Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Poems in English
found these days ubiquitous
en platt ‘pedagogi’
or outright iniquitous
In the tongue of my mother
would be ‘känsloikon’
who in my youth came rather
across as ‘känslokall’
While little she related typed from keyboard
mest uttryckt muntligt från eget ‘ordförråd’
edited 05/29/24 0735
At early dawn released, relieved
from limp grip of shallow sleep
coming to on planet aggrieved
facing day’s challenges steep
Not invigorated
mind, conscience shaky
hope debilitated
legs & joints achy
These days sleep since too long adulterated
each morning feeling more attenuated
Careless years blown dissipated
lived ignorant of too much
Dull days closed down desolated
leaned too hard on booze’s crutch
I kept on churning on shallow laps
around & around & again
’til sounded inexorably taps:
Plainly mundane, nothing arcane!
For true happiness I’d sung in vain
ignorant of another refrain
While those demure lips we’d gladly kissed
but as know-it-alls unwilling
to delve into that we may have missed:
Perhaps a life more fulfilling?
It’s reality, not fiction
that voluntary restraint
(while at glance a contradiction)
frees us from feeling constraint
While we’re still keeping up our perseverance
of floundering in rushing incoherence
+)
-restraint = ‘a cookie abstained from may taste better than one indulged’
Does each of us think we know best
(though disclaimed in false humility)
though at Human Nature’s behest
ours merely purloined agility?
And if only one knows best
where does it leave us the rest?
Never mind folks in Peoria
dragging deep down in dysphoria
all they do is to cavil
while Kevin swings the gavel
carried away in euphoria
+)
-Kevin = Kevin McCarthy, new speaker of the House
Dawn fades in auspiciously
that’s how Universe turns
Doesn’t flow in capriciously
by how emotions churn
How to know this with certitude?
While I can’t know if am I
mere prisoner to attitude
bestowed when, by whom & why?
Surely I can’t be such big of a deal
that the very sunrise knows how I feel?
They’re selling us the chimerical
offering head-in-sand snugness
no wonder I’m anti-clerical
intolerable their smugness
Trying to steer us out on their dance
they tolerate no rejection
show arrogance from first to last glance
cannot fathom our rejection
Rather than lead-by-nose acolyte
prefer to stand on my own upright
A sole overstayed rose
shivered but far from jaded
imagine how she froze
in Winter’s bleakness faded
All comfort she’d spurned
no longer warmed or fed
How for Spring she yearned
though by then she’d be dead
While this story tragic
shows that anticipation
might well offer magic
short of participation
Quite hard to be judicious
about what’s inauspicious
Conversations smooth bubbles
shall easily puncture
burst on to fallow stubbles
at most awkward juncture
All while crashing comity’s concourse
rarely appears engender remorse?