Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
The careerist know-it-all
with elite tries to blend
with supercilious gall
determined to ascend
He knows how ingratiate
of superiors kiss their butts
flatter, his CV inflate
Of rivals kick them in their nuts
Taps into people’s envy & fear
telling them the lies they wanna hear
In stillness we need not strive for more
as its wind embraces in warm whisper
The past doesn’t whimper, future doesn’t roar
Thoughts may blur, while emotions feel crisper
Into stillness we’re gladly brought
it’s a place where we may be taught
Others we hate or fear
and regard with derision
We carry guns & sneer
amidst growing division
Facing constant suspicion
we’re piling up the munition
Self-defense our sole mission
sensing no need for contrition
Under the law of ‘stand-your-ground’
go ahead, fire another round!
Even when finding
pavement coarse
and street lights blinding
on Life’s course
might as well let it run it’s course
as not much we can change, of course
In her chair she’d swivel
pontificating
with much inane drivel
alienating
But as she’s the boss
I make my eyes glisten
can’t handle job loss
that thought jolts in frisson
and so goes yet another day
in the cutthroat corporate fray
Outrage of neoliberalism
seems to have taken the backseat
(as well the fear of proto-fascism)
for the ‘neo-pronoun elite’:
Stray on the neo-pronoun path
where they self-righteously prance
we risk get mauled by minions’ wrath
in their identity dance
Their chase for the proper pronoun
shall seemingly never slow down
My poor aging body
a ramshackle shack
Now worn down & shoddy
emitting pained yack
Whenever it moves around
ailments reveal therein
Feels beat down, close to breakdown
that’s life of the has-been
Now it’s only left for us to treasure
how in our prime it bestowed such pleasure
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
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
At those pedestrian crossings striped
cantankerous drivers of ‘tanks’
impatiently stopped, while sometimes griped
about walkers’ deficient thanks
Obsequious must be walkers may
it’s in U.S culture, of course
prevailing attitude holding sway:
Need respect only size & force!
Thus most backward to yield
when we are the large-wheeled
+)
‘tanks’ = here: ever larger cars, SUVs et al