Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
I’m no poet hifalutin
mere versifier callow
who does his own in foot shooting
writing rhyming verse shallow
A superficial spin drier
of phrases oddly acquired
then dressed up in pretend attire
for yet a show uninspired
“Let versifiers”, state prim poetry fellows,
“hang themselves high in the illiterate gallows!”
Fast utan överblick
med trogen tillit
vartenda ögonblick
så länge profit
Föga merit
tycks teologi
mens grym aptit
på teknologi
Så knogar vi på livets stig
i trångsynthet mer stram än vig
A Democracy that works for most of us depends upon a well informed and consistently engaged public:
By main stream media conformed
erstwhile ‘hard news’ turned entertainment:
offers up a worldview malformed
keeps us powerless by containment
Opinions spouted unformed
by impatience upstaged
To facts & logic not warmed
in ignorance encaged
From mounting calamities disengaged
with any sense of urgency assuaged
Doesn’t make an intellectual
just ’cause on mundane life’s path
he’s clumsy, ineffectual
or does not do well at math
No oratorical giant
when merely didactical
only impressing those pliant
dreamers most impractical
So before in verbiage he basks
best wait and see if anyone asks?
The to-do list incompressible
keeps flashing iridescently
In habitude irrepressible
she complies acquiescently
Locked-on she performs
brainstormingly
stirring up dust storms
barnstormingly
Her comportment audacious
at peak pursuit tenacious
The child’s mind is clearness
in unspoken dearness
in unbroken nearness
each moment as hereness
In the present time fulfilled
absent of pretension
mind by the most minute stilled
free from condescension
All in wonder of the mundane
in wide starry eyes ponder
not drawn to lofty or arcane
not off somewhere there yonder
Duck is a duck, no swan
no airs needing put on
Just about everybody including those:
With legs toothpick scrawny
or Tour de France brawny.
Celebs basking in fawning fame
or whose friends can’t recall their name.
Who are hard pressed to steer & pedal
or just won an Olympic medal.
Who are not obtuse:
So, what’s your excuse?
Unfazed by our own pretension
grasp of issues flagrantly hazy
Hard to listen, pay attention
when intellectually lazy
Fleetingly attracted
we find what’s brief protracted
Swiftly we’re distracted
too much from us exacted
Triggered as if by bump stock
with scant effort to aim
we keep spraying our stump talk
through story line so lame
Relieved when can finally defect
hopping on to a next fresh subject
Kusligt hur snabbt minnet minskas
Steget rangligt i yrsel
Tankar i sinnet försinkas
med otillräcklig styrsel
Krämpor uttrycker sin trilska
Mens utblick alltmer diffus
Lynnet i vanmäktig ilska
ångar i ångerns bakrus
Eller vem vet, efter år av konflikt,
öppnas nu dörren på glänt till insikt?
How we whip up the batter
amidst spills & splatter
with clanks & clinks & clatter
shall tastily matter
May frantically fiddle
watching out for mistakes
by the sizzling hot griddle
shaping up the hotcakes
Can the essence be found, sweet or awful
solely in the eating of the waffle?