Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Aren’t we under the illusion
that we’re running our own show
carried on with much effusion
presuming only we know?
We’re sitting in the cockpit
but not at the controls!
So best forget about it
there exist no loopholes
Us humans eagerly claim to have a ‘free will’
while getting nowhere on Universe’s treadmill
Time, it’s being said, ‘flies’
passes too quickly
or rather perhaps ‘flees’
cowardly prickly?
For where’s time when we need more
what’s the story on that score?
Watch that tempus
as it ravages
in fierce tempest
as it savages:
Possesses our minds
our lives it mocks
Time never rewinds
as do our clocks
So just ‘fugit about it’
there exist no loopholes
We may sit in the cockpit
but not at the controls!
+)
-tempus fugit = time ‘flies’ but seems rather ‘flees’?
-‘fugit’ about it = here: forget about it
At this closing stage of Life
I’ve come to realize
it all turned too rife with strife
but need to emphasize
until this time
I’d been distracted
Had seemed just ‘fine’
barely impacted
Following such insight
denial was history
Chastened, I’ll be all right
embracing Life’s mystery!
no longer can I continue to flout
that distraction but fleetingly works out
indulging in shallow cant
hid in wryness from his Norse source
Housed high hopes but findings scant
He had thus subconsciously yearned
for where pure fantasy holds its sway
Made poor use of what little learned
while boasts boisterously in brash bray
He’ll witlessly wander in No Man’s Land
when lacking the courage to understand
+)
-cant = (not confused with: can’t) hypocritical and sanctimonious talk, typically of a moral, religious, or political nature
-no man’s land = here: a life not settled into due to fear or uncertainty
There’s no denying
ain’t about ‘what’ I write
when versifying
but ‘how’ I transcend plight
If thought of at all I’ll be judged
not by my strophes of verse
or whether some rhymes crisp or smudged
but how I faced the adverse
Easy to smile when life seems child’s play
a lot harder when hope spins astray
Ethereal Bluebells
aren’t on human time
When wondrous Springtime knells
soundlessly they chime
Most faint winds stir them at will
unruffled, uncaptured
unstintingly poised they thrill
We’re embraced, enraptured
Springtime’s soul
breathes through Bluebells
takes no toll
all anguish quells
Bluebells’ ineffable presence
flows unhurried through senescence
‘Vincit qui se vincit’
a pursuit salutary
One for which requires grit
on steep road solitary
But ain’t Life’s only bestowment
one step in each fleeting moment?
+)
-vincit qui se vincit = he conquers who conquers himself
While close calamity
and perhaps perverse
trying for amity
be it just in verse
Crisp sentences custom made
(none lifted off the rack)
bring forth verbal serenade
that rises beyond yak
Still wouldn’t presume to impart verity
which these days too much of a rarity
+)
yak = chatter
Searching for encouraging sparks
hoped-for bright lights of starkness
ambience like that of Denmark’s
but finding massive darkness?
Fast fading embers
false hollow hope
no one remembers
least the myope
Dreams of a loving utopia
long since turned shoving dystopia
nature herself is cruel:
Watch that sweet bunny
happy, hopping around
It’s warm and sunny
Growl! By predator ground!
While a human who is carnivore
may have a good deal to answer for
+)
ground = here: between the teeth of a predator