Bordello Thoughts

 

Blessed be.

Velumbound.

(A lone voice whispers)

Within these low whispers, lost in the revolving brothels of my mind 

Revolving in its deep depths

As I sit here 

Alone at my old desk

With my black Remington

I can feel the subtle arrival of you, and the vibrational presence of other viewers

Maybe on their beloved cellmate, their phone or computer 

So here's to you all

You the bohemians 

Eccentrics 

Originals and mavericks

Of mankind 

Curious enough to visit

The kingdom builders of visual new worlds that shine through 

Like Morpheus's Looking Glass

Using the power and brilliance of inspired words and fluted thoughts

I pray you continue to seek more 

Like I do

Searching for the one I still adore 

Calliope

Who walks on rivers of crimson fire and grey ash

In memory gardens to be reunited, after she stepped through another stage door 

You 

The Ones blessed with the brilliance of words and fluted thoughts 

Only you I can praise

You, the searchers and creators

Poetic

Time abusers

Just constantly try to be free and never caught

Or caught like me, by always chasing poetry's new dammed train of thought 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Do you put special cards on your tree?

 

Though it may be dark

Wherever you are

Though you may never walk again 

In our backyard

You'll always be remembered with this

Hung on our old tree

Your beautiful name 

In my yearly Christmas card

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

Have these Dark Angels visited you, too?

 

(A lone voice whispers)

We once played the greatest of games

Lit by love and its red flame

Claimed by her lawyers

Angels

Who came walking in with no shame

We framed our wedding pictures in silver frames

Smiled

Held hands

And felt no pain

But then Death came

And called your sweet name

You surrendered alive

Last November at 5.55

When your flame blew out

And now

I still play the greatest of games

Lit by love and its red flame

But now claimed by her new lawyers

Dark angels

Who came walking in 

Summoned by my pain

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

The dark art, in my opinion, captures grief's dark angels. Salute. 

Do you miss someone special?

 

I can still see you

Feel your glorious aura

As I walk through life and all its flora

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

Memories

 

Blessed be.

Velumbound.

This poignant poem captures the heavy ache of separation and nostalgia during the lonely pre-dawn hours of 4:00 AM.

 It uses a cyclical, song-like structure—framing the piece with the image of the night ruling "like an old Persian king"—to contrast past glory with the stark, broken reality of the present separation.

Shall we begin? 

It's 4 am here

The night rules the sky like an old Persian king

As I think of you and through these words sing

We once ruled the world like newly crowned kings and queens

But today 

Of all days

We lay apart

Harpooned by hidden forces riding four horses

So here I am at 4 am

As the night rules the sky like an old Persian king

Thinking of you and through these words sing

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy

Humanity

 

Are you in a hypnotic, Mephistophelian trap?

 

"For all the what-ifs and what for's" explores nostalgia, the cost of lived experience, and the haunting, seductive pull of the past. 

This speaker contrasts their new life with memories that demand emotional attention, ultimately framing lingering regrets and old patterns as a hypnotic, Mephistophelian trap.

Shall we begin? 

Velumbound. 

(A lone voice whispers)

For all the what-ifs and what for's

And all those crazy games 

We once lovingly played

Including

Those forgotten ones 

Maybe clumsily waylaid

And now carefully 

Put away

They were always worth the price 

Especially

Those now 

With bowed heads 

Standing shining 

Proudly on parade

Waiting for my attention 

To be fully vetted and paid 

As jealous slow-moving shadows 

In the background 

Of a new life

Smile 

Laugh 

And wave 

Dancing a Mephistophelian jig 

While

Listening to songs and sounds 

Sung and made 

By the Devil's 

Own seductive band 

The hypnotic 

Black Brigade 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

The Oracle of Necromanteion

 

(A lone voice whispers)

He who walks without the most holy of ways

Will never return

Until they have learned not by sin be swayed

As true as new trees are made

By lay played

In so many wet insidious ways

By those hidden in the chasms

In the faraway stars

For people like you gathered here should be careful 

For without faith

In any form 

The nearby Darkness can always open a small gateway to sin

And if that abyss is opened

Revealing 

Desolation's

Fatal sandstorms

It gets so much harder 

To let hope crawl in

So O ye

O Ye 

On the yellow beaches

Beseeching

O ye 

Gathered round me

To the worthy few

I summon by the power of the Purple Flame

Virtue 

By the Divine Will of your choice of God

To guide you

Amen

Through Acheron

To the blue Stargate 

So you can 

Once more

Run

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

The Lady of the Wild Woods

 

(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 Nebuchadnezzar 

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

Did no one tell you that true Magic exists?

 

(A lone voice whispers)

Did no one tell you that true Magic exists? 

Just hidden somewhere deep 

In most societies

Sought after by convicts of the mundane

Profane addicts, who cry out in the mists

Whenever they're asleep 

In pain

Some crying out for redemption or anything linked to temptation 

But still, it subsists 

In so many obscure places

And upon so many new or old altars, does it reside

For when it comes out to tempt the eyes of the juggernaut 

Known as The Great Metatron 

To look

One of the most powerful archangels and interdimensional scribes

To the Book of Life

It causes so many other emotions, to like atoms collide

In the deep minds behind inquisitive eyes and faces

From all genders and races

As imagery

Emotions and engagement run wide

For the Philosopher's Stone

The Great Secret

Is simply this

There's an old piece of magic in us 

All 

But sometimes, it only chooses to come out in those it made to speak

After a mighty fall

Maybe like you

Too

A new follower who once heard the nightly call

And now speaks a sacred hidden language that summons the craft of 

Reconceptualising the enchantment of the human experience

Through an incredible naming magical act

Breathing 

Moulding and weaving 

Words into life

Like a pagan mage giving shape to energy 

A molten flux to entertain the curious ones 

Of any age

That needs something magical written in verse

As they turn one of your spiritual pages

To help save them from their own form of self-destruction 

And maybe anything that still hurts

Before their last ride home

In Old Nick's black hearse

As you serve your new masters and mistresses 

Of the magical vibrations known as Poetry

By sharing your magic as it pleads to be dispersed

(C) Copyright John Duffy