Nothing could be plainer than the things that have been done And there can be no mystery in what is yet to come It’s now that howls at nothing; It’s now that runs and hides It’s now that winds its spineless coils and slithers out of sight
On my arrival, all I learned was from those gathered round I had no memory of my past, no future to be found Books that were given to me only spoke of victory To be treated as our truth and proof of our history When I began to question things, the lies soon followed on All the wars, what were they for, and did they help anyone? It seemed that all this time had been wasted to the extreme One step forward and two steps back, I realised I had been Born into a damage that’s real and worn by everyone Nothing could be plainer than the things that have been done
The cause and effect are forever flowing through our lives We all know how it will end and how no one will survive Shocked by our own ignorance, we clutch at the old pretence Trapped within the falsehood of our manufactured suspense The echo arrives before the shout has even begun With the dreams of our past, we believe we’ve already won Storm warnings were ignored because the sky was always blue This wasn’t the future but the past that was coming true Here we go again and again, it’s all been said and done And there can be no mystery in what is yet to come
We no longer finish thoughts before we get distracted We’re just a character in our own game to be acted If we shout a little louder, the truth will be drowned out No longer noble, it’s the animals that know more about Survival means we must forget about turning the tides We’re speeding towards the canyon in our dopamined rides Now, we’ve made your bucket list, are we ready to defend Our right to make sense of it all, and so not to pretend When it all catches up, there will be less ladders than slides It’s now that howls at nothing; It’s now that runs and hides
We’re sold maps as mazes, that’s why we can never be found Always searching the skies for treasures buried underground Blame is passed hand to hand, decisions forever deferred Flexibility only bends its way to the absurd Moral neutrality used as camouflage every night Wraps us in complexities that took away all our fight Rooms arranged to forget there was anything ever here A never-ending spiral stairs watches us disappear With a perfect avoidance, it can quietly dim the light It’s now that winds its spineless coils and slithers out of sight
Shared with dVerse MTB prompt to write a glosa. My quoted lines (italicised) are taken from the song ‘Now’ by Nomeansno. Finding lines to work with was a challenge and the whole write took a fair few hours. I’ll struggle to get the song out of my head tonight as I go to sleep.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
The Only Prize
The more things we desire The more we have to earn Freedom no longer stokes the fire If more prizes are your concern
An ambulance was called to the library and the children all ushered out After Ms Lee collapsed while reading The incident, recalled without doubt
“Did the monster get the lady, mum?” questioned Eli, who had covered his eyes Ms Lee’s voice was nice but even at age 4 Eli knew that there would be a surprise
Marie was the new library volunteer And just passed her course on CPR Jumping up and checking for a pulse In her story, she became the star
Bobby, Ms Lee’s son, was called And he felt guilty at his selfish thoughts He struggled to drive to the hospital Obviously feeling out of sorts
Old Mrs Gupta had been in the M to N’s when she emerged to all the commotion She saw the event as a rehearsal as it unfolded in slow motion
Ms Lee herself looked to the frightened faces the sounds and light began to fade As everything softened and became pale She recalled all the quiet joys she had made
Written for Reena’s Xploration prompt #414, expanding on this prompt idea: A novelist creates a story told by five narrators, each contradicting the others.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Push For Deep Understanding
The first page is not enough, leaving understanding rough; For the lesson to remain a keeper, You gotta go deeper and deeper.
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.
1994ever 