“Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But, since no one was listening, everything must be said again.” – Andre Gide
I'm not so sure how to begin
but needing to find my place in
poetdom!
Started writing—the muse's call
always knowing I am the small
poetling!
Each day I scratched my thoughts on air
until my clumsy hand found there—
poethood!
Words that would make my mother cry
a joke that lights the evening—my
poetry!
Whatever the shapes or sounds or themes
I'm making worlds inside my dreams—
poetise!
Written for dVerse MTB: Compounding the Stem
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Shared with dVerse Poetics – Once in a Lifetime
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Inspired and paraphrased from Osho’s Live, Love, Laughter – chapter 4, I think, about love.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
An American Sentence inspired by the Red Hand Files #356. It may not look like much, but this poem is brilliant!
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
The house dreamed itself perfect
with gleaming floors, white-brick smiles,
lawns kept trim and proper;
the fine print buried under elegant styles.
Inside, where rooms rehearse their lines:
promotion, bonuses, closing dates,
framed certificates, all little mirrors,
where “success” smoothed small mistakes.
Every door required a password,
every hallway became a funnel,
narrowing toward a single shining point
that lay at the end of the tunnel.
These dreams have their plumbing,
and somewhere underground
the pipes groan under pressure
until release is finally found.
The fairy tale of the bedroom,
turned on itself, 180 degrees;
love then became a ledger,
an audit brought to its bloodied knees.
A carefully budgeted future
splits along an invisible seam,
reckoning never knocks -
it’s built into the dream.
Outside, notifications soon circled
like headlines on a brand new day,
strangers pressed their faces
to the windows of the dream’s display.
Seeing not two people
but an x-ray of their own bargains:
what they traded sleep for -
“making it” with manicured gardens.
So, when the dream stood naked
under the fluorescent light of attention:
all the glittering milestones lined up
a bargain of murderous intention.
Reckoning is not thunder
but the moment the sun returns,
after the party, the scattered trash
collected, quietly burns.
The lawn keeps growing over,
as if to bury the past,
like nothing happened at all,
because nothing was built to last.
Inside the dream, he still sits
on the edge of his broken bed,
finally out of excuses,
reflecting on everything left unsaid.
Staring at his red reflection,
realising the story he’d been sold
had never been built
for this much truth to hold.
This poem is based on the article “Murder House” at Equator, which tells the story of the American Dream gone wrong for two intelligent Chinese immigrants and generated much online discussion back in China.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
For twenty-six English years
never experiencing weather
—except those two weeks complaining about the heat
and that year of snow, not having to go to school—
grim days, followed by more grim days.
To Australia to enjoy another twenty-plus years
of all the weathers in one day, every day
—except snow, which only the rich could afford,
skiing around Kosciuszko National Park—
good days, followed by even more good days.
Then Thailand, for who knows how long,
where the weather is upside down
—winters are sunny and temperate,
summers, wet, wild and grey—
taking me home again.
Written for dVerse Poetics weather prompt and inspired by the depression felt on grey days, even here in Thailand’s hot rainy season.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
1994ever 