recently released are truly tragic. 

How many were subtly manipulated by paid influencers?

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The Red Rose

 

(A lone voice whispers)  

What in more sensuous exquisite pleasure

Can ever be summoned with such a small act

An incantation spell  

Of eight spoken letters

Called

I Love You

To create such life-changing endeavours  

What's beyond all earthy countermeasures or oppressors

What stands valiantly  

Perpetually bare and naked

Before all lost souls

Whose essences pleads and  

Cries for its devotion

Its

Affection  

Appreciation  

Fondness  

Friendship  

Infatuation  

Lust  

Passion  

Respect  

Tenderness

And its other pheromone-linked spiritual yearnings

Have you too been before its alabaster ancient altar

Said all you wanted your version of love to be

When you felt some unfamiliar virginal stirrings

Then prayed to disappear within its congregation's sway

To hold onto its secret handshake

Through its gift of a single free spiritual Red Rose

That it always gives away

Or did you oppose

And return all its regal advice

And dismiss all those soul-changing stirrings

And cut up its freely offered Red Rose

Its invitation and gateway

Its secret handshake

With your sharp judgemental knife

To put out any fires which may have started burning  

Did new lies or old emotions

Lingering like limpets  

From old relationships afar

Cause you to then  

Fall

Like a wounded soldier  

  

In one of the world's many civil wars

Did a new chance   

A Greek Goddess's

Exotic taste of sweet  

Redemption

Bring no  

Much needed salvation

Did that new prize within reach

Cause  

Old tears of guilt or hidden suppressed pain

To rise like a typhoon  

Without resistance  

And fall like rain  

Or did you embrace that beautiful new gift

That unexpected surprise at sunrise

A priceless Red Rose and caught all those old tears

In motion  

And bade them froze

Before they became an ocean

Does the sentence

Love appears when it's needed

To supersede all emotions

Even if it's once been cheated on

And will try to stay forever  

If welcomed and greeted

Create something in you

A stirring that you will never oppose

As you accept the chance of new love and eventually

Embrace

Its secret handshake and free gift

Of a Red Rose

(C)  

Copyright  

John Duffy

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The Enlightened Man

(A lone voice whispers)

Who am I 

To try to tame her 

That wild beautiful angel 

Who came 

Like a luminous ball of thunderous explosive emotions 

Into my life 

An angel

An incredible design of the deep divine 

Who claimed she 

Was all mine

Who am I

A circus ringmaster

Like so many others I know

A woman 

Is a gift from God

If she's the one

To be forever

treasured

Wherever you go

Her smiles 

Miseries or plights

Are to be embraced or soothed with empathy and compassion 

Throughout all those long nights

There might be 

Circus ringmasters

Out there

Dominant and truly 

Unfair 

But I'm just a man

Punching above 

My weight

Cherishing her

Like my holy

Morning prayer

Through emotional 

Thunderstorms 

Engaged

Within this beloved

Love affair 

Our joining 

A symbolic union 

Bestowed 

By fate

This majestic love who

Came to me of

Late

Requires more than

Harsh words

And phrases 

Used by other fools

Who stand proudly by their Garden of Eden 

Gates 

She should be serenaded instead

Like the seraphim 

She embodies 

Whilst she ages

Away from segregation 

Or persecutions

For foolish 

Ringmasters 

Always lose their prize 

Me

I hold mine 

Close

In every way 

Beyond 

Masculine definitions

But within circles of 

Understanding 

Without permission 

For the only ringmaster 

I'm in control 

Of 

Is my life

And all 

As it slowly 

Unfolds

Tasked to walk 

Together with 

Her 

To whatever 

Future of beholds

Equality perpetually 

Singing

Its soft sonnets

As we step over 

Its invisible thresholds 

As lonely

Ringmaster's

Cling onto their empty chests

Of Fools Gold

As their love 

Grows cold

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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