Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Are we rushing headlong
hearing no birdsong
all unmindful days long
until sounds swan song?
Entitled like baby boomer?
Whining like left waiting dog?
Offended like gypped consumer?
Fawning like corporate cog?
I’d rather live present & cheerfully
than elbowing airily sneerfully!
Seems I just glanced at her, sadly
should’ve looked her in the eyes, madly
While by Summer enchanted
she was gone by morrow
had taken her for granted
neglect turns deep sorrow
the more my life’s focus scatters
the more its flies by in tatters
When munching on bread:
Flowing field windswept
the rustling grain
soggily it wept
in bursting rain
When sipping coffee:
In heat shimmering
ripe the red beans
glowing glimmering
on hillside greens
When walking on a wood floor:
Stately tall the trees
branches sweeping the sky
swaying in brisk breeze
reaching where eagles fly
While when looking in the mirror:
My old face has since long been cast
recalls not the youth of its past