Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
At times has been avowed
my enthusiasm gallant
while sparingly endowed
with any useful talent
Hence I’ve barely begun
at age eighty-two
to get hoped-for things done
with some derring-do
But as by now glaringly way too late
I’ll keep playing to my ‘strength’, i.e. prate
Behold that fresh youthful look:
Youth’s upbeat breathless grin
crisp cover of unread book
sculptured, jutting out chin
Behold the wizened old look:
aging’s out-of-breath grin
thumbed cover of well read book
sagging skin, drooping chin
At which point cannot count on audacity
but hope for tenacity, veracity
On my life’s path not much time left
but got all the time in the moment
so primed still & ready to heft
& to welcome Life’s next bestowment
Right now am feeling far from done
never mind how long my run
Obstinacy & Aging
those two intertwined companions
with their hangups engaging
they be yelling across canyons
In perpetual dance
unyielding stays their stance
Their ingrained character flaws
refuse to step aside
whether as result or cause
leaves us worn, bleary-eyed
With Obstinacy one might try engage
while with Aging merely watch its rampage
My poor aging body
a ramshackle shack
Now worn down & shoddy
emitting pained yack
Whenever it moves around
ailments reveal therein
Feels beat down, close to breakdown
that’s life of the has-been
Now it’s only left for us to treasure
how in our prime it bestowed such pleasure
At early dawn released, relieved
from limp grip of shallow sleep
coming to on planet aggrieved
facing day’s challenges steep
Not invigorated
mind, conscience shaky
hope debilitated
legs & joints achy
These days sleep since too long adulterated
each morning feeling more attenuated
Years rushing by her
without slowdown
faster & faster
goes the countdown
Even without disaster
life is the hard taskmaster
So why live in blurred hurry
when to live well in the moment
with its own joy & worry
remains life’s greatest bestowment
Synapses corroding
recall slowed, deferred
Memories eroding
erstwhile visions blurred
Outlook & attitude askew
injustices bewailing
Anything new brings much ado
as trains of thought derailing
Outfits, gadgets turned outmoded
Sentences humorously misheard
He grieves old manners imploded
since human folly reached the absurd
An Octogenarian
grumbling with fumbling hands
Curmudgeon contrarian
long gone grandiose plans
Now marching out of step, on course chaotic
his collar frayed, smartphone-less, quite quixotic
blurred in opaque sketchiness
am hobbling on aging’s path dim
cobbled with such pettiness
That which lies beyond the mundane
senses my soul, knows not the brain
Now leaps, sleep gotten shallow
pinched in vised senescence
While children sweetly callow
express their quintessence:
with the jounciest leap
as well the deepest sleep