OVERALL CONTRASTS
apparently
wide-ranging
individually
cited
academics
to
help
stimulate
brilliantly
coloured
fringes
&
delicate
shadowed
novel
studies
attractively
revealing
powerful
&
enthusiastic
fascinations
ACQUIRED COLLECTIONS-:-
harmonic
valued
exemplary
naturally
assembled
as SIMPLE LIVE IDEAS
recapitulated
shared
principles
ranging
free
as INTEGRATED CONCEPTS
re-interpreted
integral
signs
paradoxically
presented
May we be blessed to heed the words of Steve Maraboli
Today, more than ever, they have wide-ranging appeal
A kind gesture can reach a wound
that only compassion can heal
Lending eyesight past the retinal lens.
Seeking the sight through
the light of a looking glass.
Our home star shines through the parted clouds lay above.
Dauntless gamut, the drum is destructive by force.
Seeing the colors of healing in perfect tune.
Harbinger night terrified in horrifying hums.
Sat the same way across, open mouth absorbing what she can't.
Long time coming to triumphant horned brass.
Blearing these praises cross simple landscape paintings.
The trill of the ringing without the slightest bit of hearing.
Loathing no other in this decorative world.
Hurling the self down through a whirlwind turmoil.
Cascading down the eye of Neptune.
A resemblance jauntily bouncing, striking true ranging trident as if javelin.
Helpless, can’t see or hear
No teeth or hair
Not a word can he say
So fragile and frail
soft skin so pale
Perchance a cry, a wail
Though a crowd
cheers his every motion
wide-ranging emotions …
At the end of his journey
once again, no teeth or hair
Even experience and wisdom
~ no longer there
Prick streches into a carved shape
Longer than its usual length stick
Readily active to puncture tire
In pleasurable drill of strain
And stress till urge sting
To enkindle silent click
Of achy healthy goo
Lightly snowing in
Clucking sounds
Repeatedly shh!
Uncontrollably
What a Prick!
Prick ohh!
Prick!!!...Let loose of heavenly blessings
Jikerewin ji!
Jikerewin ji! ji! ji!
Stifled heartbeats
Jikerewin ji! ji! ji! ji!
Trumped ji! ji! ji! ji! ji!
Ranging six feet whole
Settling down to the bottom
Of the bottomless pit from afar
Fumed fuse of aid beyond its wears
Off in standstill beckoning the patience
To rise and to ride on the way back home
In fun-- a well rounded shape of itself's best
Regards no mask to shame the staged claim
At start, it is able, strong, and hailing non-stop
But now, be willing; do not beyond thy strength
See it not a task but a duty taken up by its limit.
My friend of the exuberant
Far ranging converse gone,
The over the front hedge
Meaningful long chats gone,
The stop and talk when we met
So very cruelly suddenly gone.
I feel so very deeply for
His beloved family and wife
And for the great big hole
He’s left in my own life.
No more anecdotes to be shared
No more speaking face to face
My world now somewhat shrunken
A much less satisfying place.
Stood by the hedge to remember
With closed eyes to easily recall
Those pleasant easy hours
When we never quite said it all.
I’ll remember with joy
Those memories I have
Of every single chat, regret
All those we’d yet to have.
Never quite changing the world
But not for want of trying
Yes, we never changed the world
But it was not for want of trying.
"Lucky me - I grew up by the Pacific sea" ~ quote by poet
Its depths and vast breadth suggest a mystery.
I've pondered it from airplanes, boats, and shore -
the Pacific Ocean in all its glory,
from its gentle lapping to its mighty roar.
Underneath the unchanging blue expanse,
lies a wide-ranging world of features -
magma oozing from deep sea vents,
blue whales, giant squid, and all kinds of creatures.
Earth's biggest site's fascinating history,
from Polynesians in palm leaf canoes
to the battles of recent generations,
and the many lives we had to lose.
More than that are personal memories
and evocations of sites and smells,
as my eyes well with salty moisture.
I am with Mother, picking up seashells,
And it's to the Pacific, I must thank
for the sunsets and moonlit nights,
promoting long lost budding romances.
Oh, how I miss those sweet delights.
Written By: D. Collins 6/21/25
The longevity of hate has a wide-ranging girth.
It lies dormant for a while then has a drastic rebirth.
Since the 12th century hate has destroyed many populations.
The glimmer of gold, theft of land, and complete annihilation.
Anyone that is different are categorized as lesser men.
Yet, those responsible claim they're devoted Christians.
A skin color, your religion, or whom you choose as a mate.
Will certainly expose you to the longevity of hate.
It's a multi-tentacled beast that goes into foreign lands.
After not controlling the Poppy trade they fled Afghanistan.
Rare earth minerals is now top priority on their list.
Should you choose not to concede your life is at risk.
The weatherman says it will be 85
But it now feels like 72.
So what should I wear? Out the window I glance,
Thinking people will give me a clue.
Yet from what I can see, it’s a very mixed bag –
There are t-shirts and sandals and shorts,
Though I also see long-sleeves and jackets and jeans,
Which all go with both weather reports.
Yes, on this kind of day, there’s a wide-ranging arc –
Any item of clothing will do
And since I’m always cold, I’ll wear layers to peel,
So I’ll comfortably muddle on through.
Validation
(A lone voice whispers)
Are there two types of characters in this world
To be seen
Ranging through love
To business, and everything else in-between
Those who do take risks, and those who hate taking chances, and making mistakes
Which one are you?
A.
A risk-taker
Or
B.
An idolater of stepping on the brakes
For sometimes,
Is it better to have known something
Briefly
That might have had real potential, to be truly special
Or would you rather linger lost
Forever
Taunted
By self-doubts, many whispering, red devils
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Foundation.
Would you rather be haunted by self-doubts, about taking chances?
With introspection?
Like an idolater who worships, stepping on the brakes?
Or are you courageous enough to take chances, and risk all, on something special.
With a high chance of making mistakes?
To never be lost, forever taunted
By self-doubts, many whispering red devils
Who'll appear right out of the minds, many gates?
(If you're reading this far, you must be a type A.
You have my Validation of being a risk-taker.
Hit like if you are. Salute)
Temporal is aiming for permanence
But much benevolence paints the prudence
To keep change changing
To keep range ranging
To give meaning to purpose and hope
To create a future into which to elope
From an old past on stone cast
Onwards fast to a great that will last
Even that which may last forever
In light of memory that may favour whatever
Will suffer oblivion
And the wavering of opinion
Until it is craved for and recalled
Once again hailed and installed
Only to be trampled underfoot again
And such be the recurring strain
So affirms the permanence of temporaries
Times and heirs being the emissaries
Passing down through the years
All cheers and jeers across seers and peers
And so it is now as it was then
Such temptations common to men
Throughout time and space
Even as enduring wisdom is strained of grace
K. Muitherero
Christmas geese run loose on corporate lawns
So why should I stand in line at the markets
When dinner is free ranging on asphalt in visitors parking
With a bag of stale popcorn I’d forgotten
Carefully placed upon the ground
Bread crumb leading to that place
Ensuring Holiday dinner on my plates
(A lone voice speaks to a crowd of poets)
You do know everyone has their own magical style
A style filled with such wild illustrious promises and kaleidoscope's of such deep vivid depths
For in poetry
No stone is left uncovered,
Ranging from life to death
Whispers of love’s wild explosive adrenaline filled triumphs
Everlasting hope or altarpieces of self-fulfillment
Descents into darkness
Opening portals to dimensions of festive destruction
And at the core for the inquisitive
The Red Flag
The smiling frown
Up or down
The fire to ignite a curious reader's eyes to the soul
That really matters
Is the what
Why and guile
It's quite simple
It's why everyone has their own magical style
For there is no guide to the labyrinth of the mind
When you enter poetry's smiling black and white turnstiles
And line up to read or write
With so many other groups of people who are still walking or standing still in history
In single file
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
(19th century Tibetan Wangden rug)
Primal Properties
I look around at all the art I have collected
An assortment of inherited, home made and bought,
Ranging from African to Asian to Persian
With a smattering of European and American
In paintings and ceramics, carvings and weavings,
And the quality of primitive earthy energy
Is what strikes me most.
There is a refinement of technique in many
But it’s the primal essence
This technique is serviced to express,
The marriage of natural materials
And natural sensibilities
Through the transpersonal lens
Of a supernatural force
That defines it,
The definition being one of feeling/perception
More than verbalized thinking.
What is this irrepressible force
Our bodyminds create with these primal properties?
Life.
(11/18/24)
Sub Categories
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