VISIONS
influence
in
retrospect
posterity
dilapidated
ambivalent
with
fascinations
captivated
engraved
inspired
graduated
collaborations
engaged
in
the
prolific
durability
developed
stylised
&
adapted
distinct
&
synonymous
with
tantalising
symbols
Abject behemoths, conniving destructive existence... Fomenting
grave hazardous intent.. Jeopardising... Knowingly... Loathsome
manipulative numbing objectionable practices... Questionably
raising substantial theoretical unsustainable visions...Weird
xenobots yielding zootoxins
My heart does ache.
My eyes would like to close a while;
bathe in dark lake
of mystic dreams and erstwhile
memories of images now opaque.
My tired soul
begs the keeper of the mind:
summon that golden oriole,
bid it fly to thoughts that I, purblind,
have sought but never recovered whole.
And in its beak
bring back from realms afar
the comfort I seek
from sacred leaf of deodar,
that trance-like visions I might eke.
O, soul be calm again,
Be-trembled frame be still.
O, heart your pulse restrain.
With bird-like impulse in weakness of will
it dips its steely beak into my vein.
(“Utopia and Terror Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Everywhere you turn today
Conflict divides and confuses
Nations, families, individuals
The whole world is up for reevaluation
As it always is
Just now on a massive scale
Everyone together, crowded
Into on-land and on-line spaces
Where do we turn to find a way through?
I wonder these things
Wondering where it would be best to live
Closer to grandkids who so quickly grow up
Or further from the social pressures
Of a world driven crazy by its own delusions?
Where is there to find a way through
Than directly confronting the conflict of vision
In our own heart.
(6/10/26)
As I lay in this king size bed,
visions of you flood my head.
We had a love like no other,
it was pure and didn’t smother.
But in the end, it didn’t last,
our union faded really fast.
Five years ago you left me,
said we weren’t meant to be.
5-23-26
Seeing her in my minds eye.
watching Jesus meet me in the sky.
Quaking as he shows me his words.
Trusting in Kami to be my best friend forever.
Awaiting Jesus soon return.
drinking my coffee watching YouTube.
Slowly trusting in love to win this war.
Surrender to Love Guarding my heart from silence.
Feeling alone then I look at my friends face.
He has helped me always.
She is distant now for like weeks of silence.
Sometimes I only Have Jesus as my comfort cause she is not talking to me any more.
Jesus I want to surrender to you more and never look for love In this life anymore.
They looked like four suitcases
the dormitories near campus
as I drove north on I-35 to Ames
going back for sophomore year.
They glistened under the late
afternoon sun and spoke to me
in a moment of sorrow and joy.
Come back, come back—
this is your time and place.
I had stumbled freshman year
suffered a break-up
changed majors and bore
depression, all on a rough
path of discovery to find
who I truly was.
The tires of my mom’s Mustang
sang, and most of my journey
there was already behind me
as I grasped the steering wheel.
The car moved ahead
along a fine ribbon
of concrete.
The vision welcomed me.
I looked past fields
as landscape rested
and past a grove of trees.
I took a deep breath
as I looked at The Towers.
Although summer passed
with a whisper, my year
had just begun.
Where are those kaleidoscopic rainbows?
Where are those immaculately white clouds?
Have those seraphs who constantly compose
'Glory to God' has been lost in cloud shrouds?
Thrones made of precious stones are seen no more.
Where are those souls washed by the blood of Christ?
Shouldn't each saint sing, dance, praise, and adore?
Isn't there, between heaven and earth, a tryst?
I miss the gold arcades and silver stairs.
Where are the upward-winding promenades?
Finding me standing with eyes full of tears
An angel spoke to me thus from the shades:
"You haven't lost, child, the heavenly mirth.
The heavens have now come down to the earth."
As much to this haze of summer
To a many headed wooer
For young budding, more fair
Lost her, this youth; of nine.
As far strayed, in my warped thinking
As distant, the 'field, too playing'
One, mists of time, back through
Of me, loses the view.
Youth has fled, memories remain
Soak up remnants of what used to be
Nothing but nothing is the same
Into the past visions I see.
A bold vision takes shape in her husband’s mind
crowds out the mundane
Wondering if the world is ready to embrace it
will it be boon, or will it be bane? …
Though driving his wife nearly insane
Adding ‘pay husband extra attention’
to her joyous day of ~
doing three full loads of laundry
carpooling to three different schools
supervising homework assignments
dusting, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming
preparing three meals for a family of six
and washing
the dirty dishes ~
Thank God for the mundane
for keeping the wife’s vision plain
As I look in union of singularity in a world of complexe opposition and harmony.
A splinter in the heart of dream and tearing in the blood cells.
I slaughtered the necks of hopes, bleeding the burning from pains.
A mirror of dry salt-tears reflects the fracture.
And the self has nothing left but the desire to vanish the whole structure.
After long waiting and the stalling of suicide attempts
From exhaustion I feel no enough essence for two lives.
The first, in exile.
The second in the middle between a kiss of the eye
The eye that does not weep, it only stares.
Gazing to reveal contemplations about the soul’s hidden monuments,
Peering over thresholds to inspect the secrets of the universe.
I pluck out the snail of my ear; I try to listen to the echo of the hoarse voice,
Fixing my gaze on the bridge’s edge,
where the wave casts obscene images:
Of tortured bodies and heads cut off before inspiration could visit them.
Because God refused to touch them,
Yet the devil from the pit touched them.
A train without a ticket to take me where there is no memory,
No memory except that I come from afar,
And that the heart is the single meaning of iron.
Perchance blank sheets had choice,
they’d refuse the stain of ink.
Yet ink delights in spoiling emptiness,
like palm-oil staining white cloth.
That defiance—
to create and keep records,
to write poems for posterity—
perhaps, or perhaps not,
like smoke beneath a cover,
escaping what time cannot cage.
Sometimes poems sing into thin air,
with no eardrum to soothe.
Other times they endure the test of time,
speaking as soliloquy to the unborn,
through wisdom and well-chosen words—
like echoes billowing through valleys.
Few then recall the ink
that shaped such classics,
long dried and discarded,
like footprints blurred by rain.
It is the paper that blows the kisses,
absorbs the tears,
and wears the credits given.
So paper may delight,
while ink grows dispirited.
For obscurity never veils real visions—
a passing cloud misguides the senses
from knowing who holds true honour.
So paper may rejoice,
and ink fall into silence.
Yet vision does not drown in shadows—
like sunlight veiled by dust,
truth will still gleam through,
to honour ink that turns blankness to beauty.
SOUL MEMORY
Aligning core below to above
Sirius clapped in glee
urging group into Time out of Space
Pyramid, triangle of my refuge
and direction
Mercury watched soul circling Squinx
Dogons ancient guiding mission
bronze arms encircled axis
Africa cracked from Asia
Amma rejoicing
I knew not then
that in a Southern land I
were to disembark to
stand firm with fearlessness
time-split generational embeds
with carbon and consciousness
oxygen the catalyst
myrrh rained down
to cleanse
Last Supper was still to come
(A lone voice whispers)
Did you know that demons prowl like a clan of hyenas while you sleep?
They come close, creeping in from the dark shadows and sniffing for the odour of your soul.
Their presence may signal that you are becoming increasingly corrupted by the insidious manipulation of society as you grow older.
They seek the sweet smell of cabbage, a feast to collect, much like Bob Marley, as your soul grows weak.
As you carry more and more unnecessary chains and baggage.
So the question is:
Will you pray to your God of choice to strengthen your soul?
For when you sleep, the night dwellers come prowling, creeping in to seek you as their ultimate goal.
For they look for corrupted souls who are drawn to all things wicked, linked to defilement.
As they use soul metastasis to help their wickedness grow, like falling black snow.
(C) Copyright John Duffy
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