Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
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
I regularly pedal up a steep, narrow, winding, two-way, two-lane road occasionally ‘causing’ drivers to wait due to oncoming traffic before passing me. Judging from some cars ‘riding my rear fender’ & the rare occasional driver’s remark or gesture perhaps I’m viewed by some drivers as an annoying traffic impediment? Others may perhaps be capable of ‘feeling my pain’ (here in aging legs & lungs), while by most ignored? So goes our human experience at large.
One irate driver yelling
“You’re obstructing traffic!”
on mission Cyclist Quelling
then adds gesture graphic
While another in civil quirk
rather cheers my modest pace
by affably calling “Good work!”
with welcomed patience & grace
Thus the human clash goes
between those empathetic
and those in restless throes
sounding off homiletic
Of course up to anyone exposed
to try act safely & stay composed
Were we only wilful
but gotten pompous, prideful
(while albeit skillful)
supercilious, spiteful
Ignorance is far from bliss
When we stare in to the abyss
facing Death’s contagious kiss
affections gone gravely amiss
Still to look up all facts
applying logic, fairness
are such burdensome acts
risking tinged by awareness
Why be bothered taking time to reflect
when prefer to just accept or reject?
I’m tired of debating
even just discussing
discord turns deflating
finding all nonplussing
My words stream
unfittingly
yell & scream
earsplittingly
Too many empty words
keep rattling along
galloping in wild herds
they just don’t belong
Worn out finding myself discordant
so pursuing where I’m concordant
Yes, him: Grim
mean dim Eric
slim, bit prim?
Adverse to prose
stuck on verse?
Yes, kind of those
with rhymes terse
But if finding his Quatrain too arcane
who stops you switching to Prose’s loose reins lane?
These days words abound
while seldom soar
blow along the ground
just mostly bore
Today’s sentences short
kept snappy to score
to zing sharp in retort
been sharpened to gore:
Used like arms to quell
Get someone conned
Letting fly to sell
Faking a bond
Ought we instead worry whether
words forge commonality
by drawing us all together
beyond triviality?
Donito Trumpolini
that orange odium
backbone like spaghettini
on bully podium:
Under blustering guise
of Reality no sleuth
makes up, as-he-goes, lies
Knows not much about what’s Truth
As he always needs to prevail
accordingly he trims his sails
Issues themselves furled
left for you to react
Your sneering lips curled
no need to deal in facts
Self-described as ‘optimism’
while flimsy delusion
as well a glib euphemism
for ‘gutless collusion’
Your consuming in a fool’s paradise
leaves the rest of to pay the baneful price
If you attempt nuance and grace
you may come across as ‘wise’
to those aces in verbal Mace
and they’ll cut you down to size
Cliches they’ll shout
thought-ending
absent all doubt
truth-bending
Their bearing & manners cocky
think Life is but football, hockey
+)
– mace = an aerosol that irritates the eyes
– wise = here: as a wise guy; a know-it-all
Should you ask perchance
what is my opinion
I may look askance
can’t be your dominion?
Could you leave it unasked?
Be it of my own making
got set up in the past
mortified, poor pride aching
So won’t be baited yet again
aftermath just too cruel
So I’ll adamantly abstain
being again that old fool
Even when earnestly solicited
my opinion won’t be elicited