Solus

 

(A lone voice whispers)

 

Here I am

All alone again

On my own

Still looking for an unspoken reason

Why do we keep deceiving

Are we still lost in a place

Overflowing with past mistakes

Where we always hurt the ones we love

Is there no room now

For give or take

Are you lost to me forever

No matter how much our heartaches

So I'll just say these words

Even though

The silence between us grows 

Beyond the mean words

We throw

Why do we hurt the ones

We love so much

When we judge

Can’t we just go back

To how it used to be

Me and you

Against the world

No matter who sees 

Is it too late

Will you wait

For

Here I am

All alone again

Still looking for a reason

Still waiting for a meeting

Are we lost in a dark place

Overflowing with mistakes

And heartbreak

Is there

No more give or take

Has our old love

Run its course

Aren’t you filled

Like me

With a drop of remorse

Are we past the point of no

Return

Don’t worry if it's

True

I’ll learn

I’ll move on

But still, I'll listen to these

My new favourite lyrics 

As I grieve 

Why do we hurt

The ones we love

When we judge

When they leave 

(C) Copyright John Duffy

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What does the Greek word Solus mean?

Alone; by oneself

  

 

The Old Man's Monologue

 

(A lone voice whispers)

In the twilight hours

Just when the grey clouds

Break and the slow moon rises

Silently announcing it's getting too late

I still always wake to remember that auburn hair girl

I once used to date

In the fifties 

Her bright-green eyes 

And twinkling wide smile

All things 

Young boys dream of 

And for them

To go that extra mile

But like all things that came to pass

Our love withered the night her beloved pa died

I tried to hold her hands 

To console her

Prayed God would wipe away all those wet tears she cried

But that new hole in her arm

Which soon swallowed up

All our hard worked for gold

Always left me feeling lonely and cold

It all ended that fateful night

On June the first 

When the rains fell

And life was a constant fight and everything seemed on top

Filled with thirst

With my wallet and her purse empty

She got that feeling 

To go stealing

Only to get shot dead by the cops

I can still see her now even after all these sad passing years

Now I'm old and grey  

Sat in this nursing home

Feeling all alone and filled with so many dry tears

I guess those memories of my youth will still linger and will never stop

It's quite crazy now that I'm on morphine to ease the pain

That those images of her standing in the kitchen

With those beautiful green eyes and wide beaming smile

Cooking and singing 

While outside it rained

Still play around the cinemas

In my brain

As I even now 

At seventy-five 

Remember 

Echoes of my first and last love

My beloved wife and lifelong addiction 

Called Mary Jane

My love for you 

Wherever you are

Until we are once more 

Reunited

Will always remain

The same 

If you can hear this

Just know I still treasure those memories of us

The ones where you were free and truly alive

Like the day we first met

When we walked and talked

Singing outside misty-eyed

Just like another two young strangers

In true love 

Getting wet

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy 

Press play

 

Apollo

 

Press play 

If Life was a Senryū

 From relationships to emotions, connected to everything.

Love and pain are two constant themes we must endure in life.

From loving those we love to then losing them.

To the other side of the wide spectrum, depression, linked to trauma, for whatever reasons.

If Life was a Senryū

I give you freely 

Relationships love and pain 

In any order. 

(5,7,5)

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

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The Dream Walker

(A lone voice whispers)

Hello dear reader 

My silent old curious friend

Have you returned 

To read my surreal thoughts again

The ones I write here

With my favourite  

Black and white pen

Stories and poems collected 

From when I'm sleeping

When I listen to lost souls

When they are speaking

Of how they miss walking in the rain

Like grey wolves

And touching loved ones who still remain

Especially now 

In 2025

Within this political winter

Lost in colourful visions 

We talk in silence

Walking through some side streets

Filled with love or spiritual violence

To narrow side roads filled with cobblestone

As newly elected dictators or spectators

Try to run the old asylums

It's usually at three o'clock

When those quiet friendly voices stop

That I then see a brief flash of light

Lighting up the early morning night

They always appear 

Standing on my right

Maybe twenty-five or more

Just hiding behind a shadowy door

More voices, always talking without speaking

As I stand 

Quietly listening

They talk of dark things I'd never share

For if I did 

They said they'd haunt you too

Since they just love stalking the unprepared

I'll now go and no more disturb your sound of silence

For even fools knows 

Like cancer 

Trouble grows

Hear these words and when they try to call

Knocking to tempt you up at three o'clock

Before the early morning cock crows

Like quiet raindrops 

Which echo in white noise

As they hide 

Hidden from view

From a strange place that no one

Knows

No matter how hard they beg and pray

Like the many fallen idols, they have made

Use these words as flashing warning signs

That I send 

Before they try 

To get you to play

While pretending 

To be a friend 

Listen to these words as they are forming

And heed them as a careful warning

Those that walk like lost prophets

In between the many dimly lit subway walls 

In complete silence

Always avoid them like the plague with defiance

For they only bring damnation

From the secluded islands

Like seductive but sinister sirens

For they are mankind's hunters

Who stalks the living 

Like Enoch's biblical giants

Who wants to license your soul to pledges and passports

Where there is no hope for guidance

For they wish to rule and be your new tyrant

As you are seduced by their old magic

You now believe to be based on just science

So hello reader,  

My silent old friend

Did you enjoy reading 

my strange curious thoughts again

To here 

The very end?

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

A dash of fun at 3 am.  

Salute

The voice of Miss Hughes

 The voice of Miss Hughes

When I look out at the world as one great big muse

I can see the real war still continues

Between the material and the spiritual

A timeless theme repeated constantly on the news of people being used 

Going back to Cain and Abel

People judging while searching for their own form of big answers

Whilst sitting at their version of a God's big table 

Would you take the red or blue pill 

Some ask and be put to task 

As you wear your beloved mask

But God has already answered

For your face will soon show who you really are 

For whatever you feel or think is only skin deep

It just takes time for that realization to materialize to sink in

And to finally understand 

A spiritual war is always in full flow 

To save yourself, 

You just have to be careful 

Where and who your energy is drawn to 

Since you're part of a much bigger picture show 

Than you can ever know 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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The Cemetery Letter Found

The Cemetery Letter Found

Marylou

In a dream, 

I met you in its dark space

Conjured by my prayers.

You wore bright blue

With a red rose in your blonde hair

And a soft smile on your beautiful face

Two souls

In a rare place 

Free from politics

Fear or complaints

I still sometimes dream and think of you

But dreams can be but silent heralds and banner men of a soul's starvation

And can lead to its spiritual destruction 

A slow starvation and spiritual destruction 

That can drive you insane with pain

A thought of which there is no debate

As one loses things to say, and prays to dream again

As it gets late

So today 

I find solace in my old Russian friend Dostoevsky

Melodramatic

Extreme 

Cerebral and drown like a fish in his incredible realism

So I now know

Like all realists do 

Sometimes you just have to let go

No more wandering barefoot in the snow in dreams

But to move on

To wake up even though inside you might hurt and pine

And realise

You just have to keep following life and walking in its straight lines

For sometimes lost and still dreaming of the past 

Can be one of life's secret Rodgers and Hammerstein

Theatrical crimes

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

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Harold's letter found in his briefcase

 

Harold's letter found in his briefcase

You always look like a stunning daydream

A young Katharine Hepburn 

A true African Queen

With crow black hair and dark mesmerizing eyes 

That cry out and scream

I'm unique, 

The strongest independent woman you've ever seen.

So bend thy knee

And I'll show you some wild sights 

I know 

You've prayed every night to see

To make you mine

As I turn your whole world 

Right upside down 

So here's to you

My midnight African Queen who makes me go weak at my knees

Whenever I see your beautiful pictures

Just waiting for you to call me on 

(555) 555-1334 and come around

To knock on my front door so we can go around town and paint it red

When this

My only love letter is finally posted and found

And you hear my familiar voice 

Talking in your head

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

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So you like poetry?

 Pablo's Monologue 

So 

Do you like rhyming 

Like clocks likes chiming

You do know a little known fact

Don't you

Creating whispered poetry right out of the blue is a sign of higher intelligence 

For writing about themes linked to detritus

Can help someone cope through words presented 

To invoke eloquent consequences 

Through circumstantial catharsis 

To help just someone step back and recover from the malevolence precipice

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Detritus

noun: the remains of something that has been destroyed or broken up