Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
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?
The Elite’s claims spout spurious
its logic & facts futile
Outcomes to us injurious
their domination brutal
By their jingoistic ways stirred
we ignore injustice rife
while succumbing in lives absurd
filled with suffering & strife
So why do we listen to their speeches
even cheering them on from the bleachers?!
fyller lätt en rymlig lada
ej bara av Kålle å Ada
men många andra pratglada
Mången en övermodig bracka
måste uttrycka sin åsikt
så tyckes sällan sluta snacka
kärt förvissad om sin insikt
De föredrar ettrig verbal stridslystnad
över uttråkad i lyssnande tystnad
Morning dawns intently
on ‘coming to’ human fray
Kind sun rays shine gently
upon yet another day
Way below mournful seagulls
mournful their shrieking earfuls:
Humans scuffle in barbarity
set for yet another drubbing
Shunning of most solidarity
scurrying, our faint hearts flubbing
Lacked libationary restraint
until his dignity drained
Unfazed by concern & complaint
too tightly to habit chained
Used to drain bottles full throttle
when was that kind of fellow
Now fills a hot water bottle
since he turned cold & mellow
So there, we can now credibly debunk
that the bottle per se gets us drunk
Nodding ‘Yes!’ Prettily smiling
signaling how we assuage
Leaning in closely, beguiling
lying in wait to engage
Then! Rushing the podium
forcing forward tilting
engendering odium
with rendition lilting!
Boorishly we’re ‘reporting’
while other voices thwarting
By faked exchange we’re elbowing
to corral own audience
In-vogue phrases we’re echoing
promoting our prominence
Out from what frozen frustration
flows such puerile predation?
+)
‘reporting’ = here: often unsolicited, to boorishly drone on with pointless & self-centered accounts of the minute & mundane
I glimmande sprakande lövseglande höst
slår stilla våra hjärtan i förväntan:
Våren skall sjunga igen med skimrande röst
då vi ska återse gården i gläntan
Tills dess likt svältande vilsna vargar vi yla
skälvande i vinterns obarmhärtiga kyla
+)
Gården i gläntan = vår gård i Västergötlands län ovan sjön Anten
Under 2014 rapporterades en del snabbköp stölder av s.k. kundpinnar.
I asocialt vansinne
bar iväg till snabbköpet
för att ‘låna’ en kundpinne
Men denna gång i stöpet …
… för på vakt med sin batong
å gömd bakom knuten
bak en hylla med buljong
med handbojor: Snuten!
Arresterad, fick böta
i orättvis rättsröta!
+)
kundpinne = den ‘kundavskiljare’ som lägges på bandet i kassalinjen
What’s our pleasant ‘small talk’
but schlock while lolling?
Keeps humming, spiked by squawk
boorish & galling!
Seldom turns elevating
those leisurely oozings
of whiny ventilating
self-victimized musings
Mostly regurgitating
that not much worth saying
How tiresome, aggravating
much like brainless braying!
Small talk like cloying pies
whose flavor fading hasty
Expectations belies
beyond sugar, flour pasty
Inside hooey crumbly crust
gooey, gluey filling
for which lips & taste buds lust
rarely found fulfilling
Is not small talk a pie
over which we should cry ?
Throughout history of cultures
humans have brought agony
Tearing asunder like vultures
and seldom showing mercy
Egos flare while hearts still yearn
to mire us in conflict
now getting too late to learn
to help, and not inflict
Life lost in bickering
Solidarity’s warm lights
have long been flickering
collapse nibbled, now it bites
Even with our planet crumbling
why aren’t our failings found humbling?