Let all the war hawks
And war hungry
World leaders
Be conscripted
To stand on the front lines
To satisfy their souls
Thirst for war
In straight
Regimental lines
As the world
Hears their whines
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Foundation of the piece.
Would the thirst for war have a different narrative, if those advocating for it, served on the front lines?
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The Demarcation Zone
(A lone voice whispers)
As individuals, we don't sometimes realise the scope of utter hopelessness, until we unknowingly endure it
Or witness it
But within all that emotional spiritual warfare
A glorious Demarcation Zone always exists
Between
Pain and Salvation
Just awaiting courageous souls to cross it
To reach a new emotional nation
To find a new paradigm of looking at something filled with hope
To cope
A whisper of something glorious
Something to soothe the courageous
So when Hopelessness strikes
Look deep inside and hear that inner voice whisper
Hold strong
Try to stay the course
Cling on to your strength
Let's cross over
The Demarcation Zone
So when darkness looms
When all things seem despondent and desperate
Like Wormwood Star
The Dark Comet
Always remember
Your part in The Great Game
Is not over yet
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
A demarcation zone is a boundary or limit that separates two areas.
In this case, Hopelessness and Hope.
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Want to play the YES Game?
(A curious voice whispers)
Are you a poet with lone-wolf personality tendencies?
(Answer YES silently, so only you'll know)
Are you a solitary person who loves being alone to write
Are you a rebel who resists conforming to social norms as you view the world
While trying not to conform
Are you independent and self-reliant
Subtly defiant
Do you prefer quality to quantity in your relationships
Less is the best
More a test
Do you highly prize your own choice of experiences and freedoms
Above all else
Whatever comes next
Are you a deep-thinking and introspective people watcher
A silent viewer
A wordy reviewer
Or are you a soul searcher looking for your missing link
In ink
But perhaps your true gift is a supernatural ability
Like mine
To with time
Explore the unknown realms within yourself and maybe others
And finally
As a poet
Are you an
Autodidact
Just like the true me,
A lone-wolf painter
Creating through words
Poetic Art
A person who teaches himself or herself, rather than being taught by a teacher
For we aren't we all but Poetry
Street corner preachers
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
A dash of dark poetry.
(A darkened soul sings to the watching night sky)
All hail to The Lost Tribe of the Shadow People of The Obsidian Dust
The life thieves like Lazarus
Who hides in the Grey Meadows
Outside my windows
Chanting
Yes
Pull up your souls black gallows
Hang your tortured heart
High
For us all to watch
The Machiavellian sights
While our blackbirds cry
And in us
Trust
As
I stood waiting
Waiting all night
Waiting all the next day
For your call
As they watched
Wasting so much time
After our fall
On Valentine's Day
But like time dies
Within each passing second
Our love died
As the Watchers
Watched
Within each playing record
Things I know now have
Changed forever
And memories of you
Still get in the way
For those memories
Don't need no cue or weather
To play
So now, there'll only be crying
Crying over you
As silver eyes in our painted white windows
Shine
Now you've gone
Now you're gone
And are no longer
Mine
No denying the whys
And what for's
As I cry
Yes baby
Our love is dying
Dying with time
As each of our old records play
And in each second
Deep down
I know
Why
Why you ran away
I know I stopped caring
Stopped sharing
As the crowd outside my windows sway
Chanting
What I was feeling
When my mother died and I needed healing
Did I take to the Old Jack Daniels
To hide what I was feeling
So baby
If you hear this
This is for you
My final sweet kiss
One of us is changing
And one of us is dying
And it's too late
For all our Valentine Days
Have upped and flown away
So I look up
Look up at the Sun
Knowing
I'm in hell
As I hail
The Shadow People of The Obsidian Dust
The life thieves like Lazarus
Who hides in the Grey Meadows
Outside my windows
Chanting
Yes
Then
Pull up your souls black gallows
Hang your tortured heart high
For us all to watch the Machiavellian sights
While our blackbirds cry
While our blackbirds cry
And in us
Trust
For soon I'll step outside
As they bow and go wild
And tonight join the crowd
For they all know me
Now
As One of their own
As I pull on
One of their grey shrouds
And start to sing
All hail
The Shadow People of The Obsidian Dust
The life thieves like Lazarus
Who hides in the Grey Meadows
Outside all windows
Chanting
Yes
Pull up your souls black gallows
Hang your tortured hearts high
For us all to watch the Machiavellian sight
While our blackbirds cry
While our blackbirds cry
And in us
Trust
The Shadow People of The Obsidian Dust
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
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Title
Krampus speaks from the Great In-Between.
(A dark voice whispers)
Love and loneliness
Unspoken dreams of romance and broken hearts
Shall have no reunion
But instead
Like fettered beasts to the slaughterhouse
They will stare foolishly into the distance
As they are abandoned,
Pleading for hope and a new companion
For deaden souls deserve no salvation
Such is my curse of the Dammed
Running or walking throughout
Every living nation
Men or women
Especially at Christmas
Swimming naked in pools of hate and judgement
Shall become as one
As they hear my approaching bells
Under the gaze of my cosmic gun
Love and loneliness
Sadness and pain
Will be their everlasting daylight
In their souls window panes
My silver mistress,
Mother Moon
Will seal their fate
On the twenty-fifth
When presents are received
For the spiteful and jealous
The hateful and cruel
Who loves to deceive
You better pray to change your ways
Before Christmas Eve
Or you might get a visit from me
Even if in me,
You do not believe
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
(A lone voice whispers)
Above all, like a form of intriguing divine magic
Vibrate in a form of insubordination, and write
Express anything
From good to tragic
Try to be an inspired instrument of grassroots resistance
To help others recover their power
For are you not a poet, writing about your experiences of walking,
The dark parapets and sun filled staircases
Of the Universes, many castles, and towers
Don't you want to be a part of one of the most avant-garde written movements in history
To flow down through Times, many fast-flowing rivers
With millions of other white paper boats
Symbolizing poetry
To be a burning sage on someone's minds door
To help them begin, the ancient cleansing ritual of purification
They might need
When they look into your soul's mirror
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
In 2024
It's good to see someone who still loves that mysterious thing called poetry
For like astrology
Reading or being consumed by it can help reveal answers
We all might silently yearn for to help us through personal disasters
A chance to embrace the fluctuations we endure daily
With people or situations as we walk out of our door
And even more so
Pay homage to those experiences as we explore and grow
On this planet, we live on
It's great to see the intricate
The visceral
Sensuous and ravenous themes
Used to lay works by followers upon its altars
As they bare their souls
Their sacredness
For to do so
In the stillness of day or night
I know they too will feel the tranquility and shades of holiness of being alive
In a wild world of living broken things
The never-ending opportunities for showcasing their insights using social media
As a bridge
A sort of PDF file
The transformation and attachment to the Seen
The Unseen and creating connection points
Like a docking way station
For travellers to be able to pause and look within a carefully created abyss
As they look back and reminisce
For with you the writer
It might help bring peace to those seeking a light
From that which burns in your candleholder
As you let that poetic lantern go
And for you, the listener who reads on
Throughout the four seasons,
For whatever reason
It can help summon emancipation through liberation
The beholder of all things good
As they stand
Shoulder to shoulder
As you get older
Trying to find freedom under the rising sun
From the servitude of seeking to be always good in all things
As well as avoiding the temptation and bondage of evil
For a gilded chain
A golden chain is as much a chain as an iron one
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Press play.
In the blink of an eye
Life can change
Irreversibly
Externally
But it's what you carry internally
When your world shatters
That matters
© John Duffy
The Monologue of Magdalena from Herzegovina
(A soothing female voice whispers)
O Hear me
Magdalena from Herzegovina
Charlatans abound
You know
Some say poetry is like a form of dark craft because music and poetry
Are at their baseline
spells that make intrigued eyes glow
But if you look deep into a King James
Magic too flows
Moses parting some sea
As someone special walked on water
Helping a blind Bartimaeus to see
So if that's not magic too using words that spells
Or even a selection of Letters
Let us not forget turning a little water into wine
With words that rhyme
For poetry
Stripped back
Makes its soft or hard demands and you'll listen
With wild eyes that will unconsciously glisten
For a real poet knows
You can't bargain with it
When you enter its Colosseum
Its arena
For try as you must
You have to trust and go where it flows
For you can't fight it
Not if it has you in its tight grip
Like the mythical sea monster
Scylla
Who once terrorized Odyssey's ship
When he entered the Strait of Messina
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
