Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
So tingly tactile:
tripping on an anthill
dancing a quadrille
working in a steel mill
Instead we vainly preen:
leaned on the Net’s crutch
as watching on a screen
keep us out of touch
Yet we butt in prone to pronounce – come on!
although we know so little from hands-on!
What’s of essence won’t be understood
by merely verbal explaining
in Hollywood films, in Womanhood
or automotive retraining
What if insight happens unasked
but instantly fully grasped
finding ourselves jolted aghast
fully captivated, gasped?
So don’t cowardly sit out the dance
as Life may offer us a fresh chance!
Memories glaringly stoke
turns the Past over as by plow
while seems every pedal stroke
distracts me away from The Now
Riding the bike ‘memory machine’
brings on wondrous recollection
as if shown on refulgent wide screen
in stern fiat retrospection
Whilst as long as rotate the wheels
my mixed Past unflinchingly squeals 8
+)
squeal = to inform on
Attempting life uncomplicated
in today’s screeching world unhinged
more so by each day, inundated
finding myself ever more fringed
Near drowning in dubiety
from which never sounds ‘all clear’
still lessens my anxiety
when in verse I persevere
Or when my disquietude brims
when shallow restlessness spikes
or whenever the outlook dims
I jump on one of my bikes
Quatrain strophes, pedal strokes allay
fleetingly nudge doomsday thoughts away
Life’s maddening throng
of importunity
with its hollow twang
of shrill disunity
While in fleeting stillness
we’re given the chance
at the flawless fullness
of Eternal Dance:
To be sensing the thrill
of Universe’s will
+)
importunity = persistence in solicitation
Who misses peace of mind
when feeling invincible?
Towards change disinclined
simply not convincible
How breezily we’re self-reliant
on course set obliviously!
Of solidarity defiant
while grabbing lasciviously:
Fleetingly our bodies do subsist
while our hearts & souls on the sick list
All throughout human history
we’re left wholly in the lurch
when it comes to Life’s Mystery
we flounder on endless search
While purposeful language
serves us well in the mundane
it leaves us to languish
when grappling with The Arcane
To debate what may lie Beyond
ain’t that a sure way to despond?
edited 03/27/24 145O
I’ve arrived at a stage
when finding most ‘news’ canard
of small use at my age
being somewhat a blowhard
What merely simulates
no longer stimulates
The wide world no longer
entices with what’s out there
While pulsating stronger
my heart & mind both right here
Staying calm around home, so far unbarred
while feeling wayward beyond my backyard
Am I a person shallow
attempting to act deep
and being fairly callow
the challenge proves too steep?
In Life’s glare I’m waning
while fumbling in bleak twilight
Perhaps only feigning
when charging hard for Insight?
But who’s not suspended in Life’s Mystery
between Heavenly Bliss and Hell Blistery?
Each morning fresh verse
incites my daily pace
For better or worse
each day another race:
A day that blithely sings
not one that mires mopingly
Its welcoming gate swings
fully open copingly
May our days be filled with grace
like flowers brimming their vase