Citadels Poems | Examples

Librorum Amans

(An inquisitive voice whispers)

Do you too like reading to escape for a few hours
Through poetry's heavily laden chest

Containing shiny jewels of such priceless wonders and visual experiences

Waiting for eager minds to run through like the Greek goddess of running

 Atalanta

Tempting inquisitive eyes to wait in line 

To be hypnotised forever 
by enchanted words

Cast within imaginations thunder

To then hold minds
In primordial bondage 

Caught and captured in gilded written cages 
In lucid imagery flowing through the pages

To then be captivated for a few hours by written spells to beguile 

Through ethereal carefully crafted citadels 

Surrounded with such hypnotic wonders
Could that be why you love poetry

And books like a heavily laden chest

Filled with mesmerising dreamscapes 
To always fill you with joy and wonder 

So my question for you
Readers of old and readers of new

Who’s your favourite author or poet
Who always takes you under

(C)
Copyright John Duffy 

Librorum Amans:
Book lover

The beacons of light

As darkness wriggled into every place,

The land was governed by a veil of silence.

The previous vivid life had left no trace,

All but some crickets singing in defiance.



The mortal realm stood petrified as though

Succumbing to the conquest of the night.

However, in the sky, a tiny glow

Was rather willing to put up a fight.



What a one-sided clash of force

Conducted by the rebel and the tyrant,

And yet a brutal one without remorse

Between the little David and the giant.



Oh, how alike we were, the lonely star

That dwelled in an unfathomed galaxy!

Though separated by a space too far,

We both possessed a common destiny.



We were the beacons of sagacity,

The last remaining citadels of light

Amidst the ocean of opacity

That wrapped the whole world in the depths of night.

Testament of Sand

Beige-white heat blisters his brow
until sweat pours masking his face
protecting his vision – cooling without a breeze.

His calloused feet burn with resistance to
indiscriminate grains of settling sand
filling his footprint from his labored stride.

White and green linen draped casually
around his heated torso
tugs and shifts from his movement.

Blurred by the endless desert dunes
warped in mirage, he searches
this place with little room for the living.

Following a dead man’s journey to cast hope
amidst an apocalypse in time and space
he clamors with all that is within his will
straining to find the direction
that provides life.

It is a detour taken by youth.
The inertia of the age-old quest
to boldly find the efficacy of one’s soul
while fearlessly striking the citadels
of this desert dominion to declare

“I am the seed of my own existence “–

Kundalini Rising

 The Kundalini Is Rising, now I'm Flying High on Wings Of Wisdom
 Full Power Up On The Chrism,
 Ever-Upward in Fully Blazoned Life
 Fear No Evil, Fear The Regal Like....
 I AM Spirit, I AM Alive
 I AM Soul Divinus, One with the Sacred Fire
 Deathless by the Knowledge, Breathless by the Flight
 Wielding Staffs and Grails of Light,
 One and Beyond I AM Eternal
 Boundless by The Force, Boundless, Supernal
 Slinging Mights Of Courage, Stone Bold like David
 Never Jaded, Wielding Long Bows like Hayk Nahapet
 Solar Gleamin like a Scion of the Great Spirit
 The Vibes Jive On Exquisite,
 Legend Born by the Alchemy
 Chasing Diadems for the Masterpiece,
 Full Ascent Into the Heart Of Israel
 The Land Of Milk and Honey and Citadels,
 Ever-Luminous, The Sacred is Rising
 Ever-Thriving,
 Abode the Heavens, The Stars Align
 Seven Doors To Paradise

Hail Ukraine

In the name of keeping peace
Russia raked up war at ease
Mounting conflicts and crises
Unleashing on Ukraine all vices...

When love and trust they needed
Bombs and shells strength wielded
Razing homes; raising death-toll
Morons made merry at Ukraine's fall...

Though broken into pieces
Ukraine's worth never ceases
It has held its head so high
Shaking citadels of pride to sigh...


05 March 2022

Arise, Oh Heart

Arise! Oh Heart, from the catacombs of the dead
Shake off the dust, for Life beckons you like a buddy
Peel off the weariness that wraps you like a shroud
And walk to the open to perceive the light.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the dungeons of gloom
The dawn is at your door step, waiting to break
Sing with the lark, merrily warbling in the woods
Dance with the billows, wildly prancing on the deep.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the ghettos of bondage
Break loose the ropes that moor you to the past
Dart through the panorama of the cerulean blue
And fly high into regions, uncharted and new.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the citadels of hate
Listen not to the shrieking and howling behind
Drink from the goblet of conciliating love
And rejoice at the birth of a dawn with promises galore!

Bone Meals

Bones remain, retain, and nourish
the under-croft, the terrain,
the meadow green.
Bones replant. They are meals for
the mouths of ghosts.

The dead feed the living,
and the living cut down the alive
to feed themselves.
The world must eat itself.
This is called husbandry and farming.
It is also called shopping and carrying,
killing, and butchery.
Those that eat only vegetables
also partake;
for the leaf and stalk
are seeded in the mellowing marrow
of a long planted bone-sown mire.
Often bones are dropped into the soil
as if the dirt were an ocean
and the land all that is or was left-over.
This is known as litter.

A grave is a half-way house,
Urns are waiting rooms.
Worms wheel the bon-rich earth
towards the sky for its blessing.
Osseous is the ancestry that seeds nations.

What follows bone and bone ash
becomes the crop, the tomorrow-cart
laden with its bone harvest.
Bone-flowers scent the air
from the empty canals of nowhere.

Bones scaffold wingspans,
they riddle citadels of stone.
Bones in tombs and catacombs
are pabulum for the larder.
A storage for generations.

The Poor

With toasts of sincere, solo styles,
When the poor folk flock before me;
Sad sunken strife-stricken soul-smiles,
Bodies, broken; hearts free and glee!

Solid, sappy, strong stems, sojourned,
Skin shrunk now; back-bone giving way;
Will, that has their death-date adjourned,
Though live like reeds in breath to sway...!

They have built your mansion and mine,
Carried boulders; constructed our walls;
Cities, citadels, shrines so fine,
Built all; risking tumbles and falls...!

They produce food and sleep hungry, 
Give shelters living shelter-less;
Clothes they weave pervade the country, 
They're nude; not for trend; they’re cloth-less...!

With teeth of white pomegranate seeds,
They smile as though never conquered;
Their spirits are high midst tear beads, 
As their optimism undaunted...!!!


26 October 2021

Chaos

The children cry for the lack
Of food, shelter, and medicine,
And the sky weeps great tears,
And the ground splits open.
The oceans foam and roar,
And the trees splinter and crack
While lawmakers slash funding
For the least of these, the poor.
Jesus said, “Suffer the little
Children to come unto me”,
But the powerful avert their eyes.
We storm the citadels of the 
Mighty, and they hear us not.
Their hearts are as stone.
They stop up their ears.
They use false logic and lies
To excuse their selfish actions
While the earth shudders and breaks,
While families go hungry
Or have no heat, or suffer
From ills that could be cured.
Health care for all is anathema.
“Food stamps make people lazy,”
They say, ignoring the reality,
Economics,  and the truth.
The whole universe cries out,
Where is the caring, the kindness,
The love for fellow humans?
Christians? I think not.
Religious in any way? I think not.
Selfish? Biased? Closed minded? 
Certainly all of the above.
They sit on their mountaintops
And watch the chaos below
While God’s children weep.

Religion Or Spirituality

The Master taught the ancients,
the brilliant art of making fire;
Losing the art in imprudence,
they also forgot the Master.

Beliefs, doctrines, rites, rituals,
Have, no doubt, elements holy;
Deeper than these peripherals,
- Is true Spirituality…

Signs, symbols, worships, and scriptures,
Have been indicators of - Truth;
Indicators are path-pavers,
Can path-pavers be: 'The Path?'

Lotus, swan, Vedas, garlands, and
Holy beads are simple symbols;
'Brahma' dwells in the farthest of far land,
Within inmost heart's citadels.

Every flower, every plant, tree,
Each bird, any animal be;
Every insect, every fly, bee,
Are all spirituality.

Spirit has no forms, shapes, structures,
And tangible anatomy;
It's in and around all creatures,
In symphony-like harmony.

It's that lets me alter, detach,
That tells me respect, tolerate;
Tells always blessings to dispatch,
And with God to cooperate...

It prompts me to face and accept,
To truly my duties perform;
To love, let go, wholly respect,
To always discern and transform...



May 18, 2021
Religion or Spirituality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker

Bone-Meals

Bones and their ash remain,
retain and nourish
the under-croft, the terrain.
The meadow green.
Bones replant.

The dead feed the living,
and the living cut down the living
to feed themselves.
The world must eat itself.
This is called husbandry and farming.
It is also called shopping and carrying,
killing, and butchery.
Those that eat only vegetables
also partake.

A grave is a half-way house,
Urns are waiting rooms.
The soil nurses bones,
worms wheel the earth towards the sky
for its blessing.
Osseous clouds seed nations.

What follows bone and bone ash
becomes the crop,
the tomorrow-cart laden
with its bone harvest.
Bone-flowers scent the air.

Bones underpin bridges and wingspans,
citadels of stone.
Bone dust scaffolds every stem and branch.

Bones in tombs and catacombs
are food for the larder.
A storage for generations.

Stars shed their elemental dust,
becoming bone fodder.
Bone ash is the genesis
of all unknown beginnings.

In My Gladness

Where are all the thousand cuts?
who do they speak for now
what do they whisper
in the wind?

Where are all the haunting notes
which echoed endless so
as hot tears stained
the aging floor?

Where are all the lonely thoughts
which sat so long weeping
in furthest reaches
of my mind?

Where are all the piercing words
from stoic citadels of rage
upon whose ears
do they land?

Mine is not to wander aimless
reaching in fading mists
yet rather stay long
in my gladness.


(click on the pic to preview my poetry book!)

Slings and Arrows

I foolishly fell from a mountainous high only to land on a desert dry
Images of liquid lust within my emotive eye calcified to a crusted cry
Warning winds in delusory distance holding hurricanes of resistance
Conjuring catacombs of assistance within isolation of nonexistence	

The pensive pain penetrates as the perfidious palette perpetrates
Limbic resonance that hibernates awaking the storm that obliterates
Manipulation of the mangled mind Benedictine battery of the blind
Twisted temperance that is twined the cervical citadels are confined

Dormant delusions that may weep defiant deluge of twilight sleep
Restless roars that reap screaming shadows of the saporous sheep
Bactericidal beacons that bloom wandering the wounded womb
The slings and arrows of doom ebulliently entrapping to entomb.






March.24.2019
Pick A Title, Vol.3 Alliteration 
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh 


Placed 1'st...Thank You

What About the Children

Downward marriage falls seeking some relief
Children follow awkwardly, senses moan
Husband and wife acting out of belief
Three children entering chambers unknown

Locked in battle, the wife reaches for sword
Under advice, she unleashes all hells
Falsely accusing the husband deplored
Of abuse, harm, and hate to citadels

With one stroke of the pen, I was condemned
Guilty 'til proven otherwise I was
Cast out, no home, no gold, no kids, clemmed.
Without, alone, despaired, scorned, for no cause

Time to think, time to ponder, time to pray
My children became my crusade, that day

09/21/17
'Taking a disappointment in your life turning it into something positive' 
Form: Sonnet 
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri

Freedom of Restriction

Deflected, crushed by the social retardation, 
Not loved, ‘cos he’s altogether unaccepting, 
Active learning the robot’s mouth action, 
So he can't contextualise, there’s no blessing.

Neither me nor him meet and we sweep by, 
There’s no connection from his ANDs and ORs,  
Only citadels to weather the reactive cry, 
When my nouns are pocketed by many cursors. 

Where’s the memory bank and why the chat? 
The bus is long gone and I'm open, vulnerable, 
There’s no room for social construction’s mat,  
To yield identity’s dynamic, recursive turntable. 

Yes, microchips and logic gates shouldn't enable, 
Machine learning at the cost of root foundations; 
Your group, community, your niche and fable, 
Ignite the necessary conversation of care situations. 

Ok, so can we build a robot? A care robot? 
Indeed care assistance is definitely reducible, 
To only a small number of abstractions, clot, 
‘Cos love does not evade the comprehensible. 

Doors class as access, also pavements, steps, 
Only three types of garments, two of people, 
Friend or foe, but a cloud for certain parapets, 
And who’s boss is said before, it's programmable.

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