Therapy

(A lone voice whispers)

Are Goodbyes like lone turtle-doves that fly

Like birds from your clouds of Singularity

Into wild winds

Of one day they're here

And one day they're gone

But you always cry inside

Silently

In somewhere so deep and quiet

Where beloved memories hide

When you remember the sweet moments of tranquility and sincerity 

Before that old love died on a new white cross of behaviour therapy 

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

Foundation of the piece.

Do memories last forever?

Good or bad.

The ending relates to:

Do those experiences change your behaviour patterns by learning from that particular experience?

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Is this one of the sins of the twenty-first century?

 Is this one of the sins of the twenty-first century,

increased tenfold by social media affecting relationships?

Have you been uncouth or met one of the uncouth?

(Adjective: lacking in good manners, refinement, or grace.) 

Title:

Infidelity

Well, I guess I'm uncouth

I lied 

And didn't tell them 

The truth 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

The Queen from Argento

 Press play.

Salute.

The Girl with the Dark Eyes

 Press play.

Salute.

The Sunday Voice

Foundation of the piece.

Do the Unrequited still seek love searching through social media for an old love?

Have you looked up old flames in secret?
 

(A lone voice whispers)

In this grey shade of semi-darkness

I've sat down by the IPFT and looked again down through time 

Past all the fast-moving images and those sad heartbreaking ones

Portraying illnesses 

Lit a white Dominion protection magic candle and pondered

Is she with another I just can't see

Someone else's older or younger brother

That soulmate who once professed and confessed 

She was only mine

Would she still love me beyond all she feared

If I could somehow suddenly appear

Would her sweet kisses taste the same as before 

When we first met and I told her my sacred name

As I stood at her front door

But would she forget me this time when she got home

Delete my old number on her phone

I know she's a siren 

Lord

A beautiful beacon

A light in the dark who all fall to their knees

Whenever she calls

Is that why I'm cursed by the green shards of Belazor 

In this grey shade of semi-darkness 

As I embrace my own form of holy crucifixion

Charged to look down through time forever 

And tasked by Malachi

To always light a white Dominion magic protection candle 

From the sacred box of self-introspection

And ponder

Is she with another that has my reflection 

Who looks like me

Someone else's younger or older brother 

Now I've died and can only use the IPFT

To see

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Is this a description of love?

 

Need a prompt?

 Belief in yourself is so important.

If you could write a poem reflecting your reflection in a mirror.

What would you write?

It could be anything. Personality goes way beyond looks. My opinion of course.

Here's my take on a dash of fun for the restless minds, constantly poked by Calliope.

Some call me Ole Smoky 

For I'm 100% all natural

So damn deep 

It's supernatural 

So unique 

I'm unnatural 

For my aura and sense of humor 

Is so inflammable 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Dystopian Dreams

Foundation of the piece.

(Conjured from the Ether, of course)

I was at church recently and the priest said some interesting things, relating to life.

Namely, one of the biggest days of your life, when you're present but not there, is your wake.

What or who would you miss at that moment of self realisation?

(A lone voice whispers)

I still miss you

You know

And all those interesting places you used to take me

Like to Caesars Palace

After our wedding 

To watch boxing 

When the world was covered in snow

Malibu beach

On honeymoon 

Where in that hot shade

Out of sight 

Your soft lips 

Tasted my soul

As it preached

New sermons from your mouth

As your hand travelled south

All those tantalising things 

And so much more

But since I left

When God opened that heavenly door

I die silently inside 

A thousand times a second

As my broken heart roars

Like Shakespeare's Romeo when he too

Crossed over in death

Whenever I look at your beautiful reflection 

In my black scrying mirror 

And think of all those precious things

I can't do together

Anymore 

With my old life's torchbearer

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Lucy

 Foundation of the piece.

Mother's play such an integral, important part of a child's early life. And expands into everything else.

If you're lucky.

This piece is just a simple representation of that lasting legacy.

Did your mother leave a secret room in your heart, where she still lives?

Title:

Lucy

(A lone voice whispers)

I once held tightly

With small arms

 

A white candle that burnt with the heavenly perfume of total joy

Loved lighting and embracing its light whenever she called around

My mother

Lucy 

To my bedroom to tell me such remarkable childhood stories

Hold my hand

When I was her little boy

When Love burnt so bright

And that flame seemed to last throughout 

Every long scary night

But now that heavenly flame no longer burns

For to Heaven's Great Gates

She has returned

So here I am

In Saint Paul's

Lighting a votive candle

This Sunday

As I enter its four alabaster walls

For even though my white candle has gone out

And the long nights 

Seem so much more darker

Our deep love forever takes a more profound meaning 

Whenever I see her beautiful face 

In our favourite silver Elsa Peretti picture frame

We picked together last May 

On the twenty-first 

At Tiffany & Co

When my wife and I covered her 

In our pink and blue wedding confetti 

The first lady to love me when God sent me

To go 

Face the trials and tribulations 

That comes with living on the earthly plane

And now that deep love resonates and vibrates into oblivion 

For even though she had to depart 

She now lives forever in a secret room

In the centre of our beating hearts

Proudly smiling and watching 

Me and my Kelley

As our 

love for us

And her

Like an eternal white rose

Too Blooms

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

The Call of The Demerge