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Grazing on screens in eerie greening sheen

‘Smartphonies’ engage at a flicker
on their ubiquitous gadgets
spouting latest cool banter quicker
regressed in abysmal habits

Hail, Time Gobbling Vulture
of the texting kind!
In virtual culture
why exert one’s mind?

Mindless grazing, gazing
in screens’ greenish sheen
inviting, debasing
shackled to routine

‘Smartphonies’ slavishly lock eyes
with Siren Screens seductive
enticing, devious device:
Crisp, collusive, corruptive

Their attention scatters feathery
while enfeebling human memory

+)
‘smartphonies’ = those who traded their pacifier (a gateway ‘drug’) for a smart phone

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Rolling through early Spring’s bursting blossom portals

Winter now fading flotsam
lost in tenebrous wake
while the Spring’s tender blossom
bursting fully awake

Dancing blinding sun rays
reflections oblique
among brief showers race
playing hide & seek

In streets trees stretch their eaves
blows a gentle tepid breeze
through giddy tender leaves
like sound of slipping chemise

To roll through cherry blossom portal
brims the heart of this rhyming mortal

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Placed on Earth to hit it off? Why then do we kvetch & scoff?

Are we placed here to get along
to act with sincerity
to stand up against what is wrong
in strong solidarity?

If put on Earth to share
how are we doing?
If put on Earth to care
how is it going?

Rather elbows sharp
mostly ‘me first’?
Don’t we harp & carp
our grudges nursed?

We seem stuck estranged
Since when? No mystery
for not much has changed
believe our history:

Humans hardly humane
as far as Species
We grab, lie, cheat & feign
& drain like leeches

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Spårat ut

Luggslitet sjabbigt ‘samhälle’
där folk ej längre vet hut
Ett grymt självupptaget ställe
där förnuftet spårat ut

Medan nöjen distraherar
ständigt Pentagon krigar
Lögn med fakta kolliderar
på många världens stigar

En stormakt som bråkar överallt
självgod å inbilsk å känslokallt

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Pose of Rose

There! The thud on the porch
paper is brought in by Rose!
It lights her morning’s torch
settling in reading repose

The pose of her nose close
leaning in perfect adjure
reading in morning’s throes
absent acclaim or abjure

Every page she’s scouring
all news vacuumin’
All newsprint devouring
unmatched acumen

As long as it is all prose
it grabs the affection
of our ’suction cup nose’ Rose
Except the sports section

 

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Automatons happy, unconcerned!

The globalized economy rumbling
crushing many a society
while humanity’s habitat crumbling
in existential anxiety

Inequality as polity
conspired by the power elite
In gated, yachted frivolity:
the ever ‘rent seeking’ Wall Street

Thus condemned to poverty hollow
why do people just meekly follow?

Is it the elite’s confident stare
fashionable dress, wealth & gall
their scripted chatter, freshly blown hair
that subjugates us in their thrall?

Or rather this: What could more endear
than those lies we so eagerly hear?

Thus the teller of the truth is doomed
as we cannot handle getting informed
We are the automatons well groomed
to just pretending ‘happy unconcerned!’

+)
-‘rent seeking’ = (economics) activities which do not create societal worth, just redistribute existing resources

 

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Restraint chimeric

Have words become just something we say

subject to rash off-key abuse?
Just dumped in to the impatient fray
like ever-so-smooth TV news?

Trying express ourselves clearly
seems taxing work, so we balk
rings socially too austerely
Try listen? We’d rather talk!

What if blabber became the umbrage
while restraint conversation’s glue
in enjoyment of graceful language
shared beyond a literate few?

But as for that prospect chimeric
we’re subjected to ‘reporting’
which the blabbermouths find mesmeric
too often outright transporting

+)
‘reporting’ = unsolicited droning on about one’s own mundane doings

 

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Slicing to quintessence

When to consume feels choking
by gorging & swilling
somewhat akin to croaking
from stuffing & filling

Then slicing to quintessence
chaos turns clarity
sails out in luminescence
opens to charity

Be it just fleetingly of course
as much of that what I write
keeps turning out manure by horse
or at best of boorish sleight

Still rather write in faux creativity
than reading in lethargic passivity

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Channeling my inner changeling

When young I truly had no inkling
that I was but incipient
My alarm bell was never tinkling
while acted out my idiot

Traits that might disenchant
were so far constrained
My inner sycophant
kept grinning harebrained

Pathetic but hadn’t been in a rush
to question much my attitude
Middle age laid bare with horrid blush
my erstwhile lack of rectitude

Seems still that part of my essence
might consist of channeling
in blabbering omnipresence
my hapless inner changeling

It ain’t what I would like to see
or not who I prefer to be
although afraid it’s somehow me
from whom I’m unable to flee