the wild wind whispers
autumn secrets in the air ~
beckoning of fall
That folded barrio flour,
Candor candied blemish
Was found
Beside my times
Nestled curtsey
Pliant blush
Confi, confetti
Tower piza tall
Ballerina repose throw rugs
Of roja fiends
The upright ends alone
You know you got
Just what it takes
The stairway from I do
Baby you lost
What I take
There in wait
I am planned forwards
Rest of mind, escapes in days
Mare on jaunt
Fred nostaire?
Parent hatred and fair
Whims and spotlighting darkness
A posting flyer of despair beautifully written
Collide in hides
Invites and excentric
Repulsive conversion of meeting place
School ties and community bland
Meet me I'll be waiting
Rendezvous at Black Cat Cafe in Paris
~ I'll wear my red beret
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I’d invite you and your wife to dinner
but my wife’s cooking is, well, no winner.
I guarantee that after the first bite
my prediction will kill your appetite
and in short time you’ll be speeding
from your chair to the bathroom heaving.
But if like me you had to sit and eat until
your plate was clean of every morsel
piled on it no matter how distasteful
it appeared or how indigestible,
my advice you’ll find most practical:
wear your running shoes, spare the table.
"The Invitation"
I saw you —
like lightning notices the earth
before it strikes.
My breath forgot its rhythm,
my eyes rehearsed
what touch might feel like
if permission ever passed between us.
I want you —
not just the body
wrapped in moonlight,
but the pulse beneath it,
the places you’ve never let language reach.
The ache you hide
in your slowest smile.
Can I take you
to my love nest—
not a place,
but a promise?
Where the sheets know silence,
but the walls remember
every gasp of discovery.
Let me peel back time
with my fingertips,
teach your name to my mouth
one syllable at a time,
until want becomes worship
and the hush between heartbeats
says more than lips ever could.
Make you mine?
No—
only if you ask me
to be yours too.
Imagine this
An empty chair
And opposite
Another there
You choose to sit
You have a choice
No movement. No whisper.
Just silent voice
You wait a while
You close your eyes
To calm the spinning..
Break bonds. Break ties
Pretty soon
You're feeling seen
Such clarity
Not like a dream
Sat in the dark
Creative light
Invades your soul
Joyful and bright
The shadows
Are no longer there
No doubt or shame
Just love and care
Everything
You've tried to own
Is taken back
To find it's home
Just you
And love
A peace personified
Like a dove
Pure and white
Creative thoughts
Spread wings..
Take flight
You're seen
And there will ever be
A harbour in
The stormy sea
A friend, so keen
An advocate
A place to rest
Through garden gate
Where peace resides
And love, of course
To meet you in
This still discourse
A chair. A bench..
It matters not
Just find that space and
Book your slot
Bring all you have
Your gifts and more
The broken things
Love can restore
Just come
No need for preparation
That empty chair
The invitation
I will be at the cafe
across from the pier
with a coffee
and a buttery croissant.
I have kept a place
for you, a sunlit table
and prepared a view
with small boats moored
in a mirrored calm, birds
wading the shallows
and clouds drifting across
a tinted morning sky.
Too deep in your silence,
I know you will not come
but I shall wait here
on the other side of the page,
words away, yet near
heart
unhindered
open
doors
subtle
invitation
We’re in the Souk in somewhere like Baghdad,
but not so land-locked. Tripoli, more like.
“He stole an apple – catch the little tyke!”
The hue and cry goes up. They chase the lad,
whose crime is hunger: look at how he’s clad!
Pursuers, armed with blunderbuss and spike,
are gaining. As they’re just about to strike,
they get the sharpest shock they ever had.
America. A sailor, all in white.
His face asks, “What’s the cause of this furore?”
The child is safe now. Fairness, tied to might,
has stunned the mob. Those instincts we adore
don’t need articulation. Right is right.
How sad we’ll never see this any more.
(A seductive voice whispers as incense fills the air)
Sat within here
A discarded loop in time and space
Within this room
I see you all in the distance
Shimmering through
Like bright pink desert mirages
In your living tombs
Stood alone
In my magical circle of no rehearsals
Chanting Yaruba tribes
Ancient magical rites
Summoning up the populous of Godhead
So I the shaman can call to you
“When the living ground eats the breathing Sun, I will open the secret doors to take you home.
For eating and tasting words like a new, Grace Dent, at Lent, isn't for you.
Just write this down and burn it in the back garden on a piece of paper.
I'm ready,
Come and take me to the secret amphitheatre
Where the voices of the Serpent
The Beast
And God take to its stage
To showcase who they've taken home and played.”
To then write out your own name in the ruined temples books
Before you line up to watch
Before they return
And choose
Before you are took
And I'll call within a heartbeat
To take you East
To meet
Either God or the Beast
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
INVITATION
Come with me
You will soon see
Be prepared for it all
Do not ever be afraid
It will be displayed
Come with me
Join with us
No fear and no fuss
You will be welcomed
I would say
By night or day
Be prepared for it all
"Red Invitation"
Crocheted a whole story
in golden twine of soft angora
She said no purple
I don’t want purple Agapanthas
the whole barbecue thing
is a party thing
unattended.
This was the most recent
conversation.
Lavender Street, She said,
the Church sits in, how apt.
Lavender.
Well oiled. Calmly receptive.
Ashes to ashes.
Crocheted a whole story
in golden twine of soft angora.
Cocooned
safely tied, catscradled in lace.
The invitation red -
So not vanilla.
Lavender Street
the Church sits in, how apt.
The invitation red.
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“You know what they always say:
you can’t spell ‘funeral’ without ‘fun’ ..."
I was with you, in the beginning
Being present for delivery of WORD
Your growth was astounding
And commitment unto death, pure
But then, government entered the gate
And offered concessions for compliance
I watched your back bend
I entered in, you slithered, away
I surrounded you, as Deception grew
A dragon, drenched in sacrificial blood
Destructive fire rolled out of your mouth
Consuming innocence with zeal
Authenticity gone, devoted to kill
Compassion at every gathering
Conform or be deformed by the battering ram
Your war cry...and a blasting horn
Of pie in the sky
May you be held accountable for claiming WORD
While disdaining TRUTH
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-22-2024
I do it often,
drag a perfect morning
in through the front door of myself
and make it a reluctant guest,
replace its colors with my own
dour palette, drown out
its soft voice with noise.
It has become a habit, trying
to confine the morning's
width within my space,
hold its edges so it doesn't stretch
beyond my reach. Its freedom
is almost an anathema to me
for it exceeds my own.
How small my world has become.
The distance from one side
of myself to the other is getting
narrower, the little room left
is depleting breath by breath.
The light squeezes through
ever smaller windows.
And yet, as it came upon me
this morning, I was met
with a bright abundance
that had gathered at my door,
carrying forgiveness
for my habitual ignorance
and an invitation to step
outside myself, once more.
Shade of time has prompt
Two by two led to the ark
For the end has come.
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