When I write poetry - anything really, I try to express essences of the fiercest kind in a respectful way.  Online is an especially ‘exposed’ medium.  It’s about being honest and detached at the same time.  A hard thing in the easiest of times. When it’s about someone you especially dislike, hate and ferocity have to be handled artistically up front without the hate or ‘ferocity’ standing out.  I assume my readership is an informed one who can draw their own conclusions.  I’m neither adding to nor taking away feelings that are already there.  Just reinforcing...
     Still awake at 5am last night, (coffee too late in the day, I suspect) this  odd idea came spookily into my head.  Scribbled it down in the dark and worked on it, refining and completing it this evening.

                    Mr Trump

Will you die having denied your whole term through
That climate change is factual?
The floods, heat waves, intensive fires,
Melting Arctic, water higher?
Will you keep detaining children behind wires
Never calling, naming it for what it is:
All in the name of business?

Misogynistic haters of the female role,
What kind of deadly symbol is a Mexican?
A woman doing all she can
To have a life as rich as yours,
Who works for peanuts scrubbing floors?
Mr Trump, she cannot hurt a single soul
Except to help the whole.
Instead, you mine for, mine more coal,
Employment a most unsound goal.
We’re all in danger
And you seem to see yourself as guardian angel
Or some kind of Texas ranger.

Mr Trump, you’re on the throne, you’ve got the crown,
A folk has put your name down.
Have you made the world a safer place?
Stopped the race for rule by force?

You’re tough,
But you’ll pass through this bad world soon enough.
What will you leave that’s not been thieved?
I must say, in some way you are a strange one.
One whose legacy, I pray will be a good one.
When we add it up and deed is done
I see you golfing in the sun,
Monetary interests first.
Do you quite understand this thirst?

Mr Trump, I wish you well.
With hope my native USA is not for sale
Or on its way to concrete hell;
That some transcendent hand has planned
To help this land
To interests that will help us all
Before a global fall’s
Upon us.
Mr Trump 1.3.2020  Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Performance Mantra

Sorry to bother you on New Year’s Day, but yesterday being about love, this reaction burned itself into my brain today.
Happy New Year!

           New Year’s Day 2020

While Nintendo tends to games that train,
Australia burns.
Koala bears and kangaroos, the populace
Lose loves and lives:  Apocalypse.

We sit and watch the TV news,
Last night’s champagne obscurely active,
We alive, not losing home and life, the fact is,
There can never be
                               equality,
Wins and loss an unmoved boss.

While year becomes a twenty-twenty,
Eyesight lags behind and we see worse than ever,
We, the cognoscenti severed from reality.

I, one of the ‘cognoscenti’ weak in kindness,
Strong in ignorance, probably a hubris too.  Goodness me,
To see the goodness and receive, retrieve it,
That’s the trick.

A slick and sick society,
We cheat and lie
To satisfy self-serving need,
Feed vanity’s rapacious greed;
A lie which grieves the planet as we watch it die
While I write futile poetry and pry
This New Year twenty twenty.

New Year’s Day 2020 1.1.2020
Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Asking For Monies

This is actually a spontaneously inspired message of love and appreciation to new found Facebook friends from all over this varied globe.    

             Cryptic Time

Posts from all the world!
Who would have thought that flags unfurled
For little me from many you,
And many you from little me.
I’m filled and swell!

Time passes and with glasses raised up high
I sigh a gladdened sigh
That sitting here on chair in Sweden
More than one admiring eye
Is reading this, this very minute
Taking in the things I have to say
On chairs a million miles away.  

Quell mystery! For we  
Will all be history a hundred years from now,
Perhaps no documentary fragment left
To inventory our best efforts.
Yet, we’re here, to write and wrestle with
A universe, and universal questions all have faced
Since time began.  
And we, each other’s fan
Give love through likes and hearts and upraised thumbs.
Fumbling, tumbling round, zooming in on every crumb
That life can offer
Never coming to an ultimate.
Offering love to every Facebook friend
Not succumbing to the humdrum of an end
But encouraging each other.  
Is that not grand!

Cryptic Time 6.14.2019 Circling Round Time !!; Circling Round Reality; Birth, Death & In Between III; Arlene Nover Corwin

Just looking through some old stuff and found this lovely one inspired when sitting in the living room with an extaordinarily bright full moon coming straight through my window.

      Mister Moon Looking Through The Window

This is a poem that’s meant to stop worry.
Arlene
    Nobody Cares But You
(a poem about detachment)

It was a gig.*
Fancy hotel, piano/song.
Song was “Yesterday” by Kern -
A song I’d learned; five decades worn.
What could go wrong?
I knew the song from back to front,
Each bar, each note Jerome Kern wrote.
And then it happened in the bridge:
Mind went blank! Memory rigid!
No matter how I searched and banged
I could not find the changes (chords),
Which key or what.  Carrying on,
Not caring what the crowd
Was thinking, I remained the fool
On a piano stool until, at last,
The bumbling, stumbling passed
And I was back on track.

Key found, my vocal sound as good as ever,
I’d discovered never be stopped by obstacle or handicap;
Never let it sap nerve, verve or energies,
For I’m not there to serve or please;
I’m there to carry through a form of choice,
Give my jazz to some Corwin voice,
Let the moment be my norm
Never wishing for perfection
Or to make a good impression,
The interpretation mine, just mine,
Anything I manage fine, just fine.

There’s no such thing as flawlessness.
The folk out there more focussed
On its own concerns and interests,
Concentrative powers, capability and prowess
Lasting no more than a minute,
Public recall all but ‘perfect’.

Do your thing
Not just for God and king
But for the joy of self and self-fulfilling.
Dare, share, always there.
No one really cares but you.

Nobody Cares But You 12.26.2019
Pure Nakedness; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Vaguely About Music; Arlene Nover Corwin
*gig; musician’s jargon for job or engagement.
bridge; the middle of a song, often called release.