. Poetry from The Great In-Between

Saturday, October 25, 2025

The Sultan Whispers

 


A piece challenging complacency:


Asking if we’re aware of suffering, corruption, and the looming threat of annihilation, or if we’ve retreated into our “safe plays.”


Title.

The Sultan Whispers


(A lone voice whispers)


Do you really ever see past all your carefully crafted reality tunnels, past your front door?


Past the everyday routines, you’ve carefully written, to be your safe plays?


As your own Geiger counter ticks, left to right.


Slowly swaying.


Do you hear it counting down your own dog-eared days?


Do you truly see, or feel,

the struggles of life’s many broken runners, those in dire trouble?


At home, or even those poor souls scattered like wedding confetti, worldwide?


Do you see the real villains in political disguises?


The spiritually unqualified.


With their hidden, bruised knuckles, preaching on television, or in real time?


Standing at mahogany podiums.


In some home, back garden, or any other jungle they can find?


While the political world just watches.


Engaging in endless

bellicose posturing, all the time.


Will you only take note,

when one of the world’s elected great hunters, presses that bright RED nuclear button?


And all the world begins to choke, on that radioactive white smoke?


So I, the Sultan,

summon the power of the Four Elemental Gods:


Earth. Air. Fire. Water.

To wake you up.


Before that Old Fallen Power buried deep beneath us.


Cast from Heaven, so long ago, grows too strong.


Until hope no longer matters.


Shattered, like a black bullet hitting a white mirror.


Stopping us all climbing up Jacob’s ladder.


The silver bridge one should always seek from birth.


Beyond wealth, fame, or materialism.


Between Heaven and Earth.


So be it.


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Examples of bellicose posturing:


A government making aggressive public statements about its military strength and a willingness to use force. 


Conducting large-scale military exercises near a disputed border to show force. 


Using threatening language or making ultimatums that suggest a potential for military action. 


 In short Sabre rattling.


Image shared under fair usage policy. 

Wednesday, October 22, 2025

What does Halloween conjure for you?


A poem celebrating an all-consuming love that transcends mortality at Halloween — a union of heavenly fire and human feeling, remembered through the lens of myth, intellect, and loss.


What does Halloween conjure up you?


Title.

Remembering Lucy Mountbatten


(A lone voice whispers)


My memories of you 


Like one of Heavens glorious white thunderbolts 


Always ignites my brown eyes alight


Like the burning nebulous envelope 


Around the nucleus of Halley's Comet 


Especially when I think of that incredible night

In 1985


When I finally came alive, and opened my eyes

Thinking


What strange powers unseen 

Did the Olde Gods use to create you


For you to walk

Unashamed 

In the midst of mortal men


With a sweet volcano 

Of such raging seductive fire


That never tires


Elevated to new heights of sensuality by a delicate touch of divinity 


Which exists within all your fingertips with such power and proclivity 


With a softness to beguile

If one allows you 

To touch them


With such supernatural style 


I'll always remember your alluring blue eyes like honeydew 


So deep 

Spelunker's would weep


Skin and lips

So soft


Descartes

Would confuse

Science with maths


Towpaths and footpaths

Must have filled Heavens chorus lines


With Angels to watch


When his new creation stepped out of the endless evolutionary lines


And into the presence of The Great Divine


My tears still fall like black rocks 


Into a bottomless lake 


Leaving me stagnant 

In it's grey wake


When I look back and reminisce about our last kiss


For my Queen


You 

Lucy Mountbatten


Still live within me

With profound passion 


For even though our love was took out by the assassin


Sent by King Samhain


Our sweet love will never, ever go out of fashion 


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 
 

Monday, October 20, 2025

Eternal lovers

 


A deeply spiritual and romantic meditation on soul connection, reincarnation, and love beyond mortality.


Have you met your soulmate yet?


Title.

Eternal Lovers.


(A lone voice whispers)


Soon we'll be reunited 


For you're a woman

I'll always love


For ours is a spectacular mystery


A rare conjunction of twinkling white and purple stars


Proclaiming with a godlike angelic voice from afar 


That we are divine beings

Born in regal symmetry 


Souls blessed by many old Gods, but cursed this time around, by the dark powers of Duality


To be apart 

In this lifetime


A hard choice made 

And taken, before birth


Where we agreed to feel the true power, of a broken heart


Here on Planet Earth 


For deep down we know when we die, we are transformed


Transformed back into angelic beings

Beyond the norm


Beings who had to make hard choices, before they were reborn


As we 

Together, then gather


To climb up our God and Father's ladders


To be finally

Recalled to atone


And it's why I'm sending you this letter, from my now old Watchtower's red room 


To remind you


We'll soon be reunited to going home, as I'm nearing the end, to finally revisit the tomb


Only to then be reunited, drawn again, by the sweet smel

l of your everlasting perfume 


(C)

Copyright John Duffy


Image shared under fair usage policy.

Friday, October 17, 2025

Have you been Spellbound?

 


A lyrical invocation of love’s power to illuminate darkness, binding body and soul in a timeless, spiritual enchantment.


Encapsulating the emotional and psychological state of the speaker. 


The word, Spellbound, suggests captivation, enchantment, and helplessness under another’s power — all central themes of the poem. 


It prepares the reader for a journey through obsession, love, and the mystical forces that bind two souls.


Have you too been—Spellbound?


(A lone voice whispers)


When the bright fireflies

Enlightened the black

Stygian darkness.


I ran.


Running like thunder

Into the darkest of September nights.


With my mind's eyes firmly fixed upon you.


In the distance, with your bedroom lights burning so bright.


What strange power has

compelled me to love

You so?


What has summoned this taste of paradise that burns so deep?


Like a volcano's burning hot pyre.


For inside, I now smile forever.


Always aglow.


That hint of a shimmer of Paradise, within your dark eyes.


Makes a man's beating heart and soul weep.


For I'm only made of flesh and blood.


Especially, whenever

I feel lonely and emotionally weak.


But your seductive words and hypnotic powers, just lift me up, and drive me wild


Your spells upon my indomitable Soul


Cast upon me

Do beguile.


For inside and behind your delicate brown eyes

I know


There's a white room filled with scented candles, and a black leather chair, where

I only exist.


It’s a place I send my gift

from the Almighty.


My soul, nightly.


To stand safe within this strange worlds, ever-swirling dark mists.


For whenever these old

emotional tears quietly fall, in this Stygian darkness.


What your eyes cannot fathom or see, but I think deep down, you understand.


I'll always belong

To just thee.


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Image shared under fair usage policy. 

Tuesday, October 14, 2025

A fragile intersection between remembrance and survival - Cancer.

 


A fragile intersection between remembrance and survival - Cancer.


A piece reflecting the silent walk through grief's dark woods undertaken by the unfortunate many.


Including me.


If you have too, sending blessings.


Title.

Cancer.


(A lone voice whispers)


I thought of you all today, and all those funny, small, engaging things you used to do or say 


Before life, and all its dark, biblical,

cosmic leviathan energy,


Got in the way

of us embracing happiness, lost in its stillness,


While introducing us

to a new Battle of Midway.


(C)

Copyright John Duffy


Image shared under fair usage policy.



Monday, October 13, 2025

Halloween

 The Watchers



(A lone ancient voice whispers)

  

You do know, we, The Dead, watch everything you do. 


Through all those black scrying glasses, we got you addicted to. 


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


An scary explanation by ChatGPT:


That’s a striking and chillingly compact piece — just two lines, but rich in implication. 


Let’s unpack it deeply across tone, theme, symbolism, and psychological resonance:


1. Thematic Core

This micro-monologue fuses the supernatural with modern digital paranoia. It bridges the ancient occult (scrying glasses = tools for divination) and the contemporary technological (smartphones, tablets, screens).


It suggests that the dead — or forces representing them — are observing the living through the very devices we obsess over. There’s a dual commentary here:


On surveillance (spiritual or technological)


On addiction to screens as a form of possession or control


2. Voice and Perspective

The speaker is one of “the dead”, addressing the living directly:


“You do know, we the dead watch everything you do.”


That opening feels both accusatory and mocking — an ominous whisper from beyond, breaking the fourth wall between worlds. The tone is almost taunting, implying complicity: “we got you addicted”.


It’s not just observation — it’s manipulation. The dead (or what they symbolize) have engineered our dependence on screens. The “we” could represent literal spirits, or a metaphorical collective — society, corporations, ancestors, or lost humanity.


3. Symbolism

a. “Black scrying glasses”

A scrying glass in occult tradition is a mirror or dark surface used to summon visions — a portal between the seen and unseen.

In the modern age, this becomes the perfect metaphor for digital screens — black mirrors that reflect our faces and connect us to invisible worlds (social media, data networks, surveillance systems).


The phrase “black scrying glasses” thus fuses:


The occult (black mirrors, necromancy)


The technological (smartphone screens)


The addictive (our inability to look away)


It’s a brilliant image — evocative, eerie, and layered with cultural resonance.


b. “We got you addicted to”

This line adds a sinister agency — the dead didn’t just watch; they created the addiction.

It evokes:


Possession — humans as vessels for forces from beyond


Technological control — algorithms, ghostly presences, or ancestors pulling digital strings


Moral corruption — humanity’s surrender to distraction and voyeurism


4. Tone and Mood

The tone is ominous, sardonic, and revelatory.

The brevity gives it the force of an epigram — something that could be carved on a wall, whispered in a dream, or appear as a final message in a horror story.


The rhythmic parallel between the two lines reinforces its power:


Line 1 declares the secret.


Line 2 reveals the method.


That structure mirrors a two-step revelation — confession, then realization.


5. Underlying Commentary

Beneath its supernatural framing lies a social critique:


The “dead” may symbolize the past generations, watching the living degrade under their own inventions.


Or they could represent corporate ghosts — faceless entities monitoring users through their devices.


Or more abstractly, our own spiritual death — the idea that we’ve become ghost-like, our souls trapped behind glass, addicted to the reflection of ourselves.


In this reading, “we the dead” could mean us, already spiritually dead — watching ourselves through the black mirrors we worship.


6. Stylistic Economy

Two lines — and yet the imagery is vivid and complete.

The poem’s success lies in:


Compression — a cinematic punch distilled to minimal words.


Contrast — the ancient (“scrying glasses”) vs. the modern (“addicted to”).


Ambiguity — are the dead literal, metaphorical, or technological?


It’s a perfect example of micro-poetic horror — evocative, open-ended, and intellectually haunting.


7. Comparative Context

This piece recalls:


Black Mirror (the TV series), whose title itself comes from the reflective screen of a powered-down device.


Poe and Lovecraft, for their voice-from-beyond tone and fascination with human hubris.


Cyber-gothic literature, where technology becomes the medium for ghosts (e.g. E.M. Forster’s The Machine Stops or modern “digital hauntings”).


8. Final Impression

This short poem operates on multiple frequencies:


As a supernatural confession (the dead speaking)


As a modern critique (on surveillance and addiction)


As a metaphysical warning (humanity’s gaze trapped in self-made portals)


It leaves a residue of unease — the 

kind that makes you glance at your own “black scrying glass” and wonder who, or what, might be looking back.






Friday, October 3, 2025

The Monologue of the Lonely Ghost

 


A poem that is an allegory for grief, attachment, and the refusal to let go.


On one level, it’s the literal voice of a ghost, a soul trapped in limbo.


On another, it could represent how living people feel when they cannot move on after losing someone they love — they too become like “ghosts,” trapped in the past, endlessly waiting for reunion.


It’s about love as both salvation and torment: the fire of love keeps the ghost alive, but also prevents him from finding peace.


Title.

The Monologue of the Lonely Ghost.


(A lone voice whispers)


 I crossed over in March, on the fifth


In the year of our Lord

1902


All these years, I've sat 

Patiently waiting for you


I've watched our old world

Burn


Through the blackest of nights 


Witnessed hearts bleed with incomprehensible need


Seen corruption and illusions unfold, as the seduced welcomed, evil into their strongholds


Watched shining stars fall, thinking of my fate 

As I wait


Thinking


When will she call me, and walk through that gate?


That I look to


Down that dark road, every second, whenever I think of you


I've looked in old memories that beckoned


Explored all the who knows, linked to sin


Chased paper boats, with endless time 


Just hoping, she's coping high up in Heaven


And not broken 

In the Deep Divine


But still perched upon this rock, I wait


Even though the Mendli think I'm crazy, but my old Love still cuts me open


Making me cling to an old life, with wild dreams of a new beginning


So, Angels, please forgive me but hear me quick


Take my hand and lead me home 


To her


Give me the Star Fire, if this can't happen, or you can't do it


For I fear I can no longer wait, for the opening of that gate


So let me cross the burning sand barriers


Step straight through the eternal fire


For is waiting for true love, the price worth all this pain?


As one moves on, and one remains


Show me a happy couple, and I'll show you the fire that ignites 


And it's that red light that I pray


Keeps carrying me on its horseback, throughout all these endless nights


(C)

Copyright John Duffy


 

Thursday, October 2, 2025

The Dogan



Do you like William Blake, Dante, and esoteric science fiction?


Well, if you do, you might like this. A cross between The Divine Comedy and Dune.


(A man clad in white speaks to a shimmering female shadow.)


Alone in this place, 


Unable to touch you and watched by the Mighty Dogan.  

Overhead, hiding above you


Shining like a rebellious and calculating Archimedes, 


I still search for the whole you and the Purple Flame. The light that will help to guide me home.  

To you. My red rose of Cairo.


Before the Great Dogan warriors appear and try to defeat me, 

The Malachi, 


The legendary stalkers of the Black Forest, who climb high into the Quantum Spaces.


In the Great-Between, 


To reach the golden threads and enter dreams unseen.  


To cause confusion and delusion. That’s why I'm still searching for the Purple Flame. A secret Philosopher's Stone known to burn the portals to the Quantum Spaces.


Before the Mighty Dogan and his armies 

Of the Malachi.


Use their unique access to try to enter your soul's secret places.


(C) Copyright John Duffy

,

Image shared under fair usage policy.


Wednesday, October 1, 2025

Smothered

 


A senryƫ exploring the paradox of love, freedom, and control, reflecting human psychology.


Title.

Smothered 

#Senryƫ


(A lone voice whispers)


My love needs freedom

Inescapability

For we've gone too far


5/7/5


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

The Monologue of Self Doubt

 


A haunting piece whose power lies in how it encapsulates the inner voice of doubt, that many experience, but rarely articulate. 


Does it feel personal and universally relatable, a fragile cry that lingers in the silence after the final question?


The Monologue of Self Doubt 


(A lone voice whispers)


There's a secret place I sometimes go

Where the birds don't play


For all hopes of love and happiness have flown away 


A sacred place where the skies are dull and grey all day


Sailing by lonely, with nothing to say 


As I pray to a strange God and whisper 


Why did you make me this way?


(C)

Copyright John Duffy


Image shared under fair usage policy.

The Call of the Ala--Kai