Path of The Broken-Hearted at Christmas

(A lone voice whispers)

 

I can still remember

The sad day she said

She didn’t love me anymore

As she threw away my wedding ring in the pond and walked

Right outa our door

That was ten years ago or more

At Christmas 

In 2000 and four

I still see her on the streets

But no matter how fast my heart beats

I can still see and feel that lonely dark place

Where broken souls fly

When their hearts are truly broken

And inside

They always quietly cry

She’s asked me many times to take her back

She’ll love me more this time

This time it will be different

But all I see when I look her over

Is Jack

Running his hands through her hair and kissing

Her soft red lips

I maybe broken

Cut deep with a sharp blade forever

But will I go back to her

Never

I’ll just keep walking the path

The brokenhearted take

And maybe I’ll find someone truly special this year 

To love all of me and help

To take away this god awful ache

 (C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy 

Foundation of the piece.

Christmas is not all joyful salutations for everyone.

Merry Christmas

 Merry Christmas if you happen to see these words.

Salute.

Twas the night before Christmas

When good people 

Put up green trees 

To try to still believe 

There is goodness in the world and it begins 

On the stroke of midnight 

On Christmas Eve

So here's to you

My friends and spiritual kin

Have a Merry Christmas 

And indulge 

In happiness with whatever Saint Nicholas

Brings us

With a bit

Of festive sin

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

The Invitation

 

The Invitation

(A seductive voice whispers as incense fills the air)

Sat within here
A discarded loop in time and space

Within this room

I see you all in the distance
Shimmering through

Like bright pink desert mirages

In your living tombs

Stood alone
In my magical circle of no rehearsals

Chanting Yaruba tribes
Ancient magical rites

Summoning up the populous of Godhead

So I the shaman can call to you

“When the living ground eats the breathing Sun, I will open the secret doors to take you home.

For eating and tasting words like a new, Grace Dent, at Lent, isn't for you.

Just write this down and burn it in the back garden on a piece of paper.

I'm ready,
Come and take me to the secret amphitheatre

Where the voices of the Serpent

The Beast
And God take to its stage

To showcase who they've taken home and played.”

To then write out your own name in the ruined temples books

Before you line up to watch

Before they return
And choose
Before you are took

And I'll call within a heartbeat

To take you East
To meet

Either God or the Beast

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

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The Midnight Hunters from The Black and Blue Lodge

 

The Midnight Hunters from The Black and Blue Lodge 

(A sad lone voice whispers)

My old love 

Loved shaking her crow blacked hair 

As old daydreams tumbled around her

Like autumn leaves in the air 

On any given day or night 

Dreams of divinity

Of God and light 

Like the first thing you see when you close your eyes at night

Temporal spaces filled with familiar faces

Crooning like nameless mockingbirds

Under a watchful moon

Dreams of us as a pair

Regale my eyes with surreal memories of us

Everywhere I now look since God closed that Crimson Book 

Us entwined at sea 

Surrounded by floating red roses as seagulls watched

Laughing like playful innocent school children

Free from all fears and good behaviour

But now the

Ancient Ones have called at midnight to remind me

“Those who once laid entwined in their sea as their seagulls watched 

Will soon get a visit 

From The Midnight Hunters from The Black and Blue Lodge”

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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The Craft

 The Craft 

(A lone voice speaks to a crowd of poets)

You do know everyone has their own magical style 

A style filled with such wild illustrious promises and kaleidoscope's of such deep vivid depths

For in poetry

No stone is left uncovered, 

Ranging from life to death

Whispers of love’s wild explosive adrenaline filled triumphs 

Everlasting hope or altarpieces of self-fulfillment

Descents into darkness

Opening portals to dimensions of festive destruction

And at the core for the inquisitive 

The Red Flag

The smiling frown

Up or down 

The fire to ignite a curious reader's eyes to the soul 

That really matters

Is the what

Why and guile

It's quite simple

It's why everyone has their own magical style 

For there is no guide to the labyrinth of the mind

When you enter poetry's smiling black and white turnstiles

And line up to read or write

 With so many other groups of people who are still walking or standing still in history

In single file

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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Winter's Solstice

Winter's Solstice 

(A lone voice whispers)

Will you

Come all

Yes,

Yea and dance

For

In the deepest woods

In that old

Woodland grove

Something stirs

An electric emotion

Consuming the very air

Can you feel

Its pulse

And all consuming

Power

Would you attend as

An invited guest

With me

And dance

Go wild

And let your mind and soul

Be held prisoner

As they are

Slowly deflowered

Beyond all worldly

Fears

As unknown spirits advance

Would you still attend

As a guest of mine

To visit my dark midnight

Winter Festival

To communicate

And bind with the

Deep divine

To be totally lost

And absorbed in its

Yellow ring

Of supernatural lights

Which will

Swirl all around us

As we breathe in

Its ancient dust

To watch and wonder

At the

Opening of hidden gateways

Above us

And below us

A spell to be cast in dark skies

By illuminated souls

Between time and space

As we prepare and stand

Hidden from

The mundane

Human race

To see a new brave world

Soon ours to summon

And command

Where

Nothing but goodness

And love will fill our old

Souls

For tonight

We will dance

With our pagan ancestors of old

It's our time of year

As we will

This supernatural festival

To arrive

To embrace maybe painful

Embers and emotions

Of Winter's long past

That may have survived

To then

Embrace old Mother Spring

The goddess of all living things

As she slowly awakes

And begins to gradually

Materialise

A flurry of cold memories

Hidden in mystical snow

To beguile

Will

You dance

Beyond wet

Tears for people

We always remember

Who have died

As we may cry

For tonight

On this pagan eve

We shall live forever

For we baptised

To be eternal

And will never

Die beyond

All who can truly see

As their reawakened

Souls

Cry out

Blessed Be

Copyright John Duffy

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Merry Christmas

 Like paper boats

Floating in the Eternal Ocean

We sometimes

Come together

In the commotion  

And stillness of Time and whisper

Have a Merry Christmas

As we share the First Law of the Chosen

By expressing our devotion

To other

Travellers

In the

Eternal Ocean

Those from business

Friends and families who seek to assist us

To help them 

Not to feel unwanted

Or frozen

So this whisper is for you

In the commotion  

And stillness of Time

Merry Christmas 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

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A 21st Century Question?

 

A 21st Century Question?

Do people still need real human poetry in the 21st century 

Some still ask as AI plagiarizes when put to task

To be the social connectors

The innovation and invitation 

To new or old, writers

Adored heroes

Thought leaders

To breathe form from the intangible into their quiet lives

For them to taste the twist and guile of the Mysteries Schools

Poetry in all its many magical ceremonial forms provides

For soon

Each and every quest will end in a visit to a lone watchtower 

In the mind

And when one is on the other side watching from those parapets

AI won't help 

Because only real created human poetry will help you once again remember

Through someone else's shared experience 

In rhymes

All those people and things you once loved

So you don't forget 

With the passing of time

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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Was your Grandma wise too?

 

(A lone voice whispers)

One day, 

The rain will stop

People won't judge what you got 

One day,

The pain will stop

No more gossiping from the rooftops

One day,

All that will remain 

Is the peace you got

For the start of true love is an inside job

All these things 

My Grandma once said

Along with

Be you 

Like a raindrop in a desert

People will either love you or won't be able to find you

But it won't matter

What will matter is

You'll be a raindrop in a desert for just someone special 

And on that day

When it comes

Just keep praying 

The rain will stop

People won't matter if they judge what you don't got 

On that day,

The pain will stop

You'll stop hearing gossiping from the rooftops

And on that special day

All that will remain 

Is the peace you share

With someone who cares

For true love can start with just a single raindrop

Like finding your favourite book of poetry 

In a second hand shop

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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The last letter by James Ottawa

The last letter by James Ottawa

Journal Entry

4005

December 

28th

1986

In this crazy long night

Like all the many others

Before I lost my beloved child's mother

In 75'

Whenever God shines his white light

Through the Moon

To my tiny window in Tupelo, Mississippi

I hear him 

Whispering this to me

Have I told you lately

My poor child

While you're still alive

Soon you'll bring it all home to me

All those wild nights

And precious times

When you were set free

With someone like you

So on sad days like this

After your love

Your precious Domino fell

See my light

Look to the moon

And yell 

Hallelujah

Lord, hear my name

Into the falling rain 

And always remember 

I hear all those who cry out in pain

And still see all those days you all were born to be free

For all love never dies but always remains 

So don't cry

But lift up your hearts

For by me

Stands your all your Dominos

Waiting for you

To once more be set free

But this time

To see

What the living can't see

With yours whispering

Tell him 

My husband 

His child's

Mama knows

He's gotta know

This place in Heaven

Is the ultimate picture show

So be patient my son

Your race will soon be run

And that white light you see 

Shining through the moon

When your time comes

The moon opens up like a doorway

A portal 

And when your astral cord is broken 

You'll see the white light turn into a bridge leading you into it

And when your feet touches that floor

When that door closes

All will be made whole

Once more 

Then the words been spoken 

Fades

It's the same usually every few days but today

Today 

I'm sure that moon looks to be ope

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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