Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
My poor heart’s own share of weltschmerz
abates by writing each day
While measured still in kilohertz
keeps disquietude at bay
as well when on bike rides
or admiring a flower
then restlessness subsides
dims futility’s glower
Absorbed in a calm pursuit
in and of its own end
whether in itself minute
ain’t that when we transcend?
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
Quatrain if lazily loiters
must wheeze, wobble in puncture
While when bravely reconnoiters
shall blow through any juncture
From leisurely spinning cadence
let’s shift up from latency
go cycling with verse’s maidens
with unrestrained ardency
Expressing lucid elation
if ably so in crisp rhymes
may cause to flow a narration
stringed with ethereal chimes
Walking the bike up hill
did you get too tired?
legs too weak, lacking will?
No, a flat acquired!
Tire went ‘bang!’ at a juncture
deprived of p.s.i.
Instantaneous puncture
spectacularly, why?
When by rusty nail pierced
where ever the hole
airflow won’t be reversed
pointless to cajole
When inner tubes does burst
there is mean wheezing
Air rushes out head first
sound most displeasing
Each molecule on its own
elbowed escapes frantic
All solidarity blown
a deflating antic