Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Thanks so much, delighted
but am chasing the arcane
Glad to be invited
but mired knee-deep in quatrain
Right now inopportune
as am all-fired
(not for my honeymoon)
and verse-wise inspired
Deeply now engaged in quatrain
swimming in my deepest dream
striving hard to clinch the arcane
Not just splash in shoal prose stream
Let’s instead meet at some other time
when I’m cold shouldered by muse & rhyme?
Each morning fresh verse
incites my daily pace
For better or worse
each day another race:
A day that blithely sings
not one that mires mopingly
Its welcoming gate swings
fully open copingly
May our days be filled with grace
like flowers brimming their vase
As the morning dawns
a next day announcing
We’re ready, poor pawns
for another trouncing
But when I get myself versed
there’s air under my wings
Not ensnared, slogging cursed
among prosaic things
Lightens the day’s burden in trade-off
when starts off with a rhyming take-off
+)
well versed = here: able to write a fair verse
There’s no denying
ain’t about ‘what’ I write
when versifying
but ‘how’ I transcend plight
If thought of (at all) I’ll be judged
not by my strophes of verse
on whether some rhymes crisp or smudged
but how I face the adverse
Easy to smile when life seems child’s play
a lot harder when hope spins astray
While close calamity
and perhaps perverse
trying for amity
be it just in verse
Crisp sentences custom made
(none lifted off the rack)
bring forth verbal serenade
that rises beyond yak
Still wouldn’t presume to impart verity
which these days too much of a rarity
+)
yak = chatter
Sent to a friend encouraging her to get on with her painting:
Wonders she: what’s the big rush
what’s this your nagging plaint?
Won’t there always be a brush?
Won’t there always be paint?
Thus cheerfully we chime
by lingering lure:
There shall always be time!
But can one be sure?
Such hope may prove mere delusion
Don’t attempt another feint
and waste talent in confusion
Don’t tarry, get going paint!
Go ahead, show us your heart
do stare down your easel
allow us enjoy your art!
No more words of weasel!
edited 03/21/22 1020
‘Insight’ bolts out from under a bush
like a hare, catching it too hard!
Unfazed it jumps, twists in frantic rush
baffling the long suffering ‘bard’
Couldn’t write it down, lost in a flash
what if it had been ‘profound’?
Might it beyond fevered dreams rash
have impacted with resound?
But then how likely a deep loss to Humankind
something springing from a mere versifier’s mind?
I do hear you, sure
but my pastime
Silly, bit obscure
my quatrain rhyme
Perhaps corralled conceit
shuffling in dull dance?
Mere bleats from verse effete
in limping cadence?
Such indulgence to bemoan
mere soft banging of drums
Ain’t like blowing a trombone
pounding our poor eardrums!
Thus slight nuisance compared
to that what you’ve been spared?
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
Feeble verse he nurses
mostly with reverses
Claims he just converses
though he rants & curses
in purloined blustering
sputtering, blundering:
Comely comedy
turns crotchety
Tearful tragedy
turns travesty
Thus his stilted blather
shows no dreams or sense
Foamy stanzas lather
puffed up in pretense
He prattles & perplexes
while verbiage accrues
Watch him how he digresses
swerves through ‘fast verse’ drive-thrus