Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Behind plush home compound’s locks
stacked portfolio of stocks
and in the driveway
a monstrous vehicle
true to the cliche
monomaniacal
Enthroned sitting high up
me, entitled little elf
on my cell, with my pup
looking well after myself
On path unswerving
how well deserving!
There was this (not that young) man named Brian
who went for an anti-racial buy-in
placed a BLM sign on his lawn
to show off his political brawn
and keeps it there while neighbors’ zeal dying
There was this peculiar geezer
a silly blabbermouth & teaser
but at last got wiser
then tugged on his visor
and ceased being such an appeaser
Enjoyed youth’s wits
Then in my senescence
wits called itself quits
Such now my quintessence:
Been left but with whits
showing up in mere fits
now unmoved by glitz
ain’t moping in the pits
Now dwell in my life’s sunset
in most tranquil a mindset
+)
whit = a tiny or scarcely detectable amount
Amidst proficiency flagging
easy slide in to anxiety
that shall blindly keep on nagging
in profligacy & piety
But able to write
albeit found as trite
blessed daily rite
Don’t worry won’t recite
while I’ve no urge to abscond
to write righteous rhymes Beyond
Yes, too much to ask:
Don’t interfere
we won’t wear a mask
too cavalier!
Then haven’t we sacked
any & all fact?
With all lies stacked
lost all sense & tact?
Facts are too socialist & abstract
won’t let such ungodliness detract!
If we hide in a comfy niche
we’ll fade attenuated
risking wake up wet in a ditch
pretty humiliated
While mired in same old rut
domesticated
tempting to staying put
stuck obligated
So why grin in stale attire?
Let’s dress to our heart’s desire!
True change is implacable
trade-offs it shall extract
often proves intractable
with long lasting impact
So leap gallantly, gladly
or we’ll forgo Life badly!
I’ve gone bald
too often galled
mostly stalled
no longer called
Turned too old
no longer bold
feeling cold
soon now I’ll fold
and were it not for those wondrous jokes
would think life might be a horrid hoax
Like amongst butterflies
in balmy winds blown
Embraced in warm sunrise
midst melting rays flown
In ascent
freed from ferment
Am content
without lament
Comes dawn am wakening up
next to my wondrous wife
then sipping first coffee cup
still spared from thoughts of strife
At nighttime reading in bed
til nodding off, dropping the book
vigor to stay awake shred
dropping off to sleep in our nook
Fleetingly these life’s highlights
shields my heart from what benights