Monday, June 23, 2025
Juvenile Memories
Sunday, June 22, 2025
The Lone Disciple called Jerome. Speaks.
(A lone voice whispers)
Are you like a lone bottle,
A rare Nebuchadnezzar
Floating in the middle of humanities blue sea
A lonely spirit who can think of no other greater devotion
Then being the yellow sandy beach
For someone drowning in parts of a seemingly never-ending
Undulating ocean
Are you like a white feather blowing randomly in its four winds
Filled with relatable emotions
One of the Blessed Few who are also related to the Broken
Who must endure, the dark clouds and icy cold waters of damnation
In slow motion
The kind who hides in long shadows of commotion
Those deemed blind and impure by mankind
But always secretly looking for a cure
For blessed are those who cry out
For a form of rescue, as life pulses and tests you
Blessed are the ones who suffer from love withdrawals
Linked to quarrels of joy and mirth
Here
Hidden
Just somewhere
On Earth
For I will make them Most High
Says all the forms
Of all High Lord's
Blessed are the stranded castaways filled with despair
As they sit there crying in silence
Thinking no one cares,
Upstairs
Blessed are those love torn who shake their fists in fury
At the watching heavens, Angelic jury's
Cursing them
Slowly dying
Feeling cursed
Before their spirit bursts, and they end up in a shiny black hearse
You are not alone
For I'm empty in spirit too
Broken
And I see you
For
We are kin
Two strangers
Walking hand in hand
As these deep occult waters run over everything
Corrupting all they touch
With their insidious sin
So if you don't know where you belong
Can't navigate alone
No place to lay your head, and no heart to call your home
Take my words and then call my name
For I am Jerome
So named to guide you home
So we can dance together in the pouring rain
So you're not on your own
And together, entwined
We'll purge our pain
For we are blessed
Two of the High Lord's best
True survivors, enduring life and all its emotions
For sometimes in life
Circumstance and fate
Might have built high walls to climb
To reach your soul's
Nickels or dimes
And there's no guilt to confess in women or man
If you feel stranded or split between love and hate
For The King of all the High Lord's so loved the broken
And so I have spoken
Just you wait
One day he'll open up the crimson gates
Just keep praying
For hope always appears
When everything seems dark and too late
For there are some things that sometimes need to be broken
Such as stubbornness
Pride and many other sinful habits
For when we feel lost in our total brokenness
Our choice of God can build us back up
For Your Lord is always walking beside the broken-hearted, and tries to save those who feel unworthy in spirit
So if you live in a painful place, but are also contrite
There is still hope
Which will appear miraculously, to help you cope
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy
Reunited
Reunited
(A lone voice whispers)
All things might one day die, but not us
For we are timeless beings
Two feverish minds lost in new landscapes of The Great In-Between
Who Love has stubbornly refused to let go
As her friends sit back smiling, watching our incredible picture show
So, will you take my hand for this, our last dance?
While I still breathe and we still have a chance before sunrise?
For as you watch me with dark inescapable eyes
While Prince sings the Beautiful Ones
I'll take your soft hand and trace the shape of desire upon your sensuous soft skin
To will you to let me in
As I blindfold your eyes while preparing a surprise
And when Darling Nikki finally sings a song filled with Computer Blues
I'll consume you and as you quiver and shiver
I'll hold you tightly
Skin to skin
And look deeply within your dark eyes and slowly whisper
Beyond this mortal world, filled with darkness and pain
We are reborn just to be together again
And as your low echoes fill our candlelit red room
I'll know then,
I just have to replay the Beautiful Ones
For a night of explorations of the unknown and the untouched will soon begin
A Holy Land of dark crucibles of intense pleasure and sweet pain
As feverish minds in this new domain begin to wildly run
For love has stubbornly refused to let us go
So while her friends are sitting back smiling, watching our complicated picture show
Will you take my hand for this, our last dance?
While we both breathe, and still have a chance?
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Friday, June 20, 2025
Arabella's Monologue
(A lone sorrowful female voice whispers)
Within grey cloaks
With eyes
Wired shut
I still remember that special night
When we ran to our motel room
You and me
Two new lovers
Soon to be baptized
By Father Love
After Sabbath
On a beautiful sunny
Sunday afternoon
I can remember us
Making wild promises
High
On future plans
To the watching jealous
Sun and Moon
For in love's rising smoke and heat at dusk
We swan in a strange flux like Tarzan and Jane
Happy in love's
Deep Lagoon
Before Anteros struck
Like Captain Ahab
With his sharp harpoon
And so now
I walk on
Alone
Choking on the black dust of the Gehenna sand dunes
Condemned for eternity
To dream
Of entering
That sacred room
Outside Pandemonium's Gates
Protected by Architrenius the Arch-weeper
And the Algiz runes
So now I
Sing like a young Frabrato
In Gey Hinnom
This Valley of Wailing
Singing a lullaby
For a second chance
In a Second Kingdom
Where souls of lost women are cleansed for freedom
Made pure
To go to Heaven
In wisdom
For tragic
Is Death's
Dying day's decay
And if my God could see me,
He'd sing
You did it your way,
Arabella
And that's price
Of love
In Gehenna
You'll pay
For
O' sacred
Is Deaths
Dying day's decay
A soft kiss
To open
New gates
To escape Anteros old memory books
To find familiar places where beloved memories
Once played
So here's to you
Lord
Forgive me
Forgive me
Show mercy
Show mercy
Take me outside Pandemonium's gates
Before it's too late
To those who once
Loved us
For you are a God of justice
And blessed are we who wait for you
Walking
The sand dunes of Gehenna
Always looking for that
Sacred White Room
After we've been stuck by Anteros
Like Captain Ahab
With his sharp harpoon
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy via Pinterest.
Sunday, June 15, 2025
Melusine the siren
Saturday, June 14, 2025
The Ministry of Ezra. Armageddon Dreams.
Foundation.
Do ghosts still crave love or companionship?
Would you?
A lost soul on the other side watches as the real world burns.
Title:
The Ministry of Ezra.
Armageddon Dreams.
(A lone voice whispers)
This is to you
My life's only pleasure
Now my life's sunsets are spent and sunk forever
For at the end of all my once long rigorous days
I now stand lost and lonely
In these dark woods
Of Reflection
Like a young Puck
In a tragic Midsummer's daydream, that's all mine
One where my heart would beat on perpetual fire, if it could
One with my ears filled with whispering spellbinding words
In these dark woods
That no longer take me higher, if they could
And when the ever-watchful Moon retires
I always watch from here
Behind this silver shimmering barrier
Of The Great In-Between
And think as the new Sun of the Living
Rises in this strange new place
Are we all simply silent prayers blowing
Like soft tender snowflakes
In an endless night
Each carrying quiet and unique songs and rhythmic sounds filled with woe
Love and all human emotions all around us on these hallow grounds, that makes us glow like fireflies
Skywards
Just to be lost and scattered in whirlwinds of Heavens glittering golden dust
Symphonies of hearts ablaze
And screaming for just someone to love and trust
And even though now my time living has expired
I still feel rapturous but always blue
As my now silent heart tries to sing love songs just for you
I know as long as I still exist in here
As tall as the high nights and as long as the wide days
I hope my God-given prayers
Will be answered with my soul's cries to be eventually rescued
For when the final sunset has gone and died
And this dark night I wander in
Stalks all the lands
Even your lands
When the low Angelic Drums
Announcing The Book of Revelations
Rumble
And the old black and white pianos start to scream and sing
Declaring openly the arrival of Seven Angels foretold
When the eerie white noise
Between the Living and the Dead is no longer cold
And falls like a crimson stage curtain
Once again
I'll pray hopefully
That I’ll stand like a Tolkien King
Proudly on the Tired Bridge of Broken Dreams
With you as my newly returned queen
Living in a new scene
Beyond the barriers of The Great In-Between
Where my broken heart no longer cries out and screams
As we watch the Purging on Judgment Day
Of all the Immoral
Tainted and marked with the many forms of its seductive disease
Standing strong and happy like Megara and Hercules
Amongst the Universes golden dust and falling leaves
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.r
Friday, June 13, 2025
Is to have loved, to unconsciously summon the Sword of Damocles?
Is to have loved, to unconsciously summon the Sword of Damocles?
For, as, Dionysius of Syracuse, once implied.
Things can suddenly change dramatically.
A theme echoing throughout personal and famous historical galleries
When going through happiness or enduring grief when it has died.
Captured in so many poetic galaxies
By the unconscious summoners of Damocles
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
Have you ever felt this low whisper before? It always comes unexpected.
Foundation:
Temptation.
Sometimes beauty can turn suddenly to stone.
How many have looked and been seduced only to lose everything?
Title.
Have you ever felt this low whisper before? It always comes unexpected.
Sometimes, life is cruel, like the mythical Medusa.
Occasionally, she tempts you, with a new form of spiritual hallelujah.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
Thursday, June 12, 2025
Have you unconsciously used one of, Sigmund's theories when creating something?
Have you unconsciously used one of, Sigmund's theories, when creating something?
(A lone voice whispers)
You do know that there is absolutely something mystical about creating something intrinsic,
with your own mind?
AI might be more concise and precise.
But the true beauty of creation now and dating back through Millennium:
is the practical art of not being a follower but a doer.
A youer than you.
Putting your heart and soul into each creation process.
For if the true greats could confess.
They might too say they enjoyed indulging in a similar psychoanalytic process.
Using the four stages of Psychoanalytic Therapy:
Number One:
Intellectual Awareness
Number Two:
Emotional Awareness
Number Three:
Reconstruction
And finally,
Number Four
Some personal form of Self-Mastery
So be honest, have you too used maybe one of those four stages of Psychoanalytic Theory?
To start the creation process to create your own masterpiece?
By perhaps using one of those four stages mentioned above.
As your own Master Key?
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy.
Wednesday, June 11, 2025
Transmigration. The Seer's Song.
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A new poem that reads like a ritualistic invocation—half prayer, half spell—meant to reach someone who has died. Rather than telling a st...
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(A lone voice whispers) Can souls just be fragments of our own ideas of heaven and hell? Are we too metaphorical to ever understand, but j...
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**Do you believe in Spirit Guides?** (A lone voice whispers) I've lived Once loved and cried Indulged in primordial urges and died By ...








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