A Christmas Poem

In the silence of staring

At a beautiful red luxurious Christmas card 

Laying on their once well-loved king-size bed 

Then looking coldly ahead 
As she paused and slowly remembered

A true love
Who was once so caring 

But is now hidden amongst the many sleeping dead 

With inscribed headboards made out of marble and stone 

In the cemetery 
Downtown

Laying forever with a bouquet of white Lillies 

For company 

On his own 
All alone

And as she stared longingly out of that open window 

Thinking 

Where do the dead possibly go

And to what Kingdom

A sudden gust of wind from her backyard
Blew a white feather 

Onto that card 

Catching her off guard
And reminding her 

The world and all its joys which were once theirs 

Which now feels so bitterly hard and unfair

Those incredible smiling ones
Tied together with a golden bow of fun 

Before came that card on their bed

All the way from Barcelona in Spain 

The one sent 
With the rising of the sun

But now filled with pain 
Before he flew 

In it said 
Written in gold and blue 

Happy Christmas
To you

My beautiful boo
And see you soon

Get that tree up so snow and happiness can reign
Xxx

But he never arrived 
He never came 

Instead
He died in a car crash at sunrise 

But worry not 
This is just a piece of fiction 

Just a poetic reminder 
That you never know your earthly time 

So take this as an open invitation 

Filled with a supernatural conviction 

Try to be happy before fatality breaks you up 

For the world’s not as pretty as it seems 

This Christmas

Celebrate it 
As if it's your last 

If you can

Try not to be like one of the lonely people

Baptized forever to sit staring 

By the cruel Gods of the Despairing

No more caring 
But bearing a heavy load

Perhaps like Scrooge 

Painfully pondering 
And always wondering 

How long
Will the pain they feel 

Linger and last 
As they live 

Cold

Like one of lifes
Lonely outcasts

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

Image courtesy of Pinterest.

If Life was a Senryū

I give you freely 

Relationships love and pain 

In any order 

(5,7,5)

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Senryū is a Japanese form of short poetry similar to haiku in construction: 

three lines with 17 syllables. 

Line 1 has 5.

Line 2 has 7.

Line 3 has 5

Senryū tends to be about human emotions while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious.

Image courtesy of Pinterest.

Questions for an inquisitive mind

 

Lost like Captain Briggs 

On the Mary Celeste

In the graveyard shift 

And 

Sailing into wild seas 

of crashing fast words 

With metaphors following our ship 

like relentless Seagulls 

or other scavengerous birds

Do we as poets or writers 

Seek out and use profound words

To help the sometimes lonely souls 

Reading even this

To find a plateau to distract themselves 

from the ever-ravenous world 

With our divine gift 

As they temporarily anchor 

their ships

Maybe a world filled with heartache 

Abuse 

Grief 

Depression 

Anxiety 

Or even sudden death

While the rising Wolf Moon smiles 

and watches 

As their time and spiritual essences 

are endlessly consumed

Are poets and writers 

like me or even you 

Just the true kings and queens 

of the art of 

Creatio Ex Nihilo

Because we're so skilled 

at making things up 

without little fuss 

To say hello 

So the readers know 

That they are not alone

With stories 

that can sometimes save 

and comfort those 

Who needs something emotional 

to help carry them 

through the low hours

And change their mood

Especially 

in the middle of the dawn 

or dusk 

When old emotions or pain 

Can suddenly bloom 

like an irremovable wound

Without a sound 

By all the Gods

Known to man

Praise be to the Universe 

For the answers to all 

Those monumental 

Questions 

Has always been 

Yes 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image courtesy of Pinterest.

The love song of Shirley O'May

 Press play before reading.

Salute 

Oh my  

Shirley O'May  

My Shirley O'May  

I still miss your sweet smile  

Today  

Today

  

Caught no more  

Than a ray

Than a ray

Standing  

By your grave  

Is that why  

My sky's always grey  

Always grey  

Oh my  

Oh my  

Shirley O'May  

Shirley O'May  

For my soul felt real pain  

Today  

Real pain today  

When it remembered  

The sacred vow  

We once made  

Once made  

Under the cherry tree  

You and me  

You and me  

With Father Mckay  

Father Mckay  

On Valentine's Day  

Your birthday  

Your birthday  

But I guess  

If God could confess  

Confess  

He would say  

It's why he made  

Memories  

Memories

So those you love  

Like you and me  

Once wed under  

The Cherry Tree  

The Cherry Tree  

So those you love  

Stay  

And never truly fade  

Away

Stay  

But never truly fade  

Away

Oh my  

My beloved  

Shirley O'May  

I still miss your sweet smile  

Even though  

It was taken from me  

On the 5th of May  

On the 5th of May  

Everyday  

Everyday  

For even though  

We have memories  

Memories  

My heart  

Will always feel grey  

Feel grey  

For it will forever miss  

The things it loves  

When they go away

Away  

Like you  

Like You  

My life's first kiss  

My one and only 

Beloved  

Beloved  

Shirley O'May  

Shirley O'May  

  

  

(C)  

Copyright John Duffy

Image courtesy of Pinterest.

Argento Dreams

 (A lone voice whispers)

Press play before reading.

Salute.

I've got a deep well 

Covered in strange green and golden ivy

Built under a golden glimmering bell

In my garden of deep lucid dreams 

Lost somewhere in Morpheus Wonder Grounds

It's a quiet beautiful place 

Of total surrender 

I sometimes remember 

As I lay tenderly in my chamber

A place where my profound Guardian Angel 

My eternal 

Muse waits 

My spiritual queen who brings me 

Divine gifts linked to soul-lifting poetry 

Always whispering 

In my subconscious

Dépêche-toi 

Dépêche-toi 

Dépêche-toi 

(Hurry up.)

(Hurry up.)

(Hurry up.)

Dépêche-toi

As she watches from The Great In-Between 

While I play in the real worlds 

Many fast-moving streams

Whilst I'm awake and moving around

But when my tired eyes start to 

Flicker and quiver 

And start to look across at Slumber Down's slow-moving river

She rings that golden magical bell 

To summon me to the Talking Bench 

So my soul 

She may converse with in supernatural 

Visions 

and multiple forms 

And her hungry thirst for company 

Quench 

Dépêche-toi 

Dépêche-toi 

Dépêche-toi 

Is all I hear 

When my tired eyes 

Search for Slumber Downs River 

Along with

Viens à moi mon amour.

Et laissez-moi vous baptiser avec des visions incroyables, d'en haut.

Car nous possédons la nuit, comme nous nous possédons.

Come to me, my love.

And let me baptize you with incredible visions, from so High Above.

For we own the night like we own each other.

Dépêche-toi 

Dépêche-toi 

N'ose jamais m'oublier 

(Don't you ever dare to  forget me )

So who am I 

To let angels weep 

For can just faintly hear that golden bell ring 

Summoning me to The Talking Bench 

As she sings 

Dépêche-toi 

Dépêche-toi 

(Hurry up)

(Hurry up)

Et laisse-moi être ton Hélène de Troie 

(And let me be your Helen of Troy )

Maintenant, endormez-vous 

(Now fall to sleep)

Mon âme sœur et viens dans mon donjon.

(My soul mate and come to my keep)

(C}

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared via Pinterest.

Do politicians wear a mask? Some quietly ask.

(A lone voice whispers)

Do politicians wear a mask
Some quietly ask 

One that smiles so sweetly
While it hides their lies 

Linked to promises
Made throughout the weeks 

To desperate eager hungry eyes 

With hearts beating
Powered by odious guile 

And narcissism 

Unable to really answer
Any forms of criticism 

While living in a secret world of elitism 

Which rewards new concepts and policies 

Linked to creating division
While toasting capitalism 

Can we the paying public 

Ever trust all their costly decisions 

Presented with a soft voice of kindness 

Deals and contracts 

Signed and sealed with secret handshakes 

In champagne-filled backrooms 

That will lead so many chanting in glee 

Unable to see 

It will lead them dancing to the cemetery 

So here's today's task 

Can you ever trust a smiling politician 

With bright sharp caring eyes

And a smile as wide as a country mile 

Who obviously
Wears 

A devious mask 

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

Images courtesy of Pinterest. 

The Repentant Soul Speaks

 The Repentant Soul Speaks

(A lone voice whispers)

I still miss your sweet voice.

(For deep down.
Past all my innermost self-doubts.
I just miss it so much.)

I can still remember the last time I heard it.

It was June, the thirty-first.
(When we were in touch.)

Its dulcet tones spoke of such delicious, luscious things to be explored in the dark. At night.

To be brave enough to expose and tear one's soul apart.

A once much-held-up secret theory by Descartes.

(For such was its seductive power, like Francisco de Goya's, "The Nude Maja.
A true work of art.)

Is that why life is sometimes so painful.
(As I sit lonely. Thinking of you at my table.)

Thinking constantly of my one and only angel.

I guess I should be grateful.

That I feel remorseful.

For I once heard a strange story about Micheal the Archangel.

Stating quite eloquently.

To have once lived.
Loved and lost.

Is never shameful.

But to have never known love

Now that could be fatal.

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

Image courtesy of Pinterest.

Is this where humanity is heading?

 

In these dark times, you need your faith even more. 

An interesting read I recently came across. 

Obviously written tongue in cheek but seems so relevant. 

Salute. 

′One young devil asked the old man:

"How did you manage to bring so many souls to hell?" 

The old devil answered:

 "I instilled fear in them!"

 Answers the youngster: 

"Great job!

And what were they afraid of? 

Wars? Hunger?" 

Answers the man:

 "No, they were afraid of the disease!" 

For this youngster:

 "Does this mean they didn't get sick? 

Are they not dead? 

There was no rescue for them?"

The old man answered:

 "but no . . . they got sick, died, and the rescue was there." 

The young devil, surprised, answered: 

"Then I don't understand???" 

The old man answered:

 "You know they believed the only thing they have to keep at any cost is their lives.

They stopped hugging, greeting each other.

 They've moved away from each other. 

They gave up all social contacts and everything that was human!

 Later they ran out of money, lost their jobs, but that was their choice because they were afraid for their lives, that's why they quit their jobs

 without even having bread.

They believed blindly everything they heard and read in the papers.  

 

They gave up their freedoms, they didn't leave their own homes literally anywhere. 

They stopped visiting family and friends. 

The world turned into such a concentration camp, without forcing them into captivity.  

They accepted everything!!! 

Just to live at least one more miserable day . . .

 And so living, they died every day!!! 

And that's how it was very easy for me to take their miserable souls to hell..... ′′

Don't let the darkness in.

It comes calling in many forms you know!

Hate, fear, jealousy, envy, sloth, politics and so many more. 

Sending best wishes and blessings. 

Be safe in spirit as well as life. Salute.

. 

The Words of The Pagan Priest of λογοτεχνία

Press play before reading.

Salute.

 

(A lone voice whispers)

You 

The true rebels of this new technological generation 

Who have dwelled in grateful gratitude 

In these now rare 

Lands of Phantasia 

And smiled into the face of impending Death 

Daily

With never-ending elation 

You

The midnight or daylight writers or readers 

Scattered like bird seeds

Throughout every known nation 

Glistening stars of such literal inspiration 

Worthy of inaugurating into the Fraternity of Holy

Communication 

Let the Love of Words 

Fly like quivers from Eros's crimson and leather bow 

To strike the sacred golden inscribed bell 

Upon high 

From where all inspiration flows 

And let all demons be 

exsolved  

Separated and purged with quiet exhalation 

On a deeper level

For as long as your life still glows 

Like a Christmas Red Rose

And your heart still beats 

Like one of John Bonham 

Beats

Your soul will forever rise 

For such as you 

Were born 

To never know 

Defeat 

So mote it be 

For

Like the old gods 

Sleeping under the sea's

We pray to the skies 

For you 

So it will be

To spirits of our family and friends 

All around us

As we wander unseen

Circling free

We look to the skies

So it will be

To shadows

Hiding your dreams

We beseech the night

To reveal them 

So it will be

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

λογοτεχνία:

Greek for literature.

Phantasia:

A genre of fiction or other artistic work - characterized by fanciful or supernatural elements.

Imagine shared from Pinterest.

 Under fair usage policy.

The Seer Speaks in December, 2022.

    

Press play before you read.

Salute.

(A lone voice whispers)

Did you once blindly in the old silence of the mind

Exist within its thoughts of self-doubts 

Filled with anxieties violence

Like a once playful spirit 

Who had been shattered

Into a million tiny pieces 

And left wandering lost 

But just always looking for guidance 

Until you first met poetry 

In books

Or its soul-lifting lyrics 

In music 

In the throes of new beginning 

Did they encourage you to strive 

To come alive and bloom 

To truly resist 

Within each sentence

And try to start winning 

After breathing in

Its hypnotic perfume 

For did someone or something happen so cruel 

That made you suddenly say goodbye 

To all those once-holy days 

When you were possibly in love 

Or untainted by all those sad portraits 

Society 

Loves to see painted 

In so many 

Devious ways

By their Ideals 

Principles and or by people 

you once deliciously 

Cherished or worshipped  

As you wandered 

Throughout that old life 

Sheltered in

Unconditional bliss

But when those spectacular times 

came to an abrupt end 

Within an intense kiss

Did poetry help you eventually 

Find the courage 

To depression 

Resist

When you looked for something 

Truly meaningful 

To infuse your heart 

And soul with 

Like

Saint John the Baptist 

Did you find a serene taste 

Of tranquillity 

In the written 

Spoken or sung word 

That demanded to be heard

To help heal and give back 

Your soul

A sense of being in control 

Did the years of being a disciple 

Help you find the freedom 

that continuously encouraged you 

To read listen or practice 

With a new flow

To discover a deeper understanding 

Of self prosperity 

That for you was invariably 

your implicit goal 

And a means to pay 

Some of your soul's taxes

Or do you now live on a knife-edge 

With the Sword of Damocles 

hanging over you 

Praying it never falls 

As your world 

Collapses

As you relate to new and old tales 

overflowing with happiness

Or pronunciations

Centered and surrounding 

like an invading army 

A lonely word called Sadness

Don't be afraid 

All that madness will soon pass 

And when you look back 

With that crazy gift of hindsight 

One night 

In the near future 

You will see 

And laugh 

In such playful delight 

For such is life 

For we all live under 

Damocles sharp knife 

So mote it be

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy via Pinterest