Long Dutifully Poems
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Do you believe in angels?
And do they patiently wait for prayers to be called to help?
Title:
The Eternal Water Oaks
A lone voice whispers
The invisible Angel smiled at the rows of sorrowful patients
Which lay before it on ward twenty-one of Saint Peter's Hospital
In New Brunswick
New Jersey
As it then looked at just one particular sorry soul, whose body was now broken and bent
For it was why it was summoned by heartfelt prayers
Whispered by his family and wife to be heard
For it to be dutifully sent
The smile it carried wasn't a smile of ill judgement
Or dismay, but of immense hope
To change the sad vibrations at play
For it knew the recently diagnosed patient would find the tenacity and strength to eventually cope
Whether they recover or leave others to grieve
For they all do
It's a silent degree
A line spoken by the Almighty
What all things follow if they truly believe whatever it says
All they or others have to do is call for them and pray
To summon angels from The Great In-Between
The bringers of such priceless white crisp envelopes to soothe the soul
The invisible folk
Who'll follow like betrothed guardian philanthropists
Just huddled together
Sleeping
In the half-shade of the Great In-Between trees
The Eternal Water Oaks
Waiting for psychic calls to spring into action
To fly to those caused by an exothermic reaction
A chemical interaction followed by the evolution of heat
With incredible satisfaction
To find those whom they are called to greet
Into the lonely, caressing arms of the swirling grey mists
Which moved and flowed all around
Like it had a phenomenal supernatural intelligence
Hiding those sleeping
By The Great Grey Oaks
Angels
Hidden
By its holy smoke, which it uses to dutifully cloak
Eternal friends
Who know
Living or dying isn't the end
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
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She’s a cure…
Faithfulness not blurred; not meant to injure, she matters
I honor
Her and her son
Sure –
She had an adventure
Endured
Through hardships with a heart of hope, pretty and pure
Bore Christ
And that's real amazing!
Always prized
Her blessed miracle
She's strong, a vital virgin unconditionally unmeasured
I believe she lived life selflessly, honor rewards for her deserved
She didn’t go by pleasure alone – it strikes me absurd
That she's underrated and the mother who gave birth to a mirth-righteous savior, safely and dutifully delivered
She lives long in my heart and I am extremely grateful
God, from the start, chose her to bore someone peaceable
She played a marvelous role
I really like her as a whole
Beautiful blessings
Forgiveness so sweetly sings
For all to hear in joy if we forgive ourselves first and repent in heartfelt hopefulness that doesn't mark us blind...there are plenty of peace to find
See what benevolence brings
There are beginnings
To our ends - Mary's son, who grew into a man, died for our sins, a perfect plan planned up before he was a boy...a future to unravel for all mankind
Alone at last in the dead of night,
he reaches for her under their threadbare existence
with one clammy hand.
She dutifully obliges.
Alone at last in the dead of night,
the girl is sound asleep;
the tiara is still askew on her head
after the day’s rabid celebration.
Alone at the last at the dead of night,
the boy takes the unrelenting road
out of the town.
And towards new adventures.
Alone at last at the dead of night,
the dog sheds its skin
and howls at the moon.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 09/10/2017
Pleasantly radiant, tranquil weather
blue skies & gently benevolent wind
a shimmering gift from Mother Nature
(a smoldering summer lurking in the distance)
Compulsively tracking an unquantifiable self:
steps, exercise minutes, calories, symptoms, etc.
stoical statistics dutifully logged into tired devices
(a futile endeavor to control life)
Cacophonous news oozing from the Malverse
menacing memes ricochet around the planet
updates of a horrid war threatening to devour the world
(a looming nuclear apocalypse)
Occupying space in old unedifying edifices gathering dark energy
running out the accelerating clock as civilization nears its breaking point
desperately seeking diversion while doling out doggerel
(a quest to imbue a desolate existence with meaning)
How long before it all falls apart?
You stole a piece of my heart
and I can't get it back
Now worry seems to cover me
with mind unrest attachs
You took away the peace I had
with me, myself and I
The love I had within myself
has found itself denied
My soul is constantly reaching
and grasping only air
My eyes are constantly seeking
the you that is'nt there
My being has lost its reason
and my sanity lost its way
I can't help but think about it
a few times everyday
The sway it has is sickening
and refuses to go away
The rose that I had that was you
has born to me its thorns
The space I held in my heart
barren and forlorn
My presence to your needs
forever scorned
My pain, the worst part of love
dutifully endured as it should be
without death
My dreams desolved in memory
becoming harder to remember
But i still doubt your emptiness
for we had so much
But it's a sin to love that way
and somehow never touch.
Form:
Arrogance, a sad word holding no purpose in this meaningless world, since we
Revolve upon the commands of some power against which we cannot dare
Rebel, for so subtle and impalpable it is, so divinely mighty, readily
Outpassing our will, denying us of our right to choose for ourselves,
Gorging us with torments, to have us submit to it while we become tragic
Actors and actresses, all dutifully playing out roles in our own
Nether, blindly believing ourselves to be the center of everything that exists, but, if we
Cared to adorn ourselves, with the spiritual commands of this same power, those which
Enunciate of how fickle and short life is, why, our passage on this Earth would be blissful!
31st July 2021
Friend,
Silence listens,—every thought we think,
each new feeling which soundless trickles by,
the twinge of untold pain, the snuck-in sigh,
are registered within the margin’s ink
Friend,
Silence listens (better than your shrink),—
in worries sunken deep below the “I”,
the subterranean soul, the scrying spy,
dutifully encodes each missing link.—
Observe the many mangled manners your mood
wrings its revenge out from your wet-cloth mind.—
To wrest the terror from your burning breast,
it twists your vision—perception, once skewed
unkowingly invites the shades inclined
to test your tensed chest’s breath of stressed rest.
They approached me in an inconspicuous way
as quaint & confusing disillusionments do,
saying, " Hello, you're the best - "
I replied reluctantly,
" Thats why I weep every night - " ,
crying like a captured secret,
sorrowful like a caged cure for cruelty,
they became silent as photographs missing sentiments,
our dialogue was at an end,
was my statement a joke, modesty, a travesty,
nobody wins something of value by themselves,
One cannot taste the terror of triumph individually,
and risk is instinct to a Victor's jubilee,
I mention these maxims as testaments,
validations for the tears of all winners
who have lost tremendously along the avenue named " Greatest " ,
there exist three inevitable enemies that attempt to impede
the achievements of all great people, ironically,
these serve as motivations not to rest,
first, the lazy luxuries of life that stymie the strength
of ambition and when absent,
induce abject illusions of incredible iniquities
which stifle Will,
secondly, undisguised, unabashed competitors
whom combat without care or compassion for others,
devoid of devotions to fairness or decorum,
thirdly, and sadly, loss of loyal friends,
they once greeted you respectfully, then eventually
cheerfully, dutifully deride you for exposing mediocrity,
please don't dismiss this lesson of lonesome liberation via success
as a proud 'pity parade', masquerading megalomania,
or as being dreamily decietful,
to be a faithful, or even phony follower,
to be intentionally indolent or dastardly discouraging is so simple,
so safe,
Freedom is often distasteful -
J.A.B.
September 12th, 2019...12:00 p.m.
inspection/ emission finally possible
but...hopes dashed to smithereens
August thirty first
two thousand nineteen shortly past,
no matter 2009 Hyundai Sonata at long last
scheduled with ample funds
checking account blitzed
now back home
(Highland Manor apartments)
absolute zero money left cents lessly gassed
exhale incomplete sigh of relief
cuz necessity to dodge fast
escaping deafening police
ear splitting siren blast.
Congenial customer service
representatives at CJ's tire,
and automotive dutifully require
loose fender securely attached,
but hood latch replacement more dire,
thus postponing mechanic
to affix inspection sticker,
no matter old one did expire
once again driving on borrowed time,
cuz both driver and passenger front tire
plus rear right TPMS metal sensor
re: passenger rear tire
malfunction functionality
hoop fully explains this wire.
Your truly uber verging wreck,
no complaints regarding trained tech
very competent mechanic
even for peripatetic pluperfect prospect
reference I recommend unsolicited
advertisement plus aye inject
relieving anticipatory anxiety
oh yes, said vehicle
in good hands absolutely correct,
no matter sucker punch
to checking account
doth severely affect
mine psychological aspect.
More legal (zooming) tender
zaps lion's share of this thrifty spender
wannabe, which cruel tread full fate
unquestionably, ostensibly invariably...
every year without fail doth render
finding me in poor house
desperate to pray divine
rolling rocker alms lender
whether he.she major criminal offender,
nor no preference regarding gender.
Fat/slim chance
wishful fantasy will become true
escapist mindset bolsters
this hen pecked forlorn rue
stir standing glum within
long fostered, and winding queue,
this dirt poor dude intuitively knew
bubblegum, toothpicks and glue
holding psyche intact turned hue
man into sad sack... boo hoo
minus auto body work
undertaken by trained
heavy metal punk ken cutting crew.
I Am Your Shadow
You literally crawl out of your bed before the sun has come up,
Stretching reluctantly, knowing it’s another day on this island earth.
So you drag yourself to the john down the hallway a bit,
And urinate dutifully and automatically staring straight ahead,
With thoughts of coffee germinating behind vague-viewing eyes,
Which are not blinking due to not being fully cognizant
Of your inherent location in the universe at the moment.
But you move on in life anyway as if this morning ride
Is your last dance with the fickle sun rising strong outside,
Like a lantern-laden ship drawing nearer to port.
The mirror in your messy boudoir of silks and sarongs,
Reflects an exhausted young woman in need of repair,
For the hours of menial employment ahead for the day
Will perpetuate those lines, those creases of savage age.
But green money must be earned with a smile,
For the butcher will not give his meat freely, nor the potter his hands.
You scratch again the itch on your leg, the rash behind your knee,
And your customer buys two of each, and now
There is green money in your hands for the till.
The hour of sad afternoon arrives and it is time to find a thrill,
The day is swearing obscenities at you from behind open windows;
It is time to find boot-leg love on the run behind a garden trellis,
Maybe with a mustached stranger wearing blue suspenders?
Maybe with me your reliable shadow in a myriad of plodding walks at sunrise?
Maybe with death himself, as he offers his business card
Smiling with a carnation in his drooping lapel?