Inspiration:
Inspired by the “Footprints in the Sand” tradition—the enduring idea that when only one set of footprints remains, it is because the Divine is carrying us through our darkest hour.
—The Weight of Mercy—
I turned my years back down the seaward strand,
where joy had once impressed its double trace;
But when the dark unloosed me from its hand,
one print alone lay solemn in its place.
I deemed that single furrow spoke of doom,
and read Heaven’s silence as a sealed decree;
Yet grief, self-crowned, within my inward gloom,
arraigned the unseen for what mine eyes could see.
Then came one night when one brief sentence fell
through all the citadels I built so strong,
and where my failing breath could scarcely dwell,
I felt a strength that bore my soul along;
till, looking back, the furrows seemed to shine:
My feet were mine—the strength that bore me, Thine.
Shadows, how they fall
In distances, from the walls
And the citadels, that they had built for all of us.
And from our ancestors to our ash
None of this will to will, will last
As we again do cast, shadows to the north of I, and shadows to the south, of some lost and lonely self,
Lost in straw; and imagining,
At what made shadows and what will Gods, and what the demons that will wait to pounce upon the fools, at the gate.
And loss to lost, and the record of our loss will fall to shadows
Distant and receding
To shores undreamt and conceding
To the dreamers of the dream, (in) dreaming.
And now by the light of some other dawn, come the shadows standing tall,
Like watcher's watching all of us,
From some n'other wall that towers over and above some other huddled, muddled mass
All lost in straw, with fevered dreams and muttered prayers;
Lost to time and lost to cares
Then forgot, and gotten caught in shadows grasp.
And shadow grasps at straw;
And shadow grasps,
Without no bones to gnaw upon
No bones to pray what for
Nor make much more
Than what it was we had to made before, remembering
The divide in us.
Lady in repose
drifting to horizons
pink and psychedelic
where dream dimensions
uncoil like ribbons
vibrant rainbow iridescence
circling moon spotlight
hidden fairy places
angel spun filigree
festooning domed citadels
of fantasy tales.
poetic spirits
descend, integration high ~
words brew balance heal
***
more than desires
souls using love alchemy ~
vulnerable yet safe
***
bridging opposites
mind with intuition blend ~
light stirs shadows mend
***
powerful heart art
aids ascension it strengthens ~
dissolve fickle fears
***
stanzas musical
awake dormant memory ~
ether hugs matter
***
sacred offerings
ripple slowly silently ~
seek no shame fame games
***
crystalline sonnets
develops confidence sought ~
nought is its asking
***
unfolds clarity
wisdom wafts widening fun ~
dance new beginnings
***
blue sky verses rain
land on fertile soil sprouting ~
lyrical embrace
***
dismantle defences
releasing traces of snare ~
change control to care
***
truth unwavering
building new citadels high ~
outrun dark lurkings
***
birthing phoenixes
vibrant vibrations present ~
discernment opals
***
sweep obsolete ash
poets process with progress ~
heaven on earth sure
(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
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.
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 “–
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
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, 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!
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.
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
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.
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
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.
Sub Categories
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