Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Are we placed here to get along
to act with sincerity
to stand up against what is wrong
in strong solidarity?
If put on earth to share
how are we doing?
If put on earth to care
how is it going?
Rather elbows sharp
mostly me first?
Do we harp & carp
gripes, grudges nursed?
We seem stuck estranged
Since when? No mystery
for not much has changed
believe our history:
Humans hardly humane
as far as species
We grab, lie, cheat & feign
& drain like leeches
There! The thud on the porch
paper is brought in by Rose!
It lights her morning’s torch
settling in reading repose
The pose of her nose close
leaning in perfect adjure
reading in morning’s throes
absent acclaim or abjure
Every page she’s scouring
all news vacuumin’
All newsprint devouring
unmatched acumen
As long as it is all prose
it grabs the affection
of our ’suction cup nose’ Rose
Except the sports section
When to consume feels choking
by gorging & swilling
somewhat akin to croaking
from stuffing & filling
Then slicing to quintessence
chaos turns clarity
sails out in luminescence
opens to charity
Be it just fleetingly of course
as much of that what I write
keeps turning out manure by horse
or at best of boorish sleight
Still rather write in faux creativity
than reading in lethargic passivity
When young I truly had no inkling
that I was but incipient
My alarm bell was never tinkling
while acted out my idiot
Traits that might disenchant
were so far constrained
My inner sycophant
kept grinning harebrained
Pathetic but hadn’t been in a rush
to question much my attitude
Middle age laid bare with horrid blush
my erstwhile lack of rectitude
Seems still that part of my essence
might consist of channeling
in blabbering omnipresence
my hapless inner changeling
It ain’t what I would like to see
or not who I prefer to be
although afraid it’s somehow me
from whom I’m unable to flee
Radiating heater glowing
nearly grilling Joyce’s butt
Internet fun & jolts flowing
lifts her out of morning rut
She’s cozying up in her ‘cave’
Reads emails of rants & raves
Her clients’ situations grave
and she be the one who saves
But not for long in tether
so to stay strong & trim
she’s braving ‘Arctic’ weather
heading soon for the gym
Beware of ads offering ‘free’ gifts
by busty ‘babes’ with rosy cheeks
Beware too that those composing gifs
might be high-tech chattering geeks
Beware of the neighbor’s dog
as well as of all rifts
Beware of much too strong grog
and those drunks draining fifths
Best always to stay aware
that Human Life doesn’t play fair
While us humans run around & gush
the tide rises, sets absent all rush:
Twice daily reversing
when forward surging
flows without rehearsing
by moon’s might urging
Waves rolling back & forth
never known ailing
not in sorrow or mirth
ever found wailing
Forward, retreated
To shore replete
to sea depleted:
Cycle complete
Is our human ambivalence unfeigned
perhaps as well celestially aligned?
I don’t hold any sway
Just ever more proof
of having zilch to say
Suspect I’m but a fool
probably prideful
Had hoped witty or cool
even insightful
Lies not here the opportunity
of picking a path harmonic
to great relief of community
and turn ever more laconic?
be the sole ‘adults’ these days
those who rarely are heard grumble
those few who’d rather shun praise?
Shouldn’t those ‘faking being modest’
be deserving of our wrath?
These days invasive as sawdust
how they’re clogging up our path!
Who is propelled by humility
when comes to piling worldly excess?
Tailwinds push truculently
on many roads avaricious
wide, they gleam luminously
leading to dead-ends pernicious
Seems mere flash of futility
when pushing too hard for success?
+)
-‘adult’ = an emotionally, mentally & socially mature person – seen many recently?
The sibilant sound of the ripe apple falling off the trees are amplified in the perfect stillness of our homestead at Anten:
Sweet apples in their ripe prime
nature’s rites elegant
Summer brings on its show time:
Hark, plunges eloquent!
When weighed down by their sap
apples’ tender stems snap
They drop in sound sibilant
flight path most fleetingly
in wind stirred up jubilant
by apple subtlety
Amidst silence distinctly
a falling apple’s thud
shall be echoed succinctly
even on grass or mud
Every Summer’s wondrous story
no event purely perchance
but of perfect trajectory
part of nature’s flawless dance
+)
-Anten = a small community by the lake with the same name near Alingsås