Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
We ‘commune’ by bumper stickers
and by thought-ending cliches
Feebly democracy flickers
in such debased a malaise
Ever sillier, who’d thought?
Uninformed we get out of sync
society’s bonds worn fraught
Civil discourse gone down the sink
Now in anomie mired
entertained on apps agile
In fantasy conspired
reality’s grip fragile
But what a way to go
when wishing not to know!
To logic & hard facts
I’m recalcitrant
They may hinder my acts
when I gallivant
When finding pliable ‘facts’
I’m thus salivating
as they justify my acts
Aptly stimulating!
Civil or in brawl
I’m the victim
Watch me whine & bawl
here’s my dictum:
Between ‘wants’ & ‘needs’ little daylight
Furthermore I ain’t contrite, all right?
Are we rushing headlong
hearing no birdsong
all unmindful days long
until sounds swan song?
Entitled like baby boomer?
Whining like left waiting dog?
Offended like gypped consumer?
Fawning like corporate cog?
I’d rather live present & cheerfully
than elbowing airily sneerfully!
After having captured Government
Big Business criminogenic
in stealthy coup of empowerment
ethics withered cryogenic
Erstwhile Earnest Citizen
turned Craven Consumer
Now Fantasy’s Denizen
selfish in ill humor
So now we’ve been trumped
back to Poor Serfs bumped
+)
-serf = here: a person doing undignified work at a callous corporation paid far less than his or her contribution to productivity
The clueless White House ambit
emanates from Empire’s
odoriferous armpit:
Absurd acts of ‘high wire’
This (must we not suppose) is:
National psychosis
with full free fall prognosis
by brashest hypnosis
Trump aggrandizes
fantasizes
He tantalizes
scandalizes
Done with can’t-help-himself flair
brazen cruelty laid bare
Att få ‘uppleva’
i stund så spröd
att sluta leva
tills straxt bli död!
Å med hopp i halsgropen
om Efterliv man dör
vem vore inte snopen
om allt man gör är … dör?
För om Livet Efter Detta
kan man bara staka sej
Tankar härom inte lätta
så varför grubbla, okej?
Efter natten flyr
vresig, burdus
och morgonen gryr
mens i bakrus:
backade ut från garaget
mens följde med på chatten
bakhjulen for i buskaget
backade över katten
Borde kollat ens backspegel
en djurvänlig trafikregel!
Det genljuder i trägårns stillhet
i ögonblickets ljuva skörhet
Där ekar var stjälks knäpp i stuns
och från äpplets fall suset
Följd av, vad höres högljudd, duns
i stillheten runt huset
Äpplen när mogna håller ej på å flörta
nej, omgående mot marken de sej störta
+)
Bråta = vår gård upp från sjön Anten
Winter rages bleak & cold
then merely click ‘unfriend’!
For Spring soon to burgeon bold
just click ‘like’ to impend!
Climate change talk we won’t brook
cannot by hoodwinked eye be seen
It lacks button on Facebook
anywhere in front of our screen!
What’s Fantasy and what’s Reality
long since blurred in Mainstream Media
Drenched in torrents of triviality
by enablers of Acedia
Unbeknownst benighted
watch us grin shortsighted
+)
-acedia = not caring or not being concerned with one’s position or condition in the world
The moment after crashing
time seemingly stands still
“You are alive!” keeps flashing
in vertiginous thrill
Crashed by distracted blunder
as no one did contrive
Withstood a thrust through thunder
to find oneself alive!
Then rest of day oxygenated
in pain, dazed while exhilarated