“Everything is fine, it sure is swell” The lie that everything is going well Reliable, adequate – never too much A chinless wonder, always out of touch
“Yes, yes, yes, I’m doing just fine” Even with this jelly for a spine At the bell curve, a perfect cog More average than the trusted family dog
Easily recognised at the office hot desks The most unremarkable of ‘mehs’ It’s not a sadness as far as you can tell It’s beige on beige in a mediocre hell
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
We Can Work Any Way
No one is ever denied learning No matter their circumstances The wheel of life is always turning And there are always more chances
rally the troops around fighting to the death for their story
til strangers on familiar grounds we used to call home
Inspired by the various border wars around the world and copying the syllable count from a previously published poem by Matthew Maitland, including the borrowing of the final stanza. The poem has since been made unavailable.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Don’t Go Expecting Perfection
Why ponder the existence of nuisance? It’s holding you back from getting started Best to make do with how things are And take on the task wholehearted
Decades rush towards an ever distant double-o. Crossing off the milestones one by one we find less to celebrate.
And when lids finally close, eyes open to a new world with a big 'Oh!' "That's what it all meant."
Destined to write poetry forever next to Wilfred, Walt and William, like old friends.
Written for dVerse – Launch and these thoughts came to me after reading Henry Rousseau’s tombstone epitaph, written by poet Guillaume Apollinaire: “We salute you Gentle Rousseau you can hear us Delaunay, his wife, Monsieur Queval and myself Let our luggage pass duty free through the gates of heaven We will bring you brushes, paints and canvas That you may spend your sacred leisure in the light and truth of painting As you once did my portrait facing the stars, lion and the gypsy”
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Your Career Is Not A Life Sentence
Your work does not make you immune From the end arriving soon
The cell door opens, but no light comes through, just a guard's fist and a dog's snapping jaw. Thirty-three years of this, though changing too, the blocks where guards once kept a fragile law.
They took the books, the mirrors, the hotplate, removed our blankets for a single sheet. Toothbrushes replaced with ones short and straight, walking our laps without shoes on our feet.
Still touching hope when the radio plays Abeer Nehme for three minutes a day. Then I feel human, despite the malaise, as Gaza burns a hundred miles away.
They ask, "Why don't you just die?" The guards sneer.
“I have decided to write because things do not find existence outside the borders of language, not even genocide. I must write about the slaughter in Gaza; about its famished men, women and children; about its drowned sea and about its ability to rise again; about the world’s indifference to what has happened there and what is still happening there; about how the major powers barely even acknowledge this crime. I must write about Palestinian prisoners, because a war is still being waged against them; the Israeli prison authorities have not yet declared a ‘ceasefire’.”
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
A Cure For The Self
Through nurture and nature we form our traits Some with negative consequences Philosophy and all it investigates Brings positive outcomes to all our senses
Spoons still clatter each morning, amongst the rebar and dusted bread. Idle chatter around the fallen awning, auntie still insists we make the bed.
But first, we must wash the dishes, perhaps there will be time to play. Even knowing worse, unspoken wishes, it’s another day off school today
No reception from the satellite, let’s make do with our imagination. This inception of al fresco light shall become our new foundation.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Check Your Privilege
Some people are sharp and others, not so much Not everyone has the same head start as you Be patient with those still searching, as such Check your privilege before all that you do
Once, going home to chase old memories; is this old house truly the one I see? A character in my documentaries, walls whisper alienation to me.
Your face is familiar, but who are you? You talk to me like I’m someone you know. Taken for granted yet still ‘baby blue’; scared of any other places to go.
The bathroom mirror is asking me too, Who is this impostor who takes my name? Every morning, a case of jamais vu, The ‘I’ in ‘me’ is no longer the same.
That green-handled oval hand mirror, dusty, with paint that would peel and crack. Held just right, it allowed me to squeeze those difficult to get pimples on my back.
The old dirty Lino floating under the rugs collecting snot balls and hair in the corners Those rugs made a comfort of the floor, on which I danced like my favourite performers.
The old dirty bed clothes where everyone sat would become the warmth that each night needed. The glass in the window, sagging with age, so often slammed shut and mistreated.
These little nostalgias are a cold comfort, prickly reminders of all that was I don’t want to hold on to them anymore. All these have been my loves.
Written for dVerse Poetics: The Great Lover. I like to reminisce and be nostalgic but it is becoming a reminder of feelings that will not be repeated. While I spend most of my time analysing my own past to understand who I am, I’m also conscious that the little time left to us is being wasted in the process too. This poem could have gone on a lot longer (and maybe one day it will). I think I mentioned this elsewhere, but it brings to mind the Big Black lyric, ‘I know what a liar I am, I should know me by now.’
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Somewhere Someone’s Dying
Thoughts and prayers count for nothing Bad news is everywhere, every single day Mindless sympathy doesn’t help those suffering Deeds count more than just to say
After the fact, a story takes shape A fairy tale that is no lie Convinced by your own cover Suggestion reacting to stimuli
Is it reason that came before action Or is that just from a gut-feel? The left may not know of the right But together they can steer the wheel
We believe in our most plausible guesses Filling in the narrative gaps We are unreliable witnesses Think twice before you trigger the traps
Another little write inspired by a David Elikwu newsletter about how the left hemisphere of the brain acts as an interpreter for our actions, even after we have carried them out.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
Receive Honours and Slights Exactly The Same Way
Let go without attachment Receive without pride Everything can be taken away Take it all within your stride
1994ever 