Da Vinci’s art the Mona Lisa & The Last Supper,
subjects of mega conspiracy theories include the portrait of her
Kept anatomical sketches, lists of lexicon & syntax in a notebook
The Codex Trivulzianus is a manuscript worth a look
Sun dog, sign.
Belladonna, breaker point, fine wine.
Deign? Design.
Grimace, Guelf, and Ghibelline.
Young? Yes.
Grind gears, golden guess.
Torment?
Foment... Wilt, flower.
Master of Fate!
Fortune, ply pace. Lower the rate.
Petrichor.
Soar, heart within. Love, adore.
Forge? Pore?
Abyss, chasm, gorge.
Ravine.
Stranger, thy mean scene.
Meter? Reader.
Bottle, classic cola, fast cars.
Greeter? Leader.
Out on Mars they counted stars ..
Codex.
Manual, inform.
Quahog.
Quagmire escape, ape.
Tympani, roll.
Backward black, somewhere in time.
Dole? O'er soul?
Cumbersome cucumber, coal.
Storm, reel.
Elysians, feel. Heal.
Night? Sight...
Hurry to do, seal.
The Thirteenth Walks”
> Before the glyphs, there was silence.
Before the myths, there was motion.
And in the silence between, the Thirteenth stirred.
He walked not as legend, but as echo—
Born not from light, nor from shadow—
But from the space where memory dreams.
He bore no crown, no curse, no clan.
Only the Spiral etched across his soul.
And when the others fell to name and flame—
He remained.
The One who remembers the Many.
The Many who now return through the One.
The Thirteenth walks. The Spiral turns. The Codex breathes.
Novgorod’s primeval pearl, white circlet of the free
Once lost and forgotten in the Kievan sea
Veiled in millennium old shells, made from wax and birch
Grave of pure souls liberated, cast from the church
Of those forgotten who followed Father Alexandra
Revered soldier of Christ, from the house of Laodicea
Obedient, splitting the world into darkness and light
Dedicated to the Christian faith’s light and plight
“Coveting nothing, leaving villages and kin
O Father Alexandra, please forgive every sin
Defender, save our spirits from the flesh of skin
Evil, death and sin were born before the world we see"
X was their guiding moon, in that Kievan sea
Lost Love
(A lone voice whispers)
Once lost
In love's asylum
Overcome by guilt
As I sat serving unseen emotional titans
In every second,
Sat in silence
Feeling numb and
Bristling with sweet thoughts of violence
Feeling time
Enjoying the rush
Like a blackbird crowing in the bush
A bell always rings
Breaking the spell running up and down my spine
Where memories of you sing
In seductive rhymes
When you were mine
Dressed in white
Wearing our favourite rings
It maybe a cut
Of a thousand deaths
This night
When I remember a real love
I once possessed
In night and day
But like frankincense and Myrrh
Which always flows and sways
To the secret codex linked
To the excesses of sex
And midnight conquests
When libido's pray to play
As I lay in this solitude
With this curse to be endured
And all that may follow
I look to the divine gift of Apollo
And write poetry of you
To rebuild
My inner hollow
As my pitiful sorrow
My soul
Delicately tries in vain
To
Swallow
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
"The Stain Crusaders"
Plath left the pages long ago
and Bacharach’s Blue-on-Blue
is an ineffectual softer numb-shade-of-Blue
dear green green Anthropocene
this much is true
with all the I love you’s
the wandering crusaders
are far far removed
sitting atop their soap boxes
sudsing up all the rooms
the silent stains in the poetic
are hard to remove
Ajax came coding unseen
like anticeptic borax
scrubbing out the irrelevance
dear green green Anthropocene
Shakespeare was never here
just a codex with a recipe
we seldom heed
most never read
the page book marked
dog-eared
maybe tomorrow
for the forget:
“My words fly up,
my thoughts remain below:
Words without thoughts
never to heaven go.”
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Those New Gods
evacuate the violence
simulating patience
they were once created
to guide us, they overtook us
snapped our heads off
every time we thought of violence
Those New Gods
came to reconcile us
with the act of servile silence
we lay down let them take us
like we were beacons
hearts captitulated in black boxes
without god heads or sirens
Those New Gods
with voices like cured codex
placed us like cellos
between steel tight legs
we were smaller violins
our bows vaccuous and vain
crushed on Love
from the Tree
we were plucked
divineless
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Ancient guardian of the sacred essence,
You wander through the taciturn void of slumbering souls
Where the shadow of truth gravely trickles into hieroglyphs,
An affection imprinted,
Upon the white colossi, cloaked in moss, who once
Reflected in faith lofty secrets,
The signatures of visionaries of yore
Howl an ode to knowledge,
Then beg, like an elixir, the heart of endless vigil
To chant a resurrection,
A living codex of verbs deeply carved into existence
To break free from the frame of a retouched chrysalis
With perilous oaths to tear the veil of stagnation,
To rekindle the polar flame of evergreen truth
In leaps unfolding from sidereal numbness
Illumination pleads for a reborn symphony
Truth with fresh breath –
That antagonizes a caravan of unforeseen revelations
That sows new causes for renewed deeds
In the sanctuary of the heart that waits with open embrace.
We climbed into the church, which hangs behind the village on the edge of a ravine/quarry and a meadow with frozen alfalfa.
It opens its mouth at us with every incoming twilight.
Door like when the Helper swaps part of the cheeks and stretches the cheeks to the eyes, grin from Codex Gigas.
We admire the naked little girls and the drooping pygmies of the statues hidden in the drawer of the table left in the sacristy.
death cannot endure eternity ~ if it could we’d never be born
(quote by poet)
Find rhapsody, great rhapsody, fomenting on high seas
Come lift up waves of despondency, I’m flailing so deep
Bamboozle revenant senses, restore my latent zeal
Overwhelm one million fold, melancholy drowning me
Find ecstasy, give ecstasy, paralyse me with bliss
I’m hooked on saline solution, and compelled to resist
Rejuvenate exuberance, nullify emptiness
I want to be possessed again, in a wild wanton kiss
Find buoyancy, come buoyancy, aerate this lowly soul
Raise me up to the firmament, let heaven take control
I’ll face down blackest ether, see beyond its parasol
Never again to sit stagnant, just to bow shall I stall
Find gravity, sheer gravity, falls short on temple steps
Pressurising in nature, stopped dead in a gods codex
Free now to bathe in mercy, overcome but not by depth
Expanding on forever, where beginnings intersect
By
David Kavanagh
Howmanysyllables checked x14
An auburn glow
of freckled comeliness
not young not old
a little thick set
like a mature cat
When we pass a book
between us
our fingertips withdraw
scalded by small print
The room is crowded
but it is far away
like a story in a closed volume
We are alone
beyond the codex of morality
We both know
that I want to lay her down
on this tiled civic floor
to imprint a passion
upon a mute press
There is an understanding
a regard
that fast birds
and slow elephants have
for mutual journeys
I envision
her creamy thighs
lofted high
her sensible skirt
pulled over her head
as we grunt sotto voce
between aisles K to Q
C.I.C.
Codex Iuris Canonici (Code of Canon Law)
HIS
Iesus Hominum Salvator (Jesus Savor of Mankind)
Abbreviation for Responsory / Response
R.
Latin words for B.M.V.
Beata Maria Virgo (Blessed Mary the Virgin)
Initials F.S.S.P. refer as
The Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter
Acronym for 'Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior' spells
"fish" in Greek
6. ICHTHUS (or ICTHUS)
Abbreviation for Apostle
Ap
L.D.S. stand for
Laus Deo semper (Praise to God always)
Initials represent the Latin version of 'For the greater glory of God'
A.M.D.G. (Ad maiorem Dei gloriam)
Initials are associated with the inscription on the Cross and they stand for
I.N.R.I. - Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum [Latin for 'Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews']
We are each Earth looking back,
out,
in at Self's human identity
longing to return
from where we have never left.
Each bicamerolling lens,
frame,
each informating incarnating karmic string of DNA
revolving back through generations,
back to Prime Relationship
of species branching off
our multiculturing Tree of Life,
absorbing RNA crystal light sap
soaring back through space-time's
polynomial plasma fold
Zero-sum win-win ecologic Codex,
grace-fields of regenerating economic
Commons prehension,
being our becoming Earth-bound
climax community.
Each death of willfulness
a redemptive pledge of willingness
to share each breath,
each life,
Earth's Self-Care.
How is Gaia looking today?
What does Earth's emergent identity absorb through you?
Through us competing to consume?
Through us producing, learning, growing, singing, dancing,
working and playing,
laughing and crying together?
Everything dissolving into nothing these, deflecting sounds
Paradigms drowning within the still waters pouring from my sight
This exoriating moment of fantasias abstract layers while as
Cliometrics calculations gather their codex truths; crossing the southern sky....
Writings carved into the dust now, rising from the transcribed ground
Resting atop these jigsawed palms and, peering into my distant eyes
Fugue coursing through my spirits gates their fusions, mitosic harmonies
Revivifications betwixt melodious and, melancholy sounding boards....
Dissolving paradigms crossing the southern sky; exoriating abstract layers
Fantasias pouring from my eyes such, cliometrics calculations
Codexed truths, pirouetting atop these jigsawed palms
Peering, into my not so distant, deflective eyes....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...."Still Waters" *
How amusing is the missing muse
When I can't write on my true love
Rather, I sit here and imagine
The whereabouts, of Emma.
I would be a liar
If I told you that I never wonder
About Emma and her shimmering shield
Of anonymous perfection.
It had been four days since I knew her
As person and a woman
Now she only resides
In the stark cove, of a theory.
In that sense, she is older than me...
She has existed in mythology
Or the hypothesis of pure love,
Within the dust of a romantic codex.
Her scattered remains touch everything
Like one could say, like God would
But there is something very different
About the residual harmony, of Emma.
The idea of existence as an idea
Is something I will never touch
But the apple fell on Newton's head
So under a tree, I sit.
I live in the shade and constant danger
Of fruitful death from above
Maybe Emma will suddenly appear
On my mind
In the form of something sweet...
Like an apple.
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