Are you a poet?

 Press play 

The man from Besançon

Press play.
 

(A lone voice whispers)

For although I've conquered and walked through all my dark shadows

I can still remember fragments of a time

Of been so exquisitely and extensively broken on the inside

So thoroughly painfully 

So many times

Over and over again

But still like so many others

I chose to still shine so beautifully on the outside

As that glow slowly helps to relight an old fire

On the inside

Helping me to emanate acts of kindness

In new empires of compassion

To just one 

Inspire

Within each day of this

Me starting my new life

I've finally found the courage and climbed a strange ladder

Out of the old one

Which now takes me to newer places

So I can vibrate so much higher

My glorious lights still flicker and reigns supreme

On so many ancient white altars

Illuminated by supernatural looking candlesticks

Although they may shimmer

Fluttering within view of so many daily eyewitnesses

Angels who I sometimes see

Half hidden in the early morning shadows

I know they all simply smile as I stand still 

Clasping close all these newfound self-empowering emotions

The sensation of swimming inside all these deep spinning mysteries

In newly discovered hidden oceans

I now explore

Sometimes feels too overwhelming

But as I walk barefoot in my now discovered underground streams

Which I never visited when I was once broken

When all hopes of finding happiness seemed unreal 

I now feel rejuvenated by those waters

For they bestow me with so many daily tokens

As I just wait for discovery by a fellow treasure hunter

To help me rewrite my life

With a more positive and powerful slogan

I was once but an invisible but precious rhinestone

Born in Besançon  

In beautiful France

Tasked to forever 

Walk and write alone

To cope with the essences of a soul

That once was shattered into a million pieces

But now with an original dynamic glimmer and shine

My new words pirouette and dance at every God-given chance

Creating subtle perceived glories

Within the reflective ambiences of fragrant essences

Of the possibilities of narrating magnificent poetically staged stories

Ones where I'll find my missing link and be happy

For I now know as I'm walking

I'm talked about

By those watching spirit guides and angels who counsel me

The ones who are forever eternal

Like a hushed ever-rolling soft evocative lullaby

An untethered circus of irreducible fragments of appropriate words

I'm now free from that hard grip of old tyrannical ringmasters

Power-hungry kings or savage queens

For I'm now just my own seductive séance

A child reborn 

From the darkest 

Of nights

When I finally found the courage to leave Paris

But still, I’ll keep rising 

To keep climbing this ladder

To find true happiness and freedom

To reach newer heights

Where I'll be the only leader of a much kinder kingdom

A place when I get there

I'll just call it

My rightful place

My own home 

And dominion

 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Who are you missing this Christmas?

 Press play.

Conscription

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?

Image shared under fair usage policy.

The Last Words of the Seeker in Sheol

 

(A tired voice whispers)

I think I was put under love's enchanted spell

When I first met that wondrous heart 

That to me 

Quietly yelled

For I've walked so many hard miles in this black sand and yellow sea

Acid rain and pale snow

As far as my tired eyes could see

Wandered to low places 

Where the Good 

Don't go

Seen dark shadows 

Dance the Argentine Tango as fireflies glowed

But still, I stand strong

Even though my clothes and eyes are wet 

Wet with those old tears, 

I once cried

When you died

Walking and finding 

This 

The only way

Was hard and long

With just my memories of your love

To carry me 

To find you

With its sweet mesmerising song

And for centuries 

I searched through these wind blown mists

And now at the threshold of all things

As a lone bell rings

I call out across these ever-changing roads

Are you there

My only goth girl

My torment and heaven at noon

The one bestowed with all the gifts

Who once made my poor soul bloom 

If so

Open up the bejeweled doors

And let me into that room

Where you stand

Use your Frankincense

Herbs of blue and pure prayers

To create a sacred space in The Promised Land

To save this lovesick veteran 

Of the universes 

Endless spiritual wars

This I call in front of all

Will you appear

From the folds 

And show me

Once again 

Your beautiful face

Before I merge forever

Into this yellow sea

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy. 

The Demarcation Zone

 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.

Image shared under fair usage policy 

Want to play the YES Game?

 Need a dash of distraction?

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 

Consumption of The Soul

 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

Image shared under fair usage policy

Will he be visiting you with more than a lump of coal?

 Will he be visiting you with more than a lump of coal?

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.

The Mage

 

(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