Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Offer:
“I can either give you, no strings attached, lots of cash and introductions to interesting, fun and beautiful people. Or arrange for some thugs to drag you behind the nearest building and beat you with a steel pipe!”
Response:
“I need some more information. What kind of a steel pipe?”
Withers life when nears the end
fades its rosy bouquet
What was once a stirring blend
now a sagging souffle
Sensory life squall after squall
tiring & worn from the grind
while pretenses mercifully fall
fleetingly we find peace of mind
Leaving behind the mundane
saved from banality
heading into the arcane
welcome finality!
Have gotten too immersed
in stanza & verse
as if being coerced
Outright prose averse
Struck by rhymatic fever
meant my social death knell
Life under lifted cleaver
casts lonely outcast’s spell
Keeps fumbling the prosody
until turns tragicomedy
which fades in aprosody
until picks up in psalmody
The mere sometimes lapse or slip
or am I losing my grip?
+)
-aprosody = (speech pathology) lack of variations in speech, such as speed, tone, and emphasis
-prosody = the study of meter and the art of versification
-psalmody = the act of singing psalms or hymns
-‘rhymatic’ fever = (license) condition that compels to express us in verse of rhyme
Who might you be to berate?
Hold your holy holler!
My sorting aim simple, straight:
paper clips by color
To you perhaps a clip mere wire
cavalierly curved metal
its ingeniousness won’t inspire
or found lacking its mettle?
While to me colored paper clips
strew paths like do rose petals
May distract like succulent lips
Prove gallantry like medals
But then I, like the clips, I consent
am as well of a peculiar bent
The grinder manual
a squeaking jewel
of process natural
zestful ritual
Among machines
manual is ‘end’
that fulfills ‘means’
in transcendent blend
We shall be finding
pure peace of mind
when by hand grinding
New shifts align:
Caffeinated manna
wondrously falls, wends
In pure dulciana
fragile fragrance scends
Here’s a story that rocks
for persons with feet
who are wearing out socks
Here details replete:
Involves a old married couple
their romance erstwhile torrid
Neither bodies or minds supple
shuffling in socks un-florid
Socks not blown off any longer
but no surprise still worn through
spotted, when peeled off to launder
without alarm or ado
Her socks wear first at the toe
without an exception
while his heels the first to go
By clearest perception:
sock sorting thus infallible
merely check where’s found the hole
The couple’s union affable
in perfect sorting control
Give your proud legs the chance
to warm, to limber
then set out, watch them prance
in cadenced timbre
Pure pedal powering
in strongest mettle
like petals flowering
in finest fettle
Below blossoms gliding
tires spinning, scouring
boundless bounty riding
while miles devouring
Dancing away on the pedals
in purest joy mystical
beyond mere racing for medals
Living movement lyrical!
+)
cadence = the measure of rhythmical motion; cycling: the number of revolutions of the crank per minute
Out riding, lightly pedaling
shall still thoughts which percolate
From the workday’s din deafening
freed to calmly meditate
Shall grant rolling latitude
from our life’s churning grind
Fellowship with solitude
when gliding unconfined
Cycling tempers motorized indulgence
ushers us in to quiet effulgence
Tirelessly our hapless Tongue
so recklessly wagging
Keeps hurling havoc far flung
bragging, ragging, snagging!
Our self-righteous racing Mind
contentiously nagging
How unrestrained we’ve opined
in pursuit unflagging!
Let our Hearts be more than pumps non-excitable:
The place where we live ‘tinderly’ ignitable
+)
‘tinderly’ = interweaving ‘tinder’ with ‘tender’
Looming starkly dark
on lonely heath
hear death’s howling bark
with growling teeth
Warm colors faded to bleached
erstwhile joy jaded to sorrow
Voices chalk on blackboard screeched
as we cower from the morrow
Outlook cruel, bleak
no place for the weak
+)
heath = here: earthly life