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
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
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
We sit in shelters with our eyes averted, searching for faces among those who remain. The Occupied Zone, completely deserted of something that may adequately explain.
We wanted it all and found that we were lost; we lost it all and wanted that even more. The missiles with eyes always carry a cost. …we make our choices when we open the door.
The brothers Rat hold knives to each other’s backs while talking about life, about what is right. The brothers Wright sit merrily taking cracks knocking back a few ’til the end of the night.
write your own poem in which you refer to a specific writer or artist (or work of literature/art) and make a declarative statement about want or desire. Set the poem in a particular, people-filled place, like a restaurant, bus station, museum, school, etc.
The references here will be obscure for most people. The brothers Wright, in this case, are artists Rob and John, of the Canadian Hall of Famers, Nomeansno and the brothers Rat, being their alter-egos in the song Brother Rat. All this is tied together with lyrics mangled from Brother Rat and another of their songs, Lost, words of which discuss shelters and the occupied zone, referencing particular current news events.
This poem is purposefully dystopian, dark and ironic about how people respond to loss and occupation.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
The Colour Of Your Thoughts
What is the feedback on your internal reports? Do you put yourself fairly in the frame? Colour your mind with the wrong thoughts And your life will be dyed the same.
Written (after the fact) for the GloPoWriMo Day 10 prompt: write a poem that uses alliteration and punning. See if you can’t work in references to at least one word you have trouble spelling, and one that you’ve never quite been able to perfectly remember the meaning of.
I guess I didn’t really hit this prompt but this is the inspiration that arose from it. Somewhat a manifesto.
Inspired and paraphrased from the Red Hand Files (again!) #337 and for the GloProWriMo Day 20 prompt: write a poem informed by musical phrasing or melody that employs some form of soundplay (rhyme, meter, assonance, alliteration).Also, the poem ‘In Evening Air by Theodore Roethke was suggested as an example, and I used the rhyming form, which I found quite pleasant and I think worked very well.
Maybe not a helpful admission, I’m not sure where I stand these days; as the ground shifts exposing each other’s rifts, it hardens without permission and uncertainty sings its praise.
The world, beautiful but broken; my temperament wishes no further harm; no left or right or centre might have, to me, truly spoken and guided me towards a calm.
My reason searches for the true to ease the burden of each other’s sorrow; how easy it is to break, to forget to give and take; cautious and careful in what I do when nothing is certain tomorrow.
Not knowing what I’m talking about; does the world need to hear that voice? Listening to all divergent views makes me ever more confused so that when still filled with doubt silence is my choice.
So maybe I just stand with my art, valuing the deed over the word; to the fragile flickering spirit bring a striving for such praise to sing; At least, it’s a place to start so that the silence will still be heard.
MockART – Some nice noise here that is keeping my brain active whilst trying to download an upload for my computer so that I can practice guitar again, since something has messed up one of the apps I like to use. Not sure that I would listen to this at any other time though!
Wet Nurse – Fractured and somewhat scary energy here. It’s interesting for sure but a bit too disturbing for me these days. About 20 years ago I would’ve been all over this.
Meira Asher – Interesting punk hip hop that reminds me of some similar weird freaks I met from Japan in the 00s. I like the more rhythmic tracks over the atmospheric ones.
Half Empty Glasshouse – I have their albums already but had forgotten about them. Lots of time changes and genre warping. This is my kinda jam for sure.
My bedroom, dusty and rank with teenage anger, Putting the world to rights through a cracked speaker’s static; a chorus of voices chanting in my lonely imagination, the army I lead from a mattress on the floor.
A spinning refrain, played again and again “Here you stand, my judge and jury.”
A dead mouse, a decaying spider plant, the only witnesses to these carpet-muffled pleas. We stood together, a council of the defeated, alienated.
Jaded even before the fight; “In gods they trust to hide the sins which they commit themselves.”
Sullen and restless we’ll decompose our withered leaves, settle into the dirty corners anonymous not forgotten
“We’re legion.”
Written well after the fact for the GloProWriMo Day Sixteen prompt: try writing a poem that imposes a particular song on a place. Describe the interaction between the place and the music using references to a plant and, if possible, incorporate a quotation – bonus points for using a piece of everyday, overheard language.
As an angsty teenager, awkwardly looking at the constant depravity of the world, I latched on to anthems that united me with others, even if only in bedrooms across Britain. One such song that resonated with me was Theatre of Hate’s Legion, which I had bought (saving mum’s lunch money) on a 7″. My old dodgy record player had a method of allowing repeat plays of the record on the turntable, and so it was that one day I played this song 59 times in a row. I’m not sure why I never got to 60. My dirty, dusty bedroom housed myself, a tragic spider plant and a mouse that soon suffocated among all the incense smoke used to cover up the smell of cigarette smoke. It was a typically pathetic teenager’s bedroom. But I was convinced I was not alone and I was convinced that I was right.
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