Not Poetry. Quatrain Verse in English & Swedish. Dagsverser. On the Mundane & the Arcane.
Asks cyclist amidst ‘metal boxes on rubber’
predatorily sleek or overreach blubber:
So in love head over heels
with their crisply gleaming
well appointed ‘caves on wheels’
why aren’t drivers beaming?
On soft seat behind windshield
might driving perhaps be
in climate control congealed
akin to watch TV:
Like sealed off, stale behind chromed grill?
No wind in face, crisp morning chill.
Oh, what nonsense conferred
Claiming it is us who drive
while in backseat chauffeured
How we presume & connive!
We wobble gushingly inane
Us boorish bloviators
we hobble on presumption’s cane
rubber sword gladiators
We ignore contradiction
with our suavest diction
Our syntax dereliction
turns pureed affliction
Between reality and fiction
there’s absolute absence of friction
If ours not staunch frugality
(time out here for shocked gasping!)
but a stingy mentality
of plain greedily grasping
Aren’t we rather shark teethed & finned
of others plight coldly blind
oblivious, harsh or thick skinned
while to self indulgent kind?
So ingrained shall we comprehend
what is our life, lived to what end?
Planet privatization
while polar caps melting
Gobbling globalization
while hurricanes pelting
Economic disparity
in consumptive temerity
Political polarity
for us people austerity
Perpetually prodigious predation
leaving victims without restitution
Usurious financialization
where’s its societal contribution?
Fades now erstwhile solidarity
in rear mirror’s celerity
with jaded familiarity
and counterfeit sincerity
“Yeah but, I’m really not sure what you mean
as been importantly tied up on my screen?”
Amidst glistening trees in morning mist
we’re feeling charged by auspicious jolt
as raises curtain on a new day kissed
but then to ruckus routine we bolt
Sadly short of heart, courage & mettle
jostled toward bodily demise
for ’security’ we strive to settle
but unattainable, so unwise
Days drafting days in life’s waning years
A few cheers, then we’re out on our ears
A verse lacking lived subject
neither uplifts or stings
It won’t engage & project
if lacks air under wings
If the writer didn’t perspire
it won’t grab or aspire
it simply cannot inspire
verse is doomed to expire
A hardly missed verse
carted off by hearse
+)
-lived = here: experienced first hand by the versifier
At night phantasmagorias churning
suppress one, others proliferate
Fitfully asleep tossing & turning
worries pack punches, regurgitate
The petty & inane astound
like stuck inside a theme park
By heels, face down on grimy ground
dragged around in fog & dark
At last: Morning’s first light gets me reprieved
awake, sweat drenched, elated and relieved
Why don’t we even begin to care
when stumbling around on rubble?
We cannot of action be aware
while mired in fantasy’s bubble!
Why is it our unstoppable quest
while the planet keeps on fading
to soil our irreplaceable nest
and to still keep right on raiding?
Such is the ubiquitous ignominy
of the hapless consumer economy
My aging body aches & creaks
as does Creation, what’s new?
Feeble eyes catch but blurry peeks
Soon I’ll be out of here, phew!
What if my body is but mere glove
of That Eternal Self High Above?
Consumer electronics, what impatience
be they alarms, smart phones, pads or scanners!
Where went subtlety, flirtation, elation
as well courtesy, humor & manners?
Outpouring in relentless profusion
steeped in undiscerning commotion
Suspended in a Land of Illusion
pounding away in self promotion
High time now to disengage with forethought
as fear being changed in to a robot!