Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Proto-verses stuck in queue
cold shouldered by his Muse
stranded instead with a shrew
seems he’s paying his dues
“Am hardly expecting affection
merely had hoped for direction
so will settle for imperfection!”
he versifies in dejection
Amidst twilight’s hue
in the Word Zoos
phrases won’t accrue
to cheers & boos
His cadence jammed
stone-walling
his stanzas hammed
name calling
Had hoped to glimpse words that would stir dragoons
but found mostly those from burping buffoons
Clearly verity
a fading oddity
like charity
& solidarity!
Non-profit? What hilarity:
A socialist contrivance!
Anti-social temerity!
Surely full fledged connivance!
Rather: ‘Love it’ proclivity
for fantasy’s foolery
of monetized activity
unabashed by usury!
Steady stealth inoculations
in market cacophony
by rapacious corporations
in globalized larceny
Any chance they’d take a moment’s rest?
Sure, when the sun rises in the West!
By now dulled by grime their chime
rhymes grinding without cheers
Imposed too many a time
on cornered, hapless ears
To recite brambled rhyme
(obscure its etymology)
is not a victimless crime
Here’s my sincere apology!
but ceaseless the struggle to self-constrain
it shall fail over again & again
Each moment in its brevity
mere blip imperceptible
no doubt throughout eternity
flashes insusceptible
In mechanical traverse
circling on lonesome trek
in apparent Universe
planet Earth just a speck
Nonetheless could’ve proved ample
if we wouldn’t rush & trample
but instead us fleeting flecks
messy guests soon Earth-less
us humans of modest specs
create own mess mirthless
When we use up what is essential to our very survival we shall perish. No distractions shall save us. To ‘consume’ (Latin ‘consumere’) is to take wholly or completely destroy, i.e. to use up.
Consumers don’t just squander
they do obliterate
now and right here and yonder
they do annihilate
Humans are now consumers
of what remains on Earth
we’re the malignant tumors
assuring planet’s dearth
Plainly turning it all unlivable:
The ultimate act unforgivable
Here’s a story that rocks
for persons with feet
who are wearing out socks
Here details replete:
Involves a old married couple
their romance erstwhile torrid
Neither bodies or minds supple
shuffling in socks un-florid
Socks not blown off any longer
but no surprise still worn through
spotted, when peeled off to launder
without alarm or ado
Her socks wear first at the toe
without an exception
while his heels the first to go
By clearest perception:
sock sorting thus infallible
merely check where’s found the hole
The couple’s union affable
in perfect sorting control
We’re wilting in complacency’s shades
lost in gutless conformity
On frequent refrigerator raids
indulgent of deformity
Lassitude has kept us callow
from solidarity strayed
Each morning’s fresh hue turns sallow
by torrid crassitude swayed
We’ll be found too light when weighed
our erstwhile souls debased
Surely this whole jam self-made
with gone sour aftertaste?
Give your proud legs the chance
to warm, to limber
then set out, watch them prance
in cadenced timbre
Pure pedal powering
in strongest mettle
like petals flowering
in finest fettle
Below blossoms gliding
tires spinning, scouring
boundless bounty riding
while miles devouring
Dancing away on the pedals
in purest joy mystical
beyond mere racing for medals
Living movement lyrical!
+)
cadence = the measure of rhythmical motion; cycling: the number of revolutions of the crank per minute
Outlook darkly fossiliferous
of restraint we’re belligerent
In our pursuits carboniferous
of the future indifferent
No mere hubristic vanity
this despairing dissonance
but ’round the bend’ insanity
from which no deliverance!
While Icarus just didn’t watch the wax
we’re giving our whole species the axe
+)
Icarus = the classical hubris poster boy
My poor heart’s own share of weltschmerz
abates by writing each day
While measured still in kilohertz
keeps disquietude at bay
as well when on bike rides
or admiring a flower
then restlessness subsides
dims futility’s glower
Absorbed in a calm pursuit
in and of its own end
whether in itself minute
ain’t that when we transcend?