Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Those hectoring, obscure scenes:
don’t know a single nut or bolt
behind those crisp shiny screens
against which hopeless to revolt
Without an apology
the techno-fix is in
by latest frivolity
we cannot fix a thing
Large corporations with such ease
(we’re hapless at their mercy)
charges us hefty service fees
We’re left to smile & curtsy
Ours is not to understand how
but (whilst being scammed) acclaim ‘wow!’
Does goods shown with perky snappiness
by such breathless marketing fanned
bring but material happiness
fulfillment in Consumer Land …
… while Peace of Mind ever vernal
must unceasingly be yearned
grasped fleetingly, though eternal
cannot be bought, might be earned
Senseless then if out shopping sheepishly
as the true price thereof piles steepishly?
Here the expression of ‘cry uncle’ becomes ‘cry ankle’. Experienced after long days of sightseeing on foot in e.g. a major tourism city.
Our knees
both screech
Oy vey! oy vey! oy vey!
as feet ‘cry ankle’
Dawns yet another day
regrets shall rankle
But why dwell in an existence
where the major absorbing locus
is on bodily persistence?
Where’s the intellectual focus?
But until found ain’t it sadly obvious
that of such we just had not the foggiest
+)
-oy vey! = (Yiddish) expression of dismay or hurt
best shut up, be nice!
Let’s just keep on racing
on lake’s melting ice
Though species are abating
let’s collude: All is cool!
and ain’t polite berating
denial’s nonplussed fool
What’s the need to be realistic
when we can just stay optimistic?
Life’s hilly road winds abstruse
sometimes circuitous
Of what befalls we’re obtuse
shall seem gratuitous
Perhaps fortuitously
not by divine keyboard?
Events evolve furtively
warnings often ignored
Aren’t we oddly innocent of what is untoward
as when what seemed ‘punishment’ later turns out ‘reward’?
General George Custer
died raiding, forlorn
Of no help his bluster
at Little Bighorn
Gone gold button luster
many men are dead
Peacock chesty Custer
what was in his head?
The hubristic quagmire:
even when not pierced by lance
the outcome sure & dire
of all empires’ arrogance
Vinden susar i träden
i svanesången
På sköna cykelfärden
knastrar grusgången
Bakom sensommarn smeksam
står hösten å lurar
väntar bortom vit björkstam
med kyliga skurar
Sommarns lek känns redan skenbar
Tid snart nu för höstens allvar
Självdaltandet går illa
hejdlös vår fåvitskhet
vad vi lyckas förspilla
i ohämmad bryskhet!
I vår förlamande feghet
saknas klarsynthetens fasthet
Stackars planets otur
vår Konsument andtruten
på enveten åktur
bland reklam oavbruten
Låter vi oss inbilla
när som rusar runt rådvilla
att lyckan en lyxvilla
när allenast en synvilla?
Jagar vi det avdragsgilla
i rättfärdigad njugghet?
Beter oss som imbecilla
i omedveten blindhet?
Vår ansvarskänsla vilar vindstilla
mens seglar snabbt de omdömesgilla
Sitter nu som gammal
ensam i köket
sliten min själs fodral
efter livsstöket
I ungdom ointaglig
mens knäna nu svaga
ens mage obehaglig
duktig på att klaga
Har kört i samma spår
var dag in och ut
år efter snarlikt år
tills åren tar slut
Men om jag hade haft mer vett
kunde jag levt på annat sätt?