Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
This morning found a lady bug
floating in my grapefruit juice
In place of a ‘so what?’ mere shrug
were hoping work out a truce:
If I do not place my drink
right below her flight path
she’s promises to rethink
where next takes her juice bath
But where’s the app with the math
that predicts a bug’s flight path?
Måste väl stämma
nu och i all vår tid
att man hör hemma
där finnes sinnesfrid?
Annorstädes blott att kränga
i trendig omåttlighet
ostadigt nätt å jämt klänga
i ständig otålighet
Ge vår rastlösa fåfänga
en ordentligt hjälpsam känga!
Trots att kämpa upp en brant backe
när vi reser oss fåtöljligt
jämrande om vår styva nacke
trivas som gamling är möjligt!
Om vår tillit outsliten
å attityd inbiten
så länge hyfsad aptiten
får glädjas åt respiten!
Sök hysa hopp att åldrandets förlopp,
fast kvalfullt, bättre än vore fullt stopp!
Mina känslor oj så ömtåliga
likt mogna persikor lättstötta
faller så snabbt i sken otåliga
när av minsta hinder bemötta
Måste hålla jagkänslan välfödd
för all kritik gör mej upprörd
Jag kan väl kanske verka förströdd
när endast finkänsligt lyhörd
Min rättmätiga förstås självkänsla
bör aldrig avtrubbas av medkänsla
The bewildered geezer
slowing on uptake
finds much a brain-teaser
in outlook opaque
Now bumbling, befuddled
way less done than watched
by no smartphone cuddled
His past badly botched:
Got to live long to gain insight
given chance to make things right?
Or just fake alibis airtight
his slim obit to bedight?
Gets close now to Eternity’s Trip
so little time left to get a grip!
Today’s fiends
downward leaning
gawk on screens
cyber preening
If suggested they be weaned
through an intervention
they’ll act aggrieved & demeaned
in glib circumvention:
“We must left free to careen
hunched over with nose on screen!”
Så skriver en gammal utlandssvensk:
Fast Sverige var lugnt å bra
sökte jag nått, gunås, pråligt
For som ung till USA
ett land så grällt å otåligt
Trots fattigdom å grymt våld
tror dess befolking landet glänser
En framtoning nu svårsåld
bortom egna landets gränser
Jag åldras nu i ånger
i kultur hänsynslös
Uttråkad av jargonger
min tid här syns själlös
Försent nu att lösa min dilemma
klart att som ung borde stannat hemma
While one cheats in golf putting
other flinged racket in tennis
indicative, off-putting
of their deadly menace:
Benito Mussolini
full blown fascist, brazen
‘Donito Trumpolini’
proto-fascist, phase-in
Their egos dysplastic
spur their speeches bombastic
Their jaws jutting
language crude
postures strutting
manners rude
Died in ’45, Benito
while Donald lacking circumspection
not even close to finito
so runs again for reelection
Because both such slickers
brash, ignorant & tacky
they attract boot lickers
minions in millions, wacky
+)
-dysplastic = growth larger than normal
-golf, tennis = here: Don’s & Ben’s respective favorite sports
Again and again she looks
for what’s urgently ‘essential’
zero objections she brooks
then pours on efforts torrential
These things she’d ‘wanted forever’
and won’t fumble on follow through:
She pursues in all out endeavor
as been her custom hitherto
No hurdle shall stand in her way
allowing herself no rest
against peace of mind she’ll inveigh
until having scored the best
Came across these lines from a late-Elizabethan era madrigal ‘Now is the Month of Maying’:
“The Spring clad all in gladness
doth laugh at Winter’s sadness”
which inspired the following verse – though pretending that ‘Madrigal’ is the last name of a woman called Elizabeth, who is rather the one feeling gladness & sadness:
While flawless crisp days did excite
on frozen fields bucolic
since then worn thin Winter’s delight
in melting snow to frolic
Patient, fickle & demure
thus arrives next season
to brim with its own allure
clouded from all reason
Dear Elizabeth Madrigal
clearly the most innate thing
for such a thoughtful lovely gal
to join in laughter with Spring!