Loosened Poems

Dormant hair-bun

Field with display of green catkins in the candlelight

From the hidden chamber the dormant hair-bun loosened

Foam and current from the sea through the fidgety foliage

Night in a machination to summon the lightning clouds

                    ___________________

                       September 9, 2025

Webbed infatuation

Pixelated, dark, and with word I did not know,
I met you with that mask.
And though I’m sure I have memorised it’s crevices,
Your shirt, the glasses.
I feel guilty about it still.

God is something of many that connects us,
Something that loosened our ropes,
And your cross is highlighted in my moonlight,
And yet I’m drawn to you still.

Your wisdom outshines mine,
And you bask in it well,
And your tan fingers ran over my route before me,
I follow along, to my peers’ disdain,
And I look up to you still.

For, my dear, you have been through hell
And with each of my beats the ache grows,
And your scars match my own,
And your lack of an ichor leash let the worst inside,
And we fall today still.

And my protection I do wish you had,
Though our locations do not align,
Shared nations, interests,
And realising you may know me best,
Yet I have not met you still.

Wings in Fire

I stood at the lip of silence,
where fear wore my own shadow.

The wind kept calling
not sweet,
more like a street hawker shouting my name,
dragging me into tomorrows
I wasn’t ready to buy.

I had dreamed of flight once,
but the ground held me tight,
and my wings felt sewn with stone.

The sky, a wide cathedral I prayed at,
but never entered.

Still, something burned in me,
a restless dragon in my chest.
Not anger.
Not rage.
A reminder, that I was made for more
than waiting at closed doors.

So I let the ashes fall,
spoke my name out loud,
and loosened my grip on yesterday.

And though the night was stubborn,
I rose...
each tear a spark,
each scar a feather.

Until the darkness
became my sky.

Dream world

as a character in this lucid dream
within which we are now somewhat awake
although we do dance atop love’s moonbeam
in the background we are calm like a lake 

life as already impulsed will unfold
and as a wave in the ocean we dance
but fears and desires have loosened their hold
both our mood and mode being nonchalance 

we are that stillness, the eye of a storm
observing thought forms orbiting the heart
suffused at all times in magnetism warm
sensing with each breath bliss ignition start

having seen and so known God as a fact 
within this dream we have ceased to react

Moonlight

Chakpii!
Wooo! ! !
We have gathered
On grandfather’s stoneseats
After a hurried meal,
This moonlight...

Assemble, children, and hearken
To the tales we know
And heard from
Our fathers...

Chakpii!
Wooo! ! !
Oruru otu mgbe (Once Upon a Time)
The full moon, naked as birth, stood.
The silent leaves of mother forests
Listened;
All sternness loosened
In the face of the moon...
Conundrums,
Pulses,
Quizzes,
Proverbs...
A parched and famished ground once,
Now elated with
Grown ears; feet below in the
Wondering, dark and lonely soil

Chakpii!
Wooo! ! !
Oruru otu mgbe...
No distinction,
For among kinsmen
A child is the father of a man.

Charged upon native principles,
Conundrums,
Songs,
Quizzes,
Chants,
Oaths,
Verse,
Pulses...
Fortified in sponge-weave,
And voices coming from the one
Gong-hole
Scare
Cultural invasions,
Scientific blackmail,
Traditional irregularities...
Wafting fraternity,
The lunar concern ceases.

But we do not grope
In the dark,
For each eye is the other’s
Lamp.

I Am The Blueprint of My Own Quiet Ruin

The door swells in its frame each winter,
paint curling like old tongues —
still you press it open with a finger,
leaving soft dents in the wood.

Inside, the walls hum from hidden wires;
plaster sighs under your barefoot weight.
Every step — a loosened nail,
a whisper of dust sliding down beams.

The windows breathe in drafts,
their single panes shivering;
no storm need rage —
your shadow is enough to rattle them.

In the hallway, wallpaper blisters;
your sleeve grazes it,
and flakes of me snow to the floor.

The ceiling, swollen with damp,
droops lower each night you sleep here —
timbers ache above your breathing.

Downstairs, the kitchen faucet drips
like a clock without courage;
your laugh sends the pipes ringing,
and the cupboards cough up ghosts.

Upstairs, in the attic, silence nests —
you climb no ladder,
yet I feel your warmth seep into rafters
where rot waits, patient.

When you close the door behind you,
its frame leans inward, yearning.
The house is always colder after.

because he is her grandson

her resolve loosened
because he is her grandson
dissipating grudge

his choices not hers
but she cannot love him less
pure true grandmas love

Family Values

Sold on a cheapskate cheesing.
Cupcaked' by a cheesecake reasoning.
Kids, plenty for the 
Cakewalk.
Kids, plenty to play 
Hopscotch.
Kids, plenty of energy goes 
Non-stop.
Disparaging remarks marked up by the
Loudmouth loosened by fool-proof
Foul Alchohol percentages.
It's far too soon to start with those 
Remarks.
Gliding by.
Hiding behind our
Rollercoaters' ropes.
Ready to Ride,
Side by Side,
Since this high.
Goodbye.
Razor-sharp wit halved the delicate patience.
Good times vanish, in wood varnish.
Drive-by relief roaming without induction.

A Snowy Day in April

It was only a sprig
of red berries poking through
a mantle of snow.
But something in their quiet defiance—
so small, so sure, so bold—
stopped me in rushing mid-stride,
as if beauty had broken
some sealed place inside me,
and light, unbidden,
had found a way in.


The world went quiet around me
except for the whispered ticking
of snow melting on my coat.
The berries didn’t beckon—
they simply serenely endured,
like a secret held in plain sight.
I didn’t kneel, but my heart did
and time loosened for a moment.
The air was full of watching.
Even the light seemed to listen.


My class had already started
and the prof raised his eyebrows at me,
so I told him about the berries—
he shot me a skeptical look,
but that didn’t matter a bit.
Some moments don’t explain themselves,
they speak in silence anyway.
I sat in the back smiling,
still picturing the berries
long after the lecture began.

Abandon All Grace Here

I wore my sins like velvet lace,
Then set your garden all ablaze.
I never once said I was kind--
I only promised not to mind.

The chandelier you loved? It fell.
I laughed and called it “doing well.”
Your rules were quaint, but far too tight--
I loosened them with fire and bite.

Abandon all grace here, my dear--
The wine is sharp, the end is near.
The guests are ghosts, the cake’s a knife--
Let’s toast to your once-perfect life.

I dance in boots of shattered glass,
My lipstick’s poison, bold as brass.
The night is young, the mess is mine--
Now smile, love. You’re doing fine.

The law of social thermodynamics

Someone would rather not speak the truth
After weighing the cons and pros
They're exquisite egoists

Someone dares to bet the causes
Inspectors weighing the pros and cons
Restrict viewers or ban the speakers

Since then, no truth matters 
Only compliment words or praise heard
This is how a law of thermodynamics 
Works for all communities

If a system dissipates and disintegrates
As it loosened balance, so does
An interest- congested community cease 

The inveracity beauty is on the surface
While leaving bugs inside numerous

The Wind and the Sun

The Wind and the Sun, oft mentioned in song,
had a quarrel over which one was the most strong.
They argued with much heat and bluster;
the wind about its strength, the sun about its luster.

Anon came a traveler, one of the common folk,
enjoying a morning walk and wearing a fine cloak.
"Let us both agree", said the radiant Sun,
"that he who removes his coat is the stronger one."

"Very well", growled the Wind and, with force unsurpassed,
aimed at the traveler a most powerful blast.
But with each and every impressive gust,
the man held his cloak tighter, to the Wind's disgust.

In spite of his efforts, the Wind could not sustain
and eventually, reluctantly, gave up in vain.

Then the Sun emerged and began to shine.
At first, he shone gently; the weather turned fine.
The sky and surroundings seemed to transform;
the man loosened his cloak for now he was warm.

The Sun's rays grew warmer, and now
the man removed his coat and mopped his brow.
Amidst that wonderful, beautiful heat
the Wind accepted and acknowledged defeat.

And so, my children, the moral here of course
is that persuasion is always better than force.

The Swimmer

I saw her swim out to where
distance and wave height
made her disappear from sight.
The water still carried 
the last of summer's warmth.

She was where I would like
to be, loosened from what binds
this body to gravity, 
to be free of weight
and feel nothing beneath
my feet but a plunging depth.

I would be tempted 
to let myself sink slowly
into that mystery,
taking in wave 
and water, to float
as a child would 
within a womb, held on the end 
of an umbilical cord
linking the now 
to eternity.

The Downtrodden

Another man has passed away,
Another soul has passed away without casting a silhouette.
Another son is growing into another man,
Who will one day pass away like all those before him.

To the deceased man, living had just been a burden,
He is now called 'downtrodden'.
But those who call him so
Have never been thus tagged in their glorious lives.

To the deceased man, life was a chain of systems,
Where the chain could neither be loosened nor broken.
To others, only his body mattered and when he tried to speak out,
It was nobody's concern in this tremendous town.

To the deceased man's family, death is nothing but a mere turmoil.
They have more crucial jobs to do,
They must run the machines and feed the system.
Smoke in the lungs can never be a headache for the downtrodden.

If the man were just another machine,
That machine might not be washed with pure, scented water.
But it would be both calm and content,
Never to be called 'downtrodden'.

The Call of Venus

The Call to Venus

(A lone voice whispers as a ceremony begins)

Candles lit
In brazier pit

Like a reborn Prospero

Music playing 
As offerings 

Are lit

To summon the universe
And all who goes

To step in and commit
 
Guardians in
The Great In-Between

Guard us
And all our kin

From all unseen
Who flows

White lights
Bound
Around our homes

To guard against ghouls
From loosened tombs

Floating around like red balloons

We pray tonight 
For astral protection 
In all our rooms

As 
Candles lit
In brazier pits

Burn

With
Music playing 

As sandalwood offerings
And Christmas ferns

Are used as keys 
Of devotional angelic magic

To turn away

All who conspire 
And drink from the Devil's Urn

As we call to you
Venus
For protection 

As the Great Wheel
Turns

So
Come our sceptre-bearer of harmony 

And love to cope

Do ut de
Dum vivo 
Repleti spe

(‘I give that you may give.
As long as I live. Filled with hope.)

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

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