. Poetry from The Great In-Between

Sunday, June 30, 2024

Have you ever or even now, had a pen pal?



Have you ever or even now, had a pen pal?


Before you answer read the definition of pen pals.


If you regularly exchange letters or read some, (my opinion) 

Aren't you exchanging a form of a spiritual letter?

With a stranger like me whose relationship is based primarily, or even solely, on their exchange?

Salute.


Pen pals (or penpals, pen-pals, penfriends or pen friends) are people who regularly write to each other, particularly via postal mail. 


Pen pals are usually strangers whose relationship is based primarily, or even solely, on their exchange of letters. 

Source: Google


The Pen Pal Letter to Elizabeth Charlemagne 


Some whisper and will

In secret occult circles 


About these last days of 2024

That

Humanity will fall in unruly petulant desire


Consumed and devoured by a blazing infectious fire 


But what happens to you and I

Your mind and mine 


Do you still shiver inwardly at the vibrational thoughts 


Of my words

Do they bind you

Submissively 

To always return 


Like Anne Cécile Desclos 


Doomed forever 

To hovering above my prose 

That screams to be heard


With wide eager eyes

Like a love-struck 

Hummingbird 


Do you still tremble like when we first met 


Wanting the warm caress of loquacious re-introductions

Of new verbs 


Opening mystical 

Golden gates to new 

Poetic realms


And their irreplaceable guile to bind us together 


Like love-struck Siamese twins

Creating welcomed sins 


Of dried sweat and sweet tributaries


Of deep-seated spiritual yearnings 


That makes your mind 

so damn wet 


Tales of the supernatural 


Light and darkness 

Filled with movement or stillness

Sovereignty or loneliness 


New flames of innermost desires

Contained in unspeakable 

words or unfamiliar names 


As our Zisurru


Poetic stories to be kset asunder 


In the footfalls 

of Zeus's approaching 

apocalyptic thunder 


To burn new Hurricane lanterns 


in Imaginations darkened 

Halls of Fame 


To live in the hope 

Of a new life


An everlasting dance

With a drop of a wild transmigration 


As our new Nexus 


To savor in your mouth

Like an intense-tasting holy communion wine


A strong touch of such wantonness  


Your 

Voracious soul needs 

To carry to all empires 


You may visit 

In the North 

East

West or South 


As it swallows new 

Stories with ravenous greed


Will we survive 

Still together in 2025


With such

Intellectual thoughts


You might still whisper 

and silently ask 


You and me 


Does 

Will it last


Echo in 

Dreams whilst waiting


For the midnight call on 

New Year's Eve 


When we gather to

Sing pagan songs of 

King Solomon 


As we fight back 

the encroaching darkness 


With shining 

drunk Astral eyes 

as our Athame


Our sacrificial knife 


Inwardly praying 

to always believe 


Under the sharp eyes 

of the Winters Midnight Sun 


Which for so many lost souls 

We know 

She will still shine


Ever brighter 


As she quietly watches 

and grieves 


As they collect 

their angel wings as they leave


Who knows my child 

Everlasting hope and

Peace could arrive as one


So we could conquer this new normal and continue to rise


Or it could all go wild


And turn into a new dark nuclear history 


Where dreams and people 

Are consumed and defiled 


As good and evil 

Battle for victory


And apart 

we may have to survive 


On mean streets 

As quantum tattooed vaccinated slaves 


Or unvaccinated exiles 


In a New World Order

Called a Fool's Paradise 


Without

Any known borders 


But either way 

know this


May your spirit guides 

Lead you to continued health and safety 


Across all fast-flowing political wars 


Waters

Famine or disorders


So in 2025 


We can share our much loved algorithms 


In all our holy quarters 


So mote be it 

What will be 


Will be


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Thursday, June 27, 2024

The Warrior Queen



(A lone voice whispers)



There once was someone so special


A warrior queen 


Who held my heart in her hands


My own goddess and red devil


The most beautiful woman I've ever seen 


Oh, we loved slow dancing through words and intimate prose 


Like it was the last song of the night


Played by the Duke Ellington big band


In our favourite bar

Where everybody goes


Oh how nostalgia haunts you 


Stalks you

And tears you apart 

When their gone


And all you're left with

Are those sweet beloved memories 


Of big bands

And soft hands 


Goddesses and red devils


Of someone 

So special 


Who no longer holds your heart 


In their hands


For they've been called home

By the Great Primaeval


To listen to new sounds 

Played by Heavens big bands


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Monday, June 24, 2024

Hakim. The Gatekeeper from Esagila.



(A lone voice whispers)


In ancient Babylon 


I once stood alone and mixed fire 

Iron and clay 


All day 


Creating a spell

To entice 

My only light 


To come my way 


Sent merchandise of gold and silver 


To her

The Pythoness of Endor 


Hidden in dark woods 

Over the deepest of rivers 


Bundles of finest fresh linens and purple silk 


To satisfy her and her ilk


Citron wood and every kind of object 

I could ever find 


Made of white ivory and black marble 


Whenever I could 

No matter the expense 


Incense sticks

And scented Egyptian Candlesticks


Made of expensive Frankincense 


Delicious crates of red wine


Bamboo baskets filled with white flour and yellow wheat 


Fields of fat cattle and herds of baying sheep 


Priceless trained horses and golden inlaid chariots 


New slaves of broken souls


Lascivious ladies and ravenous men 

To do her bidding 


Even acts of depravity

Linked to the forbidden 


For the fruit of my soul

And to be joined to her again 


A bright light I once saw 

On a seemingly endless night 


But in the year 323


When my leader

Alexander the Great 


At only 32

Died and was eternally set free 


In the opulent palace of Nebuchadrezzar 


She


The lady of the wild woods 

The Pythoness of Endor 


Cursed me to chase her

Forever 


The Queen

I once conjured by fire Iron and clay 


So today In the 21st century 


Her I still chase 

Since eternal life


Is now my only penitentiary 


My only great living version 

Of Babylon of old 


When I desired to sire  

A queen I once met 


Dancing 

The Raqs Sharqi 


So fiercely 

That her raw beauty 

I can never forget 


Adorned in soft crimson and glittering purple linen 


Clad in silver


Wearing gold and shining diamond stone earrings 


Reborn into the likes of Badiaa Masabni 


It's why I still chase her 

If I could confess 


For underneath 


Beneath all things linked

to trying to achieve immortal strength 


It's why now 

To seek her out

Once more 


I always choose to break free  

From the external grip


Of The Valley of Death 


(C)Copyright John Duffy 


Image shared under fair usage policy.


Sunday, June 23, 2024

Political Obsession

Throughout history, those obsessed with gaining power litter history books.


Blinded by ambition, they usually sacrifice, lie and gaslight their way to the top.


Looking at politics today, do a good few still drink or seek a sip


Of its all consuming wine?


Who do you think is the next dictator, who will go down in history?


Title:


Political Obsession 


Like a sad scene from Macbeth

By William Shakespeare in 1606


Do those seeking control

Suffer cognitive decline 


As they drink or seek a sip

Of Dictatorship Wine

To get drunk 


Totally obsessed with political ambitious tricks


While seeking powers 

Absolute taste


As the world around them 


Where innocent people die in huge numbers and social economic structures 

Collapses


Quickly going to waste 


(C)

Copyright John Duffy 


Images shared under fair usage policy. 


The reason for the first two images:


USA holds so much power in the world and influence.


There is no reflection on the two personalities in the images.


Just a reflection of the many society posts on social media.


X (Twitter), YouTube and other prominent channels.


Moral of the piece.


Let’s find a way to stop bad actors taking office and learn from the past.


And if we do have someone bad in office, find a better way than war and aggressive confrontations, to remove them.


Or the past could repeat itself.


Salute.


 

Tuesday, June 18, 2024

The Apostle of Sin. Seeking freedom.


 


The Apostle of Sin. Seeking freedom.


(A lone voice whispers)



Watching that old world burn

I once knew


Through my rust 

Encrusted  blue

Scrying 

Mirror 


My blood 

If I had any 


Would be green with potent Invidia's envy 


For when I see couples happy 


Strolling

Hand in hand


A baptism of souls meeting


The lividity in me burns 

So slow 


Like an inquisitor's cruel act of Abacination 


Surrounding me within a lone cloud of Darkness and Desolation itself


From the 9 Circles of Hell 


And with a long night of

Squeals of demonic delights 


Ahead


A legion of guttural voices singing out and yelling 


Like a young Beniamino Gigli


Under meager skies 

Chanting dark spells 


I now know this place 

I'm in 


Resembles Hell 


A heavy breathing jealous consciousness 


Where the heartbroken live within 


Especially us 

The Canti


Baptized to grieve 

In The Golden Church of Flagellation


Through acts of Self-immolation 


Caused by the dark temptations of sin


A slow evisceration

A destruction in which there is no love 

Left 


But only green envy


This is the heavy price I now pay 


In Purgatory 

Now I've gained entry


With my eyes remaining forever open 

For I no longer sleep


With my soul praying to break free 


Now just cursed 

To just pray and weep

With frenzy


She doesn't forget me 


But remembers

No one alive is pure 


For we are all born 

To be slowly corrupted by love 


In any form


For no one is one hundred percent 

An Innocenti 


For even you 

Beyond the sacred shores 


Of The Ferryman of Hades 

River


You'll sin too

Seeking a place 

To be moored


It's not an accusation but a confession 


And it's why I speak 


Hoping to gain resurrection


For I still

Miss her


My first immature love from school 


When I lived in

Lumpur


(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy.

 

The Philosopher