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Alicia Moore Sep 29
I’m grateful for the
calm winds of stoicism
exhaling from you.
David Jul 8
You'll never get to experience the depth of the still water until you're submerged.
The iceberg of the mind...
There are no mistakes, only lessons manifesting in various degrees of challenge.
Adversity is the crucible through which character is shaped.
Let my equanimity be mistaken for indifference,
as my tolerance is for acceptance.
Because the mountain piercing the heavens is actually a dormant volcano.
What a time to be alive,
Where words have no value
It is easier to understand animals than people,
Where people love in a cryptic language
only they understand,
Where being one to being apart
Takes just about a weekend,
Where the world is in political chaos
Capitalism is still at the top,
Religion and race still matter,
As if we got stuck in the same history chapter.
Where people don't say what they feel
But often feel what they say
Their voice lacking a clear purpose,
With thoughts running all over the place.
Empathy is a thing of the past it seems,
With nobody to hold your hand when you fall
But pretending they are in it for the long hall.

Are you a stoic? Is it keeping you at bay?
It seldom works as emotions always get in your way,
Times are trying, they are uncertain
Today every misdemeanour is costly,
Every mistake is sinful,
Times when silence is as good as violence.
Where people are seeking therapy but no one wants
To work towards finding happiness,
Where everyone wants to talk but,
With no one to listen
It sparks fear to even think about
bringing a child into this world.
Has the world gone far into the deep end?
Do you still want to pretend,
Like nothing has happened
And we are still the same?
Or do you want to take a stand
To make things better?
Rise from the ashes to save the world
Maybe it can't be saved,
Maybe this is it - the dystopia
Maybe we are just brave,
To even hold this thought of a change!
knuckles ache
peel back the page:
Aurelius, Seneca, Epictetus
cluck the tongue
boys outside throw jabs
over a cracked
cricket bat
a father frets over
investments and client work,
simple things.
I read on
wondering how so many words
committed to tranquility
could be attributed to so many men
when women
trained stoics since the womb
would pen epics -
if only they were not plucking stones from rice.
Joseph Rice Dec 2019
I realized today that
I’m better at being me
Than I am at being a part of them.
Or us.
It's too easy to be the crutch
To get stuck while helping us out of the ruts.
But when I’m the stress pressed mess...
Step around.

Ever the alien
Ever the desert
Ever the tree standing tall in the field
Watching the forest retreat.
Just because we are strong, doesn't mean we don't need help sometimes.
Ackerrman Aug 2019
Red. Blue. Green balloons skip from hand to air.
Their buoyance pulling taught on string without a care
For cutting of birthday cake or pink frosty icing melting
In the sun, party plates pass from Nanna to Papa.
The sleek magic man pulls another trick, waves his hands and ‘ta-da’.

The birthday boy sits unblinking,
Whilst those around make merry clinking,
Stupor with drinking.
Unmoved in his party of one.

Pink candy, fluffy pillows, sugar spun round like may pole in June
Sun, gliding through shrouds of baby blue glue on the day when somebody loved you,
The faded scent of burning popcorn scars memory.
Faint, old, warm voices rise in chorus of lukewarm water, embrace the scene
As children in play, chase white rabbits through hedges all summer day.

The birthday boy sits with guard folded,
and his mind is moulded,
his memory of play is shrouded,
thoughts making merry grounded,
unmoved in his party of one.

Sweet, suckling, pig aroma, dancing through the air and making merry
all the guests, with hustle and bustle, meeting and greeting with every
burst of laughter, rising and drowning in the air like Ariel,
Enchantress of Garden chairs, thin napkins caped in Tomato,
Children bounce around on castles, kings clinging to memories of tomorrow

The birthday boy sits far away,
Where his thoughts are free to flay,
All memory of that savage day,
Where innocence and virtue lay,
Unmoved in his party of one,

Ice cream Sundaes glitter as diamonds, yawning and smiling
As cream floats down the exquisite vase in timing
To lecherous looks promising requiem to appetite,
A chorus of laughter fills the air with, pop- another bottle,
Warm embrace of familiar friends, we smile soft as a bubble…

The birthday boy,
with stern and solemn stare,
Dares not cut the air,
Or insist on what is fair,
But sits to fester in the sun’s cold glare,
Looking like he does not care,
Unmoved in his party of one.

Sun flakes leaping over my neighbour’s
Stubbly white palace, beams trickle round its walls in party favours,
Death lightning blinding, level-climbing, stupor rising, smiling clowns,
Gracefully rummage through pockets for silver-shining keys,
Embraces kind faces with kinder eyes and another cherished memory leaves.

The birthday boy sat silent as the grave,
His parents want him to behave,
No boy like fancies left to save,
Stooped low in his plastic cave,
Ruing the knife that thought him brave.
Unmoved in his party of one.
One day a character from a book i am writing decided she wanted write a poem about her little brother.
McDonald tsiie Jul 2019
i. have seen
love. with my eyes
you. are that image from within
Juhlhaus Jul 2019
O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I my go labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.
A tribute to the noble toad of the Northwoods.
MB Lewis May 2019
The key won't turn in the lock
I've tried everything apart from knock
Twisted it, bit it, bent it, the lot!
The key won't turn in the godforsaken lock

Peaking through the windows; a scene fit for a king,
A spread as far as I can see and a pool for me to swim,
Life seems carefree in there, all void of awe and shock,
Unfortunately for me, the key won't turn in the lock.

Frantic now as my mood begins to change,
Left out in the cold like I am the one that is strange,
Why won't they let me in? Or do they intend to mock?
Don't they know my key won't turn in the lock?!

Twisting it with anger, faster and faster,
Can't remember life before this task became my master,
I want what is inside and what's in there is ad hoc,
The only thing stopping me is my key stuck in the lock.

We all have that vision, of a perfect house and home
We follow it so vigorously we end up sad and alone
If I was taught from infancy how to follow what is true,
I'd probably realise I have the wrong house,
and no longer bother you.
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