siblings of passion ~ Love and Hate
argue like unruly children
in precipitous conflict
yet, never will the nest empty, because
they...are OUR conscience
~ one cannot destroy the other,
nor ignore the other, because
they are of one blood
whose greatest toxin is
indifference...
so...torn asunder, they must find
a way to make two ~ one...
As I step outside into the petrichor mist
The raindrops plant my cheeks a bittersweet kiss
I dance in a drizzle of precipitous bliss
The scent of fresh grass, oh how I’ve missed this
The sun peeks behind the grey ashen clouds
A sweet ray of hope to cleanse me of doubts
I close my eyes and open my mouth up wide
I catch all the raindrops with my tongue in the sky
daft colleen from precipitous Clare
bold like the Burren, grey bedrock stare
turloughs flowing, born and bred
banner county, father Ted
Cliffs of Moher she jumped for a dare
floaty accent, wayward man of Cork
culinary city, knife and fork
horizon dreams he was fed
Cobh harbour past Mizen head
around Kinsale then off to New York
bad tempered Kerryman lost his ring
by the Killarney lakes he did fling
butt of jokes, very cruel
Dingle berries, Carrantouhill
his MacGillycuddys reek and sing
Limerick poetess made you think
five lines she wrote then, ran out of ink
first, second and fifth must rhyme
shorter third and fourth are fine
but must keep their rhythm all in 'sync'
Tipperary jockey rode with pace
sure she won the Grand National race
cheered from lough Derg to Cashel
from Nenagh down to Clonmel
loud bells were rung for her steeplechase
Waterford witch, many followers
her crystal glass, many swallowers
toast to the oldest city
viking girl, very pretty
velvet voice. plenty polymers
Hang on, You're nearly There!
I'm giddy, spinning around,
So near, yet so far.
On the slippery spinning
dip of serendipity.
Making do with the hoodoo of déjà vu.
I've seen that scene before!
On endless recycles
of somewhere when and there.
My prospectus is shod
with slithery wooden clogs.
Tripping, toppling precipitous,
edging ever closer to flying
right off the roundabout
by the whirling surge.
Whizzing around in circles
on the impending.
Barely holding on
with hands and arms,
billowing and centrifuging
in the passing wind.
Reaching outstretched to catch
just what and when,
could be just happening,
could be just passing on by.
Elevator! Take me to thirteenth floor!
I'm sorry, Dave! I'm afraid I can't do that!
Indeed the panel lights skip a beat,
Beyond the limit of what one hand can count.
Off the precipitous cliff into the valley periphery,
Into the shaky, rebellious and withdrawn teens
Between childhood, tears and grown-up years.
A baker's dozen, a boost to some!
Or the Loki or Judas curse of a gate-crasher supper guest.
Even the moon tries to squeeze
An extra quaff in 12 months of years and 12 hours of days.
For the number thirteen is an exceptional outcast
It's amiss peripheral, a step beyond.
Foundation.
With uncertainty flowing like a molten volcano around the world, and online.
Is it within dark times like these, we should try to bring more light into the world?
Title:
A voice in the dark whispers
Lookup
Not down
And be drawn
Into spiritual degradation
Or dark temptations
Linked to politics or the flesh
By the Red Dragon
But to blue clouds
Filled with sacred tetragons
With belief in whatever you know as good, be held
In-Depth
For the son of Cronus and Rhea
Brother of Zeus and Poseidon
Grows ever near
To welcome you into his waterless Barren Lands
Delighting in unimaginable fear
So be
Precipitous
And look up to
Defeat the rolling Abyss
Ruled by Hades
Hidden
Within
Its mists
Espouse goodness
While you still
Live
Like a sweet Valentine's Day kiss
And try to avoid
The Void
Filled with those
Who now pay a hefty
Price
But enter into new lands of Spiritual Paradise
With your selfless acts
Of kindness and self-sacrifice
Will you try to do good?
Or will you follow those who will suffer bitterness, when a star called, Wormwood,
Falls?
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Shapes and Patterns
Shapes and
patterns don’t require ropes tied on
all their side as they
descend or
ascend
precipitous
drops.
It is too many Peaks towering high
Snow-capped giants scraping the sky
Mighty Himalayas
Cold winds howl and icy blasts sigh
It is too treacherous
Those jagged peaks were so perilous
Glaciers groan and shift
Avalanches roar, and the danger is furious
It is too remote
Villages clinging to precipitous slopes
Narrow trails wind
?Few dare venture where only mountain folk cope
It is too unforgiving
Altitudes leave climbers gasping for air
Lack of oxygen
Only the most fit and resilient dare
It is too unpredictable
Weather changing in a breathless beat
Blizzards raging
Whiteout conditions, a frozen white sheet
It is too isolated
Valleys cut off from the world outside
High passes are closed
For seasons long, communities abide
It is too well-known range by Sherpas
Reading the signs, they alone can guide
Tales of the Yeti
In that vast wilderness, they reside
It is too extraordinary
These mountains that the human spirit defy
The mystical call
To summit those peaks where only brave hearts crave
Precipitous electrified woman
Her temper is well-known
A whirlwind of excitement and enthusiasm
She throws out sparks in rapid speed
They are faster than lightning bolts
We dodge them the best we can
But that does not last long
On the ash-heap of history strewn
towers and pyramids ruined
Of civilizations long since extinct
alive only in pottery and sphinx
They once fought the Jews tooth and nail
striving hard, but to no avail
To eliminate Israel once and for all
each campaign’s end a precipitous fall …
Today again, ring out chants of ‘Death to the Jews’
but the People of Israel steadfastly refuse
To lay down their swords to hatred, to simply cave in
~ Instead, the Jews fight back to save their skins
I could adorn you
with great riches,
but my greatest gift
to you is my poetry.
Like a pearl without an oyster,
I roll along a precipitous path,
through a plethora of vacant shells -
none seem to be my sanctuary.
Slightly dizzy, swirling and twirling,
my glass heart illuminates,
scintillating upon dust and blackness,
seeking that opalescent path,
where dawn is greeted with crystal skies.
Meadows glisten in emerald dew drops,
as luminous rose gold sun silently soars,
awakening sleeping tulips to spread their petals.
Sun rays blossom through amethyst stained glass,
reflecting upon her bronze plum cheeks,
shimmering upon her ruby - rosy lips.
Revelations of silver glints in her eyes
are like diamonds that only sparkle for me.
When our shades infuse and absorb,
our spirits float like a spectrum of butterflies.
Juices flow like emerging stars at twilight -
An end to lonely monotonous darkness.
But what am I,
but a lonely pearl 'rolling
and strolling,' yearning to feel
glorified within my beloved's
opalescent path.
(Anacreontic Verse)
Edging forward,
I hesitate –
Precipitous
The drop before me.
I take a breath
And steel myself.
A prayer, an oath,
A clench and a leap.
For a moment
I can fly –
Then earth pulls at me
And downward I plunge.
Wind in my hair,
Fear in my heart.
Adrenalin high
Kicks in and I hit.
The impact stuns,
The cool envelops.
Deep I go and
The pressure builds...
The darkness, too.
Lungs bursting,
I climb for light,
For air, for life,
And breaking through,
Again I'm free.
on the cusp
poised precarious, point perched,
lies threshold brink verge,
the tipping-point pivot to,
rise/fall from grace.
Far more words than
open ears --
a world of chatter;
words everywhere --
difficult to avoid such
precipitous splatter…
poets use them, vociferously!
Politicians use them, surreptitiously!
Ministers use them rapturously
Words live
when they are infused
with passion; strengthened
by conviction --
my cat says it all
with a well aimed look
twitch of her tail
occasional meow
and luxurious purr
I pirouette, a spinning-top
poised repugnant, on precipitous,
of vanity's stumbling tumble,
to land humbled, defaced.
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