Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Poems in English
Works as subterfuge The Virus
for mismanaging Elite
they exploit, rarely inspire us
being heartlessly effete
The Nation teetered prior on the brink
due to ‘profit-first capitalism’
in it’s rusty armor many a chink
including ‘survival darwinism’
Of course Neo-liberalism
must obfuscate its barbarism
Shrewd, be he not adroit
integrity abysmal
he knows how to exploit
deadlocks dreadfully dismal
He barges in by blaming
foul, rudely aggressive
insulting & inflaming
A loudmouth oppressive
How splendidly the President mirrors
his base of exceptionalist sneerers!
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?
Pretending we’re riding high
on puniest ponies
while not asking ourselves why
how come we’re such phonies!
We’re lacking in self awareness
whining about life’s unfairness
With feet barely
off the ground dangling
only rarely
lets up our wrangling!
We gallop gallivanting advocating
with our deprecating mouths agitating
In cowardly beat-ups
Hope hangs on the ropes
pummeled without letups
by heedless dopes
Humans are on the tightrope
while mouthing learned response
same old soap opera trope:
Escapist nonchalance
If we truly wanted out of this loop
why do we still chose this lowly to stoop?
The Kakistocrat Elite
goes for People’s jugular vein
narcissistic & effete
cutting oxygen from our brain
so we cannot think clearly
which is costing us dearly:
We let them control how we’re entertained
what frightens us, how we’re distracted
How come so casually unrestrained
when to inanity attracted?
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
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