Are you attracted to eleven or more

 

Should 21st Century poetry

For the new minds of a culturally bombarded generation 

Be limited from 3 to 7 lines?

Before you answer 

To me personally, even though to answer, makes my Heart aches 

I like reading poetry built around subtlety

Concealed layers or secretive depths

Relatable interchangeable meanings

Powerful raw stuff that sometimes leaves your eyes wet

Unearthed within deciphering their carefully crafted imagery or subtext

3 to 7 lines of reading, might sound like heaven, but I'm old school 

Give me Lord Byron 

Shelley or Keats 

But I guess 

Like an Ode to a Nightingale

Maybe that's the beauty of poetry as She walks in Beauty

And like To a Skylark

It must sing

So I can only hope new generations enjoy poetry, so it continues to thrive and still live 

Within whichever form, and exciting tales that will continue to make their own hearts beat 

With all it can give

But for me

Reading deep poetry 

Feels like sitting briefly, metaphorically, underneath a Cherry Blossom Tree

Enjoying a delicious drop of spiritual tranquility 

Are you too, old school and what emotional fluctuations resonate with you?

 

Are you a three to seven or more like:

Eleven or more is heaven

Reader or writer 

Who enjoys late all-nighters

(C) Copyright John Duffy

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The Calling

 Foundation.

Have you ever met someone where everything just clicked but then, for whatever tragic reason?

They just disappeared? 

The Calling

(A lone male, clutching an old photograph at midnight. Whispers, as a single white prayer candle burns)

Let me in

I whisper into this rising grey smoke 

Let its wispy tendrils carry up my plea's to wherever you are

No matter how far

Hear me

For I'm looking back at our old feverish memories, in these black and white fairground pictures 

In this semi-darkness

Between these two great voids

Separating me and you and so many others

Let me in

Through the ethereal panes of shattered astral glass

Filled with tangible strands of much-loved recollections

So I can once again cross the deep oceans of the Hippocampus

Flying for days and nights in and through its episodic sunshine, and rocky shores

So I can warm you with my old love

For I will never stop looking and calling

And lighting these white prayer candles

Hoping you're listening to this 

Somewhere 

Wherever you are

Listening and hearing my voice reading 

My heart's whispered secretive spells, which l will forever yell

In silence throughout the day and in feverish whispers at night

So let me in 

Now, it's midnight

To reach that forbidden place which connects all things

The Maelstrom 

But which stays hidden, as it holds you in its tight grip of a new seclusion

Especially, when everything 

Just goes wrong 

I can only pray my words are carried like an angels song, to make your beautiful eyes blink 

By this grey smoke gushing skyward from my incense candle, in these rushing four winds

Which will help to guide me 

To find a way, to try to find you again

Be it on Earth or in Heaven

So we can continue what we once found in our old lifetime

A beautiful treasure the Nexus Seven, in their rare sacred manuscript, called:

A meeting of similar minds

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

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The Voice of Hope

 

Let these words be transformed into a familiar voice 

And be the driving force and divine noise

The supernatural heartbeat to help you conquer and

circumvent defeat

Let this, 

My voice, be the driving force to summon happiness and love.

Comparison and kindness.

Conjured into your daily rituals, through silent prayer.

To help open up your tired eyes.

So you can really see, beauty and strength flowing, everywhere you go.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

A voice from the Dark, speaks

 

A voice from the Dark, speaks

(A lone voice whispers)

There's s an island

You'll soon all see

Depending how old you are

Or really feel

A mythical land by the Divided Sea

Called

Purgato

A place many are branded to go

To be if transformed

Reborn

In a new angelic form

What will you take through 

Though

To hang around your neck

Like a golden yoke

Broken oaths of love

Jokes and painful stories

All of your lifes many now unwanted mistakes

People you tried to love

Some you still hate

It doesn't matter

We know and have seen all kinds

From film stars

Pop stars

World conquerors and all kind of leaders

Seen so many like us

Who once carefree

Entered these black gates

To eventually feel broke

Never to leave us

For at the point of salvation

They choked

But know this

Fate is a fickle friend

For what you do today

As you still live

With so much more to give

Could help you at your end

Be kind

Do more

Show emotion and some compassion

For we await

The hordes

To welcome you through these great gates

So what does that hidden side of your heart really sing of

Because that’s what you’ll need to bring

When your version of God demands and asks

Sitting and watching so high above 

Will you, my child 

Purge all your old mortal songs linked to sin

To earn my love?

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

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Be You

 Foundation.

With the considerable rise of AI software on all social media and business platforms, will humanity lose its creative edge?

Will you be tempted to do so?

Title:

Be You 

(A lone voice whispers)

Be You

Forgo assimilation

And try to avoid being spellbound and tied into the new AI System 

Dream and aspire before you're retired

With all your soul's, inner resistance 

Don't be bound to mundane hearts, no longer open to being plowed, with ravenous curious fingers

Hearts enslaved into a dark broken Labyrinth of unspoken, and untold things

Which could linger

From sad souls who've cried, as their creativity withered and died

Absorbed by the cleverly assimilated imagery and well created lies

To be one of the many lonely wanderers

Tumbling blind through inspirations now barren playgrounds

As the new, AI Hive Minds, long reach fires up to reteach 

Newly breached, unconnected human firewalls

While wild valley blackbirds and starling flocks

Scream and call out in unison, at the lack of the rising poetry

Music or literature, filled with human energy 

As spiritual temperatures worldwide, fall

Putting ingenuity into jeopardy

Screeching about the impending icy cold bath of human separation 

As they fly as huge wailing flocks, into the Summer Equinox

With the frosty breath, of AI Death of the Soul 

Lingering around like black mold

With bony fingers

Rattling without a sound

Awaiting its resurrection 

As daylight recedes and people seem to lose hope

But on that Devil's Island for some of the Condemned 

The one called Earth

The Exalted Ones

Maybe like you

Unassimilated and still free

Can lift up the trapped 

Those poor souls caught up in The Hive Mind

Slowly been drained of personality and self identity

 

Lost in the humankind labyrinth of the unspoken and untold

Who needs releasing to help rebuild the new pillars of creativity upon Earth

With their eventual rebirth 

This my friend with the bright eyes unseen 

Has always been a worthy oath to follow

For you've always been free to share your gift of uplifting 

Energetic, raw, and visual

Literature

Music or poetry 

Maybe bestowed 

From The Sacred Temples of Apollo 

What's says you?

Are you going to strive to stay the real you?

(C) Copyright John Duffy

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This love, we once experienced in the darkness 

Beyond the long reach of the light of judgment 

By family, friends, or enemies 

Will go through a new phase of rediscovering

Rewriting our tragic love story 

In the Universes Grey Books of History 

Like a modern-day Fyodor Dostoevsky

For humanity is sometimes incredibly and intensely in love with all forms of suffering

Where love in action is occasionally a brutal and tragic commodity

Whenever and forever described in relation to someone special 

Who can make your heart scream

“Just believe in me”

As if in poetry or wishful dreams

For a love of any kind is never low-key

If you believe in something greater, the eyes of others, can never see.........

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

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The Voice at Easter Speaking Through Time

(A lone voice whispers)

If only we had understood the justifications

I wouldn't be composing these stanzas here in old Jerusalem.

If only we had realised all those painful, tragic answers to come

We would have stopped them from happening. 

And took no chances at the very beginning. 

If only we knew this day filled with darkness would be returning.

We would have tried to stop it before our hearts started burning.

But we never saw it coming and never disputed your stories saying so

Of which there was plenty

We believed we were to be together forever.

To walk hand in hand in all weathers

We never felt deserted, even though it felt like you were always away. 

Praying or preaching 

But in the process of living

Our hearts gave up and cried

When nailed on that wooden cross before us

All the hopes of forgiveness and absolution 

Just looked us in the eyes

Smiled

Stopped breathing and quietly died.

As we placed you in the tomb with Joseph and rolled forth that heavy stone

It felt to some as though we'd never met. 

As they wept

But to us, who really knew you

Our hearts could never forget.

And as I watched, some cry and express hate for our Lord's fate. 

I, too, despised what I'd become.

I wish I'd found more time to be with you.

To learn more.

All sad tokens of introspection as I laid you in that tomb.

I thought like many others.

You were taken from us and sent so far away.

But the rumours circulating say you've risen.

Oh, how happy we all are that you've escaped death's cold prison. 

We all remembered when you said you wouldn't leave.

That if in me, you do believe. 

And if we didn't.

What would this world be like?

If you wouldn't in our hearts still be living.

Well, that's now all in the past as we gather here on this beautiful Sunday.

To pray in these moments for the forgiveness of all our earthly sins.

In this hidden backroom here in Jerusalem.

To fall in love with Faith once more. 

Now you've risen from the tomb.

A dark place where we left you a few days ago. 

To lay all alone.

We can only pray that the world of the future sees the truth.

For to truly believe, you don't need any proof.

For faith is a delicate thing.

Don't just look for it in well-written books or scripture.

Don't look for it at night or during the day.

Don't let it weep and recede or wither and just walk away. 

Just believe in something greater.

It's how he'll find you and reintroduce you to your maker.

For as Nicodemus was once asked.

“How can a man be born when he is old?”

“Surely, he cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb to be born!”

You answered, 

“I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit.

Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit.”

So to all you readers who may read this in the near future

Just listen for the Almighty's great voice and with faith in something greater.

You'll know in your heart it's him. 

If you're just open to hearing it

After praying and then whispering 

Amen

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

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Is this why you write poetry

 

The Divine Spark

 Have you shared yours yet?

The Juggernaut

(A lone voice whispers)

Did no one tell you that true

Magic exists

Just hidden somewhere deep 

In most societies

Sought after by convicts of the mundane

Profane addicts, who cry out in the mists

Whenever they're asleep 

In pain

Some crying out for redemption or anything linked to temptation 

But still, it subsists in so many obscure places

And upon so many new or old altars, does it reside

For when it comes out to tempt the eyes of the juggernaut 

Known as The Great Metatron 

To look

One of the most powerful archangels, and interdimensional scribes

To the Book of Life

It causes so many other emotions, to like atoms collide

In the deep-minds behind inquisitive eyes and faces

From all gender and races

As imagery

Emotions and engagement runs wide

For the Philosophers Stone

The Great Secret

Is simply this

There's an old piece of magic in us 

All 

But sometimes, it only chooses to come out in those it made to speak

After a mighty fall

Maybe like you

Too

A new poet who once heard the nightly call

And now speaks a sacred hidden language, that summons the craft of 

Reconceptualizing the enchantment of the human experience

Through an incredible naming magical act

Breathing 

Molding and weaving 

Words into life

Like a pagan mage giving shape to energy 

A molten flux to entertain the curious ones 

Of any age

That needs something magical written in verse

As they turn one of your spiritual pages

To help save them from their own form of self-destruction 

And maybe anything that still hurts

Before their last ride home

In Old Nicks black hearse

As you serve your new masters and mistress's 

Of the magical vibrations known as, Poetry

By sharing your magic as it pleads to be dispersed

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

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