Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
If you hunger for conversation
shall ‘customer service’ phrases
(in copious canned aggravation)
restore the art to good graces?
Rather than a slipshod stroll
mongst hackneyed words teeming
don’t we want to fill our soul
with something redeeming?
What might punctured phrases instill
beyond piling up as word fill?
+)
-conversation = a talk, especially an informal one, between two or more people, in which news and ideas are exchanged – with emphasis on ‘exchanged’
Wondrous solace of stillness
eludes us without fail
when electronic shrillness
pierces through nature’s veil
Might one of those clueless clods
(who with such hapless abandon
plugs in their stylish ear pods)
find for Net surfing a stand-in?
How without stillness & solitude
shall we re-connect with rectitude?
Others’ proclivity
for shameless self-pride
and dull naivety
keep get things cockeyed
So you, know-it-all minion,
won’t let any verified fact
influence your opinion
or allow fairness to detract
Can’t undertake introspection
when howling strong in projection
+)
projection = (psychiatry) a defense mechanism by which your own traits and emotions are attributed to someone else
How happily I’m hounded
by persistent a muse
so gratefully astounded
enthusing out the blues
Am a tree happily barked up
by inspiration infused
It’s brimming over my cracked cup
foamy verbiage suffused
Verses may be pathetic
in pace peripatetic
The language mere cosmetic
both opaque & bathetic
Delivery homiletic
its effect anesthetic
While response found apathetic
why be apologetic?
Very few poets a Byron
or Shakespeare or Neruda
Very few women a siren
and few gurus a Buddha
So what? Won’t us short on talent
at least attempt to be gallant?
When we prattle & gush
our words get overweening
like wild waterfalls rush
washes away most meaning
When we’re letting fly
with sentences mangled
it shall go awry
til communing strangled
Words which rapidly multiply
won’t explain, cannot clarify
“Am dying to be slim”, the rat had told them. Life Itself listened in.
A rat rotund felt bereft
been bemoaning his plight
of being fat. Didn’t look left
skipped as well looking right
He stepped into traffic
met a fate most dire:
En end grisly graphic
crushed by a truck’s tire
When found at daybreak
he had been flattened slim
While friends in heartbreak
sort of happy for him
Be careful how you use hyperbole
it may just turn into reality!
Let’s try stay on subject
be it with a meek ho-hum
before we just defect
wandering off in humdrum
Like some clueless critter
swept up in the fray
helpless, lost in flitter
can’t suppress our bray
Do we indulge in what is distracting
as we’re finding most else too exacting?
Mass media propagandistic
in a nation feudalistic
exaggerates threats terroristic
make us serfs cheer jingoistic
While deeply stirred by populism
we’re held back by cynicism
mightily fearing socialism
truly preferring tourism
When sacking solidarity
we live in barbarity
in punishing polarity
dispatched to disparity
Our cheers ring out chauvinistic
that’s amongst us nativistic
Must not spout in staccato
if we truly converse
but to flow like calypso
never try to coerce
Has ‘dialog’ by now gotten so corrupted
that we just compete to speak uninterrupted?
What passes for discourse
in today’s society:
Reverberation coarse
in purloined propriety
Wear our feelings on the sleeve
we do not know subtle
not known to hold back on peeve
brusque in our rebuttal
But even when helpful & kind to confront
must still know not to take personal affront