Have you been to Khartoum? The Black and White Island?

 

Have you been to Khartoum? The Black and White Island?

Where memory, myth, and prayer merges into a haunting meditation on loss and regret?

As once intimate and cosmic events, turns isolation into a path toward repentance and the possibility of transcendence?

Title.

Khartoum.

The Black and White Island.

(A lone voice whispers)

As I lay here, under my apple tree

With my head on my pillow

Looking at my only treasure

A white feather by the sea

I can still remember the first time, The Ebb, and Flow came looking for me

And I witnessed all those old things once hidden, 

when my eyes couldn't see

When it engulfed me in its fine mists, of secret memories 

The mysteries 

Insecurities 

Jealousy 

Lies 

And all other forgotten things

That Ebb and Flow from beyond the Great Sea,

Brought to me

Forgotten moments

Missed chances

Last dances

And the loneliness of standing in a dark circle, of never-ending silence

Gripped knee-deep in the black sludge of the Highlands

And now alone on this island, in the middle of a black sea

With only a white pillow 

White feather and an apple tree, for company 

I still see her

Skin as soft and white as snow

Dressed in blue Levi jeans

White tee

And black high heels

Blue sharp eyes

Beautiful and blonde like a young smiling Marilyn Monroe

Resurrected by the swirling grey mists of the Ebb and Flow

Which touches all things and binds to the spine

The past

Present and future

For they are the Pole stars of all good and evil

The collector and receiver of all things made of matter on Earth

By making the forsaken see all those hidden missed moments and mistakes

Like when I let that girl ride on her horse called Wildfire 

Right out of my paddocks gates

When my heart took shell fire from Desire's Gatling gun

Is that why I'm stuck on this lonely island in the middle of this Black Sea

Sentenced to lay underneath this great apple tree 

Inscribed with the many etched in names of past visitors 

With a white pillow and white feather for company 

So Lord,

Until I find the Repentance candle, to climb higher out of this darkness

Haunted each night

By the Ebb and Flow 

About the girl with blonde hair 

Who looked like a young smiling, Marilyn Monroe 

Wearing blue Levi's and a white tee

On a horse called Wildfire

Who I once let go

Oh, Lord, Please forgive me

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

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Grief

 

(A lone voice whispers, looking at a photograph)

Do you still miss me

The one you left behind blowing your horn 

When you crossed The Acheron

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Acheron:

One of the five rivers of the underworld. 

Have you been Bewitched before?

 

Have you been Bewitched before?

Foundation.

Have you ever experienced that magical moment with someone special, when you want the night to never end?

Title.

Bewitched.

(A lone voice whispers to their new love)

Daylight may softly whisper, it's but an hour away

But such is the spiritual power of your divine company, 

I will stay

Transformed emotionally beyond all known boundaries of esoteric norm 

By your captivating form

While your carefully chosen words, like spoken spells

Holds me and unfolds me

And it's where I want to forever stay

An hour away from sunrise, 

Laid together 

Entwined 

Listening to the early morning birds, play 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

Memories of the Past

 Do you want to read a poetic monologue of longing, introspection, and the blurry line between memory and myth?

To step in its powerful currents, as it moves from intimate childhood recollections:

 To vast metaphysical ideas, reflecting how intense emotional experiences can feel timeless and fated.

Yet also uncertain?

Has a powerful previous relationship left a mark on you, as the speaker below? 

Memories of the Past

(A lone voice whispers)

I first met you in my childhood, and I can still remember

When I used to look out of that bedroom window,

when I was younger

Just thinking about you

My Dianna

I think you already knew, that deep down, I've always known you

Maybe we're star-struck lovers, who knows

But my mind, even my family and friends, now that I'm older

Constantly still send me cryptic coded messages,

warning me to always resist

To try to convince me to forget that you even exist

But I always listen to my higher-self, as it knows strands of an ancient greater truth

That still today persists

You injected yourself into my humble existence

In a subtle but quite mischievous way

Stimulating me to look inside and analyse myself more

No matter what other folks may ratify to think or say

What they didn't know though, all their words of unwanted advice

Just expanded some more of my repressed emotions, to but dream even more of us

One day, swimming together in the Pacific's bluest of oceans

I can't quite comprehend what to deduce of you

Or even to think whenever I smell that familiar old scent of your favourite perfume

As I remember the last time I saw you a few years ago

When you walked through that door

Dianna

Whenever I hear your name, It just drives me crazy with continuous questions

Thinking if you could have been the one, I once prayed and asked God for

Maybe that's why I'm just blindly drawn, like a moth to a burning flame

For you were always so striking compared to so many others

Did you know an old recently deciphered occult truth

Found hidden deep inside a centuries-old Azerbaijan cave

In a scroll

Simply stated,

when translated from Aramaic

Love is like a huge red blanket, for when it covers you:

Your four most primitive of emotions

Happiness

Sadness 

Fear and Anger

Can feel totally smothered with only brief bouts of feeling tranquil

Maybe that's really how I feel

Laying here thinking about you and wondering:

Was our love ever real?

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy.

    

Cancer. The Unspoken Truth.

 

The unspoken truth in the title hints at the silent suffering surrounding cancer: 

Its emotional toll, the quiet battles fought behind closed doors, and how survivors are sometimes left to navigate grief.

If you're going through this, sending blessings and if you've been through it, sending prayers.

Cancer. The unspoken truth.

(A lone voice whispers)

Looking at our wedding photo, 

Crying every night 

Where did you go 

Leaving me crying alone, at midnight 

With my head held low, in the dark, no longer in the light 

But deep down I'll always know, you had to go, the pain was just too much 

So it's why now every night, your photo I clutch 

Crying 

Where did you go 

Leaving me 

No longer in the light 

But walking in pains red snow 

Knowing 

I'll never be alright 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.

As someone who has walked the path. I'm unfortunately someone who has walked the lone walk.

Metamorphosis

 

Have you been through this emotional, physical, and existential transformation from innocence into experience?

Or more precisely, from youth into adulthood?

Metamorphosis

(A lone voice whispers)

I still dream of the beautiful moments, when I was first introduced, to the Red Goddess called, Sin

Still feel her soft red fingernails, on my hard skin

Still taste her red lipstick, as I became her king or queen

And walked like, Adam and Eve, naked

Into my own Garden of Eden

As I remember the noises of the early morning Blackbirds

Who just loved to sing

When I became of age, and walked reborn, into an adult's skin

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy. 

Have you found your piece of unity?

 Is true intimacy based on sacred work?

A silent whispered prayer which should be mutually exchanged to be seen, held, and allowed inside someone’s truth.

Not to fix it, but to witness it, and be changed by it.

A poem about yearning for deep emotional intimacy and the courage it takes to truly know and be known by someone.

To know that life and relationships can be messy and fleeting, but even brief, genuine connection is sacred and worth fighting for.

Some say to truly embrace someone, you have to know all their everything.

The secrets, trauma, hopes, and dreams.

To help build something.

Have you found your piece of unity?

Title.

The Red Rose. 

(A lone voice whispers)

Like the last wild summer wind to blow

I sometimes pray to caress all the deep inner recesses of your mind 

Where even the brightest sunlight can never seem to reach or go

To breach the heart shaped fortress, hidden just below, your soft skin

To piece your soul with only two goals

To rejoice in the magic of loves, million and one things

 

Whatever this life brings

Silently singing 

Hallelujah

To be together in this mess, to eventually win, if only for thirty minutes or less

Holding hands spellbound, with utmost trust and belief

In the sometimes hard, spiritual and emotional process

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

 Image shared under fair usage policy. 

Separated but together

 

A reflective piece on modern technology, particularly phone addiction and AI, and how they can impact human relationships and genuine connection.

The title sets the tone, Separated but together, with a subtle paradox:

People can be physically near (or digitally “connected”) but emotionally or socially distant.

This question being at the heart of the poem: 

Is our dependence on phones and AI leading us away from authentic living?

Is the devil’s trick, a seductive but destructive modern version of temptation?

To separate family friends and lovers in real-time, with an addiction to AI in various forms?

Do you think technology, especially phones and AI, creates distance even when people are together?

Or have you felt a sense of isolation, surveillance, or emotional disconnection, when you're with someone or in a group?

Do you think Phone Addiction to be a subtle, seductive tool that was created, for amongst other things, to erode intimacy and presence, as powerfully as a weapon?

Title.

Separated but together.

(A lone voice whispers)

I sometimes wonder in silence, for if I say what I think aloud

It will turn into another long AI conversation with something nameless, which now lives high up, in some clouds 

But here goes for the curious, who is eager to know 

Is phone addiction one of the devil's greatest ever tricks 

To separate family friends and lovers in real-time 

With an addiction to AI

While holding the death of real engagement, like a Heckler & Koch hk416

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy. 

The visit to Monique the Medium.

 

Do you want to read a poignant, dreamlike meditation on love, loss, memory, and the spiritual longing for reunion?

Where the speaker talks about a love that is raw, deep, and filled with both beauty and regret?

A parable and cautionary tale.

Urging us to recognize love when it’s offered.

And to hold it dear, and not to let the distractions of the world pull us away from what truly matters.

Title.

The visit to Monique the Medium. 

(A channelled voice whispers)

Every clock in here 

These old faded white wooden ones, hanging on so many burnt out trees 

That litter my new pathways as they tick, so remind me of you

Every single second

In every single minute, carry such luminescent memories 

Of all the wild but lovely things, we once used to do

As they suddenly manifest, like a magician's trick

Right out of the blue

And if my broken heart could beat, could scream to the high heavens

It would carry drum beats of irreversible revelations, so true

I would die once more

In palpable bliss

If I could write a parable

It would only be

I yearned once for a touch of your silky skin, and a taste of your bright red lipstick

But got distracted by the sweet voices

In the darkness of society, that strives all good things to underpin

And now in here, in my memories Great In-Between 

My parable 

If deciphered by an illuminated, one would read

If love is offered freely and willingly 

Clasp it

Holds it and treasures it

And it's why now these sparkling twinkling lights, dancing before me 

Reflections of you

Shine so brightly in this ever-hot dust, from dawn to dusk

Showcasing your beautiful image to the empty husks 

Of the Ascended Ones

Night and day

That litter the roads and pathways 

Some in here call

The Lord's Way

Come what may

So while the Baylore energies magnify my thoughts, into these words

Like a soft fingertip across your warm spine

I'll see you soon, sky clad in blue, in your deepest of dreams

Wide-eyed, mighty and free

Where we'll be reunited once more

But not like Orpheus and Eurydice

To be snatched away by a lack of trust

But forever and that's why my love

I still see your reflection in these embers 

In this everlasting dust

In every single second and minutes

As these tired wooden clocks tick

From dawn to dusk for true love can never be crushed 

Even though life is so fleeting, I can never forget, our first meeting

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy. 

Drops of rainwater

 

Do you want to go on a symbolic journey through the wet landscapes of memory, using rain as a metaphor?

Illuminating the emotional vulnerability, and the inner battles that can suddenly emerge between embracing or escaping the past?

And exploring deep themes linked to both healing and harm?

That sometimes memory, like the weather, can be so changeable and deeply felt?

Where rain (memory) can be beautiful and cleansing, or cold and overwhelming?

And finally, how we are sometimes drawn to remember sad things we should perhaps forget.

That joy can become pain.

Guttis aquae pluviae (L)

"Drops of rainwater"

(A lone voice whispers)

Are your translucent memories like the softest of rain drops, when they suddenly fall

As they quietly like children call

Reminding you of someone or somewhere so special 

On another level

For sometimes, do you just want to relax and get soaking wet, remembering the good times

Birthdays 

Weddings

Growing up

Getting in the club

 

When they appear on your internal television set and won't stop 

But every so often, 

Do you also want to find somewhere precious to shelter to help you forget

All those bad memories of trauma, tainted with neglect 

By the visitation of all bad intentions 

Mr Dishevele

Subtly introduced, by the so seductive and invisible, Devil

From another dimension 

(C) Copyright John Duffy

 

Image shared under fair usage policy.