Death is not fair.
It does not care
or breath.
It does not take
what bleeds
leaving seeds
to spring into
a lighter view
of the heavenly
some days.
It discriminates
against the poor
taking them more
other day it plays
with the wealthy.
It does not balance
or think
grow or shrink.
It is not a tangible being
or a solid thing.
It will not make a deal
no matter how deep you feel.
It is not your enemy or friend.
It is simply the end.

INVITATION



Do come for a walk with me
through this sylvan trail
where the air is scented
with lilies and pine.

Here shafts of sun shine
streak straight down
through the luxuriant roof
of thick lush green.

Let us go in stealth,
just to make us unfelt,
and unheard,
for we are intruders here.

This idyllic land belongs
to the birds, rabbits, critters;
their chirping, whistling
and scampering echo all over.

Let us be quite quiet,
and allow all sound and silence
to wash over us,
cleansing us of the city scent.

Side by side, let us muse over
those living in concrete forests,
and lament over the massacre
of trees, full of life and limb!

The sky scrapers are tall,
ozone layers have holes
global warmth flies in rockets
and weather fractures all forecast!

Let us take a vow together
to blanket Ma earth with trees,
our oxygen cylinders,
sole life savers!

One to one
will be a good one!
I plant a tree for you,
and you plant one for me.

And all the world
hand in hand, bed out trees
one to one!

That will make us
rich in green again,
leaving the green legacy
for generations to come!

No Connection With Numbers

I have no connection with numbers.
Sixty-five or fifty-five, seventy, and suddenly
A person’s dead
And I am swayed
To thinking , “Gee, she was too young to pass,
At least these days”.
Lost track of what should, should not be,
It being all the same to me.
As teen, numbers relevant,
Forty ancient,
Frames of reference clear and few.

Digits now,
Are passcodes, pin codes, bank-cards, passcards.
As for age: eighty’s  the new forty, forty twenty;
Size eighteen is now size fourteen, thirteen now size zero;
Uni- multi- verses more and many; numbers leer,
And so unclear
That only new words suit.

Still unconnected and to boot,
It doesn’t matter – not to me, in any case.
I’m free, unfettered by the race, the chase.
In fact, it is a grace I [almost] note.
Glad I can vote,
De-vote my time to stumbling through
Without connecting numbers to
A thing
(except perhaps those few
I mentioned.)
Poems start out with one intention,
End up, well,
A tolling bell,
Telling all and nothing,
Ring! Ring!

No Connection With Numbers 6.10.2016
Numbers Book; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin

It haunts me,
The presence of her absence
her voice, only exists in one place
and that place, is my mind,
a place of noise
Her smile, engraved in my mind
she cannot speak anymore,
for she has a tongue, but no voice
she cannot show herself
for she has a body, but no life
she is not here anymore
but her soul lingers on
the crusts of this home
and on the crusts of my heart

- Kaya