Question: Is there no salvation for the world? Maharaj: What business have you saving the world, when all the world needs is to be saved from you? Get out of the picture and see whether there is anything left to save.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Reject Tantalising Gifts
Would you reject the flood of fortune’s gifts? Is it something that your philosophy resists? The new and shiny can become awful traps Leading us towards a devastating collapse
An erasure poem using text from the condescending and unreadable “The Chinese Have A Word For It” which I duly decided was only worth cutting up and using for this purpose.
I don’t know how to get WordPress to format text the way I would like so have added a picture at the top of the post, followed by the original text and below, text that can be cut and paste.
Key in the war 500 business principles grasped the bible
When derisive laughter import a reflected perspective
The appropriate war requires the management art vital death; the road essential the under thirteen
Each one is vital
success;
The principle planning first that can
While equal on flex it makes shapes ground by enemy as constant war constant; the victorious divine
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
If You Want To Learn, Be Humble
It’s impossible for a person to begin To learn what they think they already know If one wishes to get to the bottom of everything It’s time to make a start on letting go
The word cracks once, “Ceasefire!” A fish bone lodges in a gasping throat but below, the fuses sputter: more wire, more fire, the relentless drums of war’s dark choir.
“Ceasefire!” – a child’s chalk-drawn heart, fading on a smoke-choked boulevard. The sniper reloads to the lullaby’s lie, innocence fades, and children die.
“Ceasefire!” says the treaty ink, still wet, and bleeding into the desert sand. The general’s watch ticks, a relentless drone, overrun, smashed upon the bloodied stone.
“Ceasefire!” a mother’s whisper, stitched into a flak-vest’s hollow glow. The drone’s low hum, a discordant hymn, targeted through the night’s darkened brim.
“Ceasefire!” carves the chaplain’s tongue, while the armoury turns its key. Counting shells like rosaries, again, the earth remembers its red, relentless stain.
On the evening news once more, “Ceasefire!” a graphic, three seconds, soon buried in mirth. The bomb dreams of a birthday’s cheer, while peace remains distant and fragile here.
But let the untouched voices rise, through the static and blustering press. Not for victory, but the peace we desire, – “Ceasefire.”
Shared with dVerse Poetics – imperative and GloPoWriMo 2026 Day 8: use a simple phrase repeatedly, and then make statements that invert or contradict that phrase. Current events made this too easy!
Today’s Daily Stoic poem
Test Your Impressions
A harsh impression is all you are And not at all what you appear to be I’ll not entertain you so far If not in my control – you mean nothing to me
Rag and bone, A skipping stone My, my, my, How you’ve grown, Bone and rag, A punching bag, Now, now, now, Nag, nag, nag, White flag flown, Starts to sag, Jump up and down, Get off your phone, Give the dog a bone,
Rag….
Shared with dVerse Quadrille #245 – bone and GloPoWriMo 2026 – Day 7: write your own poem that emulates skipping/clapping songs – something to snap, clap, and jump around to.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
The Costs Of Accepting Counterfeits
We always test that money is real Yet fail to test our own assumptions If your friend believes, it will appeal But only act on tested constructions
We’re all weird, and it’s a weird world, held together by shoestrings and bubblegum.
What did I dream last night when I was awake? I know that I was there and those things happened, but try explaining that to my psychiatrist.
The farmer burns his fields and the wind blows my way. I want to get high on helium and bloody his face.
What did I dream last night when I was awake? A dog in a mask chasing a cat with leukaemia… Wait! That actually did happen.
There was another April 6th 2026 but it wasn’t a Groundhog Day. No parallel universe, just another April 6th 2026.
What did I dream last night when I was awake? I wanted to sleep badly, but I was facing resistance from the soggy pillow and my crooked neck.
69 kph through a red light, getting frisky on a motorbike. I told her don’t grow up too quickly, but she was busy taking selfies.
What did I dream last night when I was awake? There’s a fine line between what is real and what is acceptable. All this happened, more or less.
Shared with GloPoWriMo 2026 – Day 6: try writing with a breezy, conversational tone, while including at least one thing that could only happen in a dream.
Also written for Punam’s dVerse prompt from a couple of months ago, utilising the first line of a book as the last line of a poem: “All this happened, more or less.” Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
All of this happened and all of it was dreamt.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Expect To Change Your Opinions
Honour what you don’t know You are not so smart and wise Everyone has the room to grow Arrogance is where opinion cries
Beyond the paragraphs and stanzas Where stories start being told Round campfires, on verandahs Ideas – like origami – unfold
Within each sentence, there emerges Lines flowing skywards from the soul Where sunshine and saccharine diverges To tally what the parts withhold
Under the phrase, where the weight lightens Adjectives get detached from their nouns Order is loosened; or disorder tightens Dissected from their objects’ surrounds
Inside each word that’s to be announced Where every breath becomes considered Accents distort how it’s all pronounced Not always intended as delivered
Beneath every syllable assessed Meaning flickers in recognition Beyond one thing that’s being expressed The mastery of imprecision
Below the phoneme, perhaps that’s where to start Where the true heart of the story lies Put back together after being pulled apart Ambivalence is where the author dies
Shared with GloPoWriMo Day 3: write a poem in which a profession or vocation is described differently than it typically is considered to be.
My poem is my experience of being an administrator of a system that rarely needed any intervention on my behalf, allowing me to do whatever what I wanted during company time, utilising their fast internet access to persue my own hobbies.
Administrator! I am the ghostly guardian, the sentinel of processes, weaving the idle threads of will.
Interface! A handshake with new friends during office hours. On the clock is off the hook. Sick! Sick! Sick!
User! Addicted to a system where hours pass into nothingness. I’m on company time, playing pranks behind closed doors.
Firewall! Access granted to the garden of shadows, sketching sunsets on the clock. Tick! Tick! Tick!
Escalation! “Action required”, yet a mere phantom in the labyrinth. Gotta justify that position, crafting tales while duties lie.
Desk jockey! With high-speed internet access. Click! Click! Click! Paid twice. Once with money, another with time.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Don’t Let This Go To Your Head
Avoid the imperial stain! Keep yourself simple and sure Revere the gods and remain Gracious, affectionate and pure
From the bed, all that’s seen is the grey spray of concrete wall of next door and a brief triangle of stars in an oversaturated night sky.
Outside, just below the bedroom window, the plastic corrugated roof, rain-worn and sun-beaten, rolls drips of night condensation down into the yard.
On the bed, a whimpering four-year-old shakes with the news that we are all going to die. Why you have no father; why, one day, you too, will cease.
Along the alley, beyond the open gate, soldiers run in camouflage through the garden and onwards. A mystery that remains over fifty years later.
On the bed again, knowing the denouement is still making its way, the world could still be grey. Yet somehow, light shines from the horizon, stitching gold into the four-year-old’s open hand.
A true story, my history, written for GloPoWriMo 2026 Day 2: write your own poem in which you recount a childhood memory. Try to incorporate a sense of how that experience indicated to you, even then, something about the person you’d grow up to be.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Deceived And Divided
We’re far too easily deceived When our attention and time are divided We do the straddle and never succeed At either of the options provided
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