The frazzled frayed old man
in light breeze shivers and creaks
Sensing end of lifespan
fuzzy his thoughts, paled his cheeks
Did he ponder too much about human history
rather than enjoying his life’s daily mystery?
Med näsan på skärmen
Hej, krumma nätskälm
med näsan på skärmen
iförd en ‘tech-hjälm’
o så käck å färm en
Tänka sej skärmar å tangentborden
dyrkas nu som vore Fosterjorden!
The true cost of fleeting convenience
What’s the true price of ‘convenience’
beyond just the purchase sticker?
Add in cost of our self-lenience
and it hastily turns sicker
incurred by a ‘wheeled fortress’ car
‘starter castle’ residence
frequent air travel wide & far
current clueless President
And in this nation most obese
we keep ordering extra cheese!
Escaping from what? Searching for what?
In every port city
blown above ship hulls
eerily the ‘ditty’
of screeching seagulls
Thus welcomed the seafarer
who soon senses constrain
and the Sea, the ensnarer,
lures him back to its reign
So with eyes teary
sailors depart mournful
of port nights weary
of landlubbers scornful
How smugly incurious!
Our stinginess with language
as we gush emojis, cliches
ought it not augment anguish
over a deepening malaise?
Won’t we see how incurious
how mired in inanity
we’re when spouting claims spurious
in know-it-all vanity?
Ain’t it easily perceptional
that we’re nowhere near exceptional?
Clinging to inanity
O, how smugly incurious
in our vapid vanity
when facts we declare spurious
clinging to inanity!
Smooth snappiness in language
emojis, tropes, cliches
Cannot conceal our anguish
of deepening malaise:
such as we’re The Nation Exceptional
always indistinctly conceptional
Inget har doftat så tryggt som Mormors kofta
Vad jag då än ämnade
hur eller någonstans
så beklagligt lämnade
för dårskap utomlands
Inget tycks dofta
av varm trygghet
som mormors kofta
i all skygghet
Ingen vind har susat
som i min barndoms skogar
ingen dans har tjusat
som på ungdomens logar
Om jag kanske får leva ännu en gång
ska jag lyssna bättre till hemlandets sång
Pedaling may know no bounds on cyclists’ chosen rounds
Faces may look ashen
of cyclists vintage
look as out of fashion
as penny mintage
But on self-selected rounds
cyclists rarely feel repletion
as riding the ups & downs
rarely results in depletion
But they find life off the bike middling
movement without pedaling: piddling
‘Reality Show’ Democracy
Blustering bully clown
the unhinged ‘junker’
Trump just won’t hunker down
in White House bunker
but carries on conceited
in full blown narcissism
indulges in untreated
racism, neo-fascism
His volcanic vanity
pounds in profanity
Incessant inanity
sprains human sanity
‘Reality Show’ Democracy
bestowed on us: Kakistocracy!
+)
-junkers = the landed ‘nobility’ in Prussia. their great estates (in Trump’s case: golf resorts, hotels & casinos) are worked by those with few rights
-kakistocracy = government by the vile & worst, least qualified or most unscrupulous citizens (from Greek kakistos: worst)
Thrives between boulders, behold her!
A tree will grow
almost anywhere
perfectly slow.
Of what, whom aware?
We cannot you or me
thrive between boulders.
Lacking unlike the tree
patience, behold hers!
By Nature’s fashion bedight
chilled or damp shade endures
as well in blinding sunlight
stoically inures.
Imperceptibly stretches
the tree shall persevere.
On faintest skyline etches
foliage crystal clear.
While trees shiver in still silence
humans rage in chain saw violence.