Stories did their work for the future The world, still deciding what to keep
Before was long
Lounging, ankles crossed, watching the clouds Translating sunlight into stillness
The days are long
Adrenaline of whiskey shortcuts Dawn is held off by sheer momentum
The nights are long
The future shrinks, the past multiplies The scenes replayed all out of order
Life is so long
Whether it is silence or in song Meaning will redistribute itself
After is long
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
The Day In Review
What did you think and what did you do Each day, put it all up for review Things that were good, things that were bad All that made you happy, all that made you sad
Active shooter on the edge of the city! – just another day for Propaganda Barbie. The reductions in famine, plague and war are not what she’s campaigning for.
Fronting up to the endorsed media scrum; justifying indefensible actions done. Controlling the conversation to persuade that truth will win no accolade.
Sharpened teeth bared to dissent of what the decisions really meant; A withering glance, a cut of the mic – the face of the new Third Reich!
Standing along at Satan’s side; a nation duped to enjoy the ride. A house of cards being set to fall, disguised as a necessary overhaul.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Reignite Your Thoughts
There are days one is found drifting But even a minute ago is the past A reignition will reveal a shifting Towards a life that soon restarts
her resistance to learning turns to crackle and hiss.
the problem is not with her ears.
Shared with Reena’s Xploration Challenge #413 and based on an interesting incident this week. The inappropriate title comes from a translation of the subject’s name. The form is the Wayra: This short syllabic verse has 5 lines with a syllable count of 5/7/7/6/8. It is unrhymed and incorporates onomatopoeia within the verse.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Wherever You Go, There Your Choice Is
One day, we’re flying high The next may be lying low Our choice always tells us why We found which way to go
This poem is a reworking of Christopher Reilley’s An Alphabet For Burning The Lie, ” which was shared as part of the dVerse Abecedarian challenge last week and was a righteous diatribe that I felt needed rhyming – because I’m a rhymer!
As ash drifts from the burned norms of its old commands, America breathes the dust; strength is all it understands.
Beneath the banners stitched with grief and gathered gold, the crowd learns the echo turns to the only creed they hold.
Courts now bend like reeds to the winds they’ve made, their roots gnawed by the loyal until they’ve clearly frayed.
Down Main Street, drums of order loudly cry, battle-ready brutes insisting, “Comply, comply!”
Each eagle, drafted, trimmed to fit the slogan’s line, wild eyes trained to turn away from what may shine.
Fear is franchised at the borders of the mind, sold as safety, wrapped in propaganda’s bind.
Gagged teachers mouthing history becomes a crime, while the blackboard holds the truth beyond our time.
Hymns to the flag drown out the hungry pleas, and bless the power, while on the streets they freeze.
In ink from executive pens, dissent grows ever weaker, as though the very page flinches from the speaker.
Jails have risen where libraries used to breathe, new ‘good books’ are written purely to deceive.
Kettles of rage, all night, are set to simmering, by those who trade within the screen’s glimmering.
Law is now a mirror, only flattering the strong, reflecting back the only face it loved all along.
Marches wear masks of smiles, rehearsed and refined, while history’s dragged, uncredited, left far behind.
Neighbours are sorted, coded, and soon to be filed away, names grown thin like paper, night after night, day after day.
Oaths have been edited with a most ruthless pen, and mercy’s crossed out once, then crossed out again.
Prayers from police land like cold coins with a clatter an alms for peace poured away like they didn’t matter.
Questions are quarantined so sickness may be sealed, behind the plastic words, the truth is never revealed.
Rights fall like leaves in the seasons turned by polls, privileges granted to those in the most favoured roles.
Screens sermonise obedience in sparkling, vibrant hues, and bless the cruel with a charisma they can’t refuse.
Teaching grievances from lecterns across many stages, word salads are spilt all over the digital pages.
Under long shadows, the uniforms teach of a new grammar, the syntax of which is taught under threat of the hammer.
Votes are vacuumed up from the ever-hopeful room, a quiet consent descends as the game is set to resume.
Whispers take the long way home these nights, cold amongst the promises of ever brighter lights.
Xenon-bright lies blaze, marking the exits clear, herding the frightened ever forward towards the fear.
Yards fill with flags, while faces fade from view, belonging swapped for a theatre of the untrue.
Zero-sum dawns demand a different sun, we answer with a love and rage as one, refusing every night they’ve just begun.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
See The World Like A Poet And An Artist
The oh-so-ordinary may seem little more than functional and pragmatic. Take the artist’s view of the scene or the poet’s filter, sensational and dramatic.
A body humming with the city’s dread, days shrink to margins and murmurs. A world of fragments, half-perceived, a ghost drifting through wet gestures.
On cold steel, a reckoning of bone, the tangled world falls away below. Meeting the weight of life, welcoming it like death, the distant galaxies, quiet as confession.
A shapeless breath, braided soft with prayer, the current flows into the silence known. So the heaviness learned to float, stillness threads through the trembling puddles.
Into the vastness, mercy arrived without knocking, healed with the strange truth of being seen. Something uncharted unfurled inside, a distant glimmer now whispered in the night.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Reboot The Real Work
Paralysed by the fear of failure You procrastinate to begin Everything follows when you get to work To lose is to learn, and to learn is to win
All our old ideas are in a box marked ‘habit’ They must be true but we’ve forgotten why Our rote behaviours lead to mindlessness And so it came to be as the time went by
God, I’ve got a nose to pick with you. Are you listening to my angry prayer? A few fucks in front of the altar? It’s not like you’ve never heard me swear.
My reverent heresy is born from The institution blindly followed. To commit their violence in your name Fed on half-truths, easily swallowed.
Shared with Tanka Tuesday – oxymoron but mine is just a nine-syllable quatrain. I got my challenges mixed up.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Peace Is In Staying The Course
Riding the waves of acceptance and rejection Tranquillity does not wander in every direction
Shared with dVerse Quadrille #239 – smile, which immediately made me think of the Fall and so I went investigating the lyrics of their album containing the titular song. The italicised words are taken from various songs from the album Perverted By Language.
Repetitious history Disease-ridden southern spectres To fall, to rise again
Back to trade, back to barter War is over with no shots fired
Undone, the strife-knot For it’s… The death of the dimwits That makes US smile
Global majority Once perverted by language Definitive
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Cut The Strings That Pull Your Mind
Fear, suspicion and desire all may beg For your time and attentions A spark may be lighting the powder keg To blow up your pretensions
The timeless struggle, a beam of inspiration Blunt honesty is held in the artist’s brush Works stacked up, buzzing with anticipation Laid down at the moment of the flush
At the origin, one’s own voice is found Given shape to ideas born of ancient myths To envy the truth is to live underground Never to unfurl the scroll of trusted smiths
The sea change shift, no longer a mystery The creative flow of a fluid history
1994ever 