Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
By day’s end our body yearns for rest
for the next morning’s rebound of zest
At night as our senses lose sway
swift images flow in streams
while faded away the next day
galloped madly in our dreams
While our valiant heart may know best
still pumps away at whose behest?
Seamless, senseless the aggression
spawned by Exceptionalism
the Imperial obsession
Kissing cousins of Fascism
Limbs blown away & bodies grilled
in ancient cultures debased
Millions (yes, no less!) maimed or killed
millions more fleeing displaced
Many countries devastated
by industrial slaughter
Trillions of dollars plain wasted
while economies totter
Spilled blood, gore & grime
in hell fire doom
done time after time
Brought on by whom?
By Department of ‘Defense’
term deceptively stretched
in obfuscating pretense
offensively far fetched
+)
Exceptionalism = here: American exceptionalism
U.S. security in peril
from nations antagonistic!
Those foreigners always found feral
their voices propagandistic!
Thus forced by others in cahoots
U.S. must keep up the whack-a-mole
though even when ‘on the ground boots’
unable to exercise control
Expand embargo targets!
Kill collaterally!
The same old Beltway argots
unilaterally:
“All options are on the table
won’t stand for contradiction!”
such pontificating fable
of titillating fiction
While Elites ought to shiver
as Empire slips, they trip
Out of arrows in quiver
they’re now losing their grip
All day yesterday
felt drained, disaffected
mind in disarray
oddly disconnected
Couldn’t tap into the lode
few emotions stirred
weak words trickled, few flowed
blah images blurred
Thoughts hazy
fading away
Mind lazy
scattered astray
Gave myself the nod
in poor mind fogged
to stuff my old bod
calories logged
Traipsing on Craving’s cloying stage
a nauseous place at any age
Picked flowers in a vase
through phototropism
still reach for light with grace
in short struggle, schism
A servitude bouquet
its buoyancy endeavored
for just another day
after their roots got severed
Each stalk struggling upright
trying its shoulders pulled back
corolla may look tight
but soon too in grieving slack
Gently drops each petal
knowing not of haste
bounces softly, settles
demise calmly faced
In a few days all die
serene in their goodbye
Her doctor advised her to stay off dairy. She stayed off cheese and milk but as she loves butter she expeditiously declared butter a ‘non-dairy’ product:
Her ‘bright new world’ discounts science
as too stodgy a reliance
With single-mindedness utter
she declares it non-dairy
and goes on indulging butter
Handy to let facts vary!
Thanks, Non-Dairy Cow
all much butter now!
1.
Moderns gungande bröst
skänkte spädbarnet tröst
2.
Trodde lockande löften
att livet en munsbit
Rak rygg, svängde på höften
med hopp, i full tillit
3.
Blev medelåldern
livets glansperiod
rena guldåldern
av moget ädelmod?
Samlade mest en massa husgeråd
medan utförde inga hjältedåd
4.
Skriver nu i ålderdom
med alltjämt torftig kännedom
svajar mellan rikedom
å dar i själslig ynkedom
Kanske har jag fått nog
av kiv, tjafs å dalt
besvikelser å knog
Så blev detta allt?!
Nej, inte alls! Åldrandets beteenden
kan skänka varmt bitterljuva leenden!
när jobbade med glamour
fast Klädpunkten
ej höjdpunkten
men att snällt för andra gno.
*
Mens barnbarnshunden
fri å obunden
stark ǻ stor
bara glor
lat den fähunden!
(+)
Klädpunkten = Mormor’s klädsbutiker
The vacuum at the top
the true reflection
of us all in synced SOP
in vile abjection
Where do we get off offended
when we ought feel shame & blame?
Greed of the rich gets distended
while we’re enjoying our game
Changing it may be up to all of us
but I need my car, you go ride the bus!
+)
-SOP = standard operating procedure
-the top = the power elite
Just ovan vågor akvamarin
bör versen segla likt en delfin
I var dags svaga gryning
till början maklig, yrvaken
alltjämt på nattens dyning
men inom kort helt klarvaken
Till början ostadigt
men efter en vers
formar sej istadigt
avvärjs min dags pärs
Både vanesak
och hjärtesak
med eftersmak
ger ljuv mersmak
På stormigt hav vers förutan
förlorar den kursen skutan