Sometimes I write the most serious thought whimsically.  This is one:

    A Terribly Prosaic Poem

A Meditative Attempt At Comforting

You are my synapses,
My consciousness,
My chemistry  
And everyone’s.
I have no ‘my’,
I have no say.
We are combined and mixed as one.
We are a kind of moon and sun.
That being so,
One has to rest and be at ease
In seeming ****** catastrophes:
Ageing’s ills and strains unbidden.
Youth’s robustness to bed-ridden
Impotence that needs to ask for each and every  
Life’s dependency.
This, for a friend ‘who sees an end,
And for another with the bother
Of a herniated rupture.
This, a meditative scripture
On attempts to see things are they are;
As they really, really are,
Have been and will be ever.

A Meditative Attempt At Comforting 9.4.2018 God Book II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

The title was a phrase I was attracted to and thought to write a song to.  My poetic self took over and ‘conceived in Paris’ became this instead. A poem dedicated to the person who first used the phrase, Marc Myers, creator of the site Jazz Wax, who was conceived in Paris but born in New York.

And now for something on an entirely different level:

Because I received so many encouraging comments on the 1st version written in 2017, I was moved to write a second, the elections coming so soon. Just the morning, after a good breakfast…

These will go into my book OurTimes, Our Culture II; plus another that deals only with 2018. (I haven't decided on a title yet, dear publisher Cyberwit.net)
Love,
Arlene Corwin

This is one to which there can be no tag.

One of these sudden thoughts.

Watching The Advertising World

On my way to teaching my lovely yoga class this paradoxical poem:✍️
       We Die When We’re Supposed To

We die when we’re supposed to,
Karma chained in cause/effect.
One eve I lay there,
Sorry, sad and full of fear
When of a sudden, shocked, aware,
The snare of truth, as clear as day,
Told me that we pass away
From causes self-created
From our characters, our choices,
Gene pushed, situation fated…

You know, when you get these flashes,
(call them insights, revelations, mind disclosures)
You can sense veracity’s exposures crashing in
And you’ve no choice
But to believe
What mind and thought receive,
In this case this:
Death comes when it will,
And it is up
To us to give this hidden ‘reasoning’ a whirl
And take the pill
However bad the taste.

We Die When We’re Supposed To 9.18.2012/8.16.2018 Birth, Death & In Between II; Arlene Nover Corwin

I Still Have Ego Left

I still have ego - all its parts.
Is it the ‘smarts’?
Is it the ‘dumbs’?
Something to succumb to?
On the good side ego gives me self-esteem.
On bad, it gives me self-conceit,
Leads me to think sour is sweet,
Leads me on a road that’s wrong:
Vanity, a false self image;
Is that knowledge or mirage?  
Singing a wrong, woeful song?

Do I want to **** it?
Subjugate it?
Maybe, just an itty bit!
Why quash, why squash
Distinctiveness, uniqueness,
And the differentness
That makes us us,

Even when peculiarity,
You are you and I am me.
We do not want to change that, yet
The ego fools us masterfullly.
Wresting honesty from wisdom.

So with ego left, the outcome is:
Learn to distinguish real from false;
Take the pulse of life each day
And play the game of authenticity.
I Still Have Ego Left 8.14.2018 Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

Thoughts On A Sunday Morning After Coffee

What's on my mind today?✍️

The Facebook asks "What's on your mind, Arlene?"  My answer today is:

It Comes In The Form Of A Phrase✍️

And so it is...

   July Gone By…Focus August

Waking with a fuzzy mind I had to collect myself.  Here's what I did.
          Here & Now: A Mantra✍️

All Day Long They Come✍️

Teaching Yoga

I watch and read and, and and...shocked and horrified and helpless.
             World On Fire

Hello everyone.  it's a terrible withdrawal when your computer goes down.  Have you noticed?  Here I am happily once again, new computer, new and timely poem called "It's Only A Game".  
it's the last day of the World Soccer Championship, and I wrote this days ago.  But synchronistically, it, my new computer, the poem: all more or less coming at the same time.
Here:
         It’s Only A Game✍️⛹️‍♂️⚽

The final days, public in hysteria
Uniting yet inciting.
They call it fervour,
Splitting apart the mind and heart
Of those disposed.
Collective but not necessarily reflective,
A fan not always fantastic but fanatic.

July, two thousand eighteen.
All the world’s a TV screen.
Football and the ball is round;
Teams running, bounding
On a spree
To reach a goal that no goal-ee
Can foil.

For 90 minutes folk will weep or cheer.  
Or anger.
Men will fall, miss the ball,
Cards of red or cards of yellow
Referred by referee to tell all
Players who will bellow at the other fellow…

While one side of the stadium’s in tears,
Air defiant, the other cheers,

Some will go their way in stillness,
Some will go in ´killing-ness'.

It is a game only,
Not World War ´******' Three.
No one has died.
Two teams have played their best with pride.
Life carries on without a particle of shame.
It is, will always be a game.

Only A Game 7.11.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Never Corwin

In these days of online conservatism, I dare not publish what-I-think-is a sweet and loving poem.  Of course, I won't hesitate to put it into one of three books (see bottom of poem), since I consider it a good poem in itself and an observation worth the art.  Hope you agree.

       She Dry, He Soft

She dry, he soft.
They hold aloft romance and passion.
Does not passion pass on?
And what stance does romance take
When body fails?  Does one fake?
The keys are there in every action:
Every whispered word, touch, clutch.
Intensity may modify.  
Who needs to reach the sky each twinkling of an eye?
Friendship’s warmth and harmony
Lie at the heart of passion’s key,
And if they go, so will the rest.
At best, what's left but superficiality –
A shell - and crusty one at that,
Destined in the upshot to fall flat.
She dry, he soft, not often reaching Everest,
Yet ***, oh yes, the very best,
Back and forth in all its warmth.
Superlative
In giving.

She Was Dry, He Was Soft 7.1.2018 Circling Round Aging; Eros Ii; Love Relationships II;

Saturday evening, last day of June. Whipped this up this morning, then went out to buy a microphone stand. The things that strike one at any hour!✍️

       Multiplication Trap: Desire
One desire, two desires, three desires four,
Leads the passions, wish and hope
To x desires more.
You may be sure it is a trap
In which we dopes become ensnared.
Don’t be scared. We can get out,
Snout gotten out from vanity and narcissism,
Egotism, all the –isms spawning
Self-indulgence and the gout.
If this sounds silly, filled with of ire;
Truth be known, it is desire,
Its yearnings never-ending,
That keeps sending one into the mire
Of distress –
And even wretchedness.
Yes.

Multiplication Trap 6.30.2018 Circling Round Egos; Circling Round Vanities II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Still editing my next book of poetry called Definitely Didactic wherein every so often I stop and share one with you. It also gets to be a tedium when you're dealing with 420 poems (i.e.pages), and I've got to take a break. You, you lovely people are my break.

         Power Of Observation✍️

One or several (power/powers)
Don’t you care, it doesn’t matter
Whether it is one or more;
When you do your yoga,
Use your brain!
Observe what, where
The hurt, the strain.
Let me explain:
You feel, sense, imagine it,
IQ raised,
You’ve praised the part
From *****, ligament to cartilage.


Whatever age you are,
As said before, 'it doesn’t matter'.
Something good results:
From tumult in the psyche calming,
To the farming body,
Harvesting a better life.
Noticing a change means adding to the
Powers of invention,
Range of dreams you will accomplish.
Observation has dynamics
Of an unsuspected magic.

Power Of Observation 1.26.2014 Circling Round Yoga II; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin

I enjoy making fun of myself in poetry.  At the moment, I'm editing "Definitely Didactic", my upcoming book.  I came upon this one a few minutes ago and had to laugh. Here it is for your delight.  It is rather charming, actually.
             I Don’t Watch Nature✍️

Yesterday was, in Sweden, the day after Midsummer.  A day when one is tired from having, almost certainly celebrated the summer solstice with partying and too much food and drink.  We were no exception.  We held our yearly neighbor *** luck in our beautifully decorated boathouse, its lawn all mowed, prepared for games, the accordion well tuned and lovingly played.  
     In my next day fatigue, I sat in the sun,  body exhausted but ideas flowingly showing, I wrote poetry from the sublime to the ridiculous: four in all.  No mean feat.  I'll start with the ridiculous.

    I’d Like To Cut Down Summer Ferns

I've been away for a few days just thinking.

I saw the word 'logic' and it suddenly occurred to me how often the lack of it, this precious tool, is missing from our daily attempts at talking.

              The Logic Of The Argument Is Faulty

Can't help it.  I see what I see!

Can't stop thinking, can't stop writing. A good sign, I would think. Everything inspires. (It's called creativity)✍️

Some wonderful somebody In Hello (Ella Johnson) described my work as "amazing".  I'm flattered beyond words. Such a powerful compliment makes one hardly feel worth it, BUT, if I it is that, it is because:
     Everything I Think, I Write

Everything I think, I write,
For better or for worse,
And since
I cogitate throughout the days,
The thought-turned-phrase
Converts the days to thought-turned-verse.

For some it’s money that’s thought bound.
For some it’s family circled round
Family, worry, God or Death.
My thing is Truth.

Through diverse channels,
Canals all, the universal stall of measure.
I see all as Truth the Treasure.
I can’t stop.  And who would want to.
Rhythm, melody and phrase
The driving craze in me. Yippee!

Here comes the sister poem called Everything Is Worth A Poem #2,
/ I’ve written one before).

If you’ve a sense of rhythm, rhyme,
Metered time, it’s worth a poem.
It may be so-so at the start,
But blurt it out, impart a theme,
It’s worth a go
To watch the darndest things start flowing.
As they insight into…

Clichés there will have to be.
It’s hard to say new, clear things simply.
Idioms on which you grew, they’re you, real you.
Take Dante. Using the colloquial,
To say the deepest things.  
And pray!  They’ve lasted,
Nay, outlasted…never to decay as past.

You may start a shallow fellow -
Sleepy, hollow.
You have thoughts – just not developed;
Still a pearl inside the scallop;
You use couplets as your form.  Later on they won’t seem normal.
As you broaden, you’ll be lauded
By the gods of verse in Auden heaven.

Though this may turn out to be
A poem six hundred ninety-three,
And oh, so corny
You can see
It is the height of luxury
And makes me rapturously happy.

Everything I Think I Write 6.16.2018 A Sense Of Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

I like Likes But Favor Comments
(an online reaction dedicated to all writers and all readers)✍,️

Got this idea the other day- but only as a title.  Worked on it the past two days. (That was 2017)  
     See if you appreciate its point of view.  Notice that i place it in the collection called Circling Round Egos.
              Giving In
We fight against…
We feel it’s brave.
No matter what the cause
The will to save is strong.
We go along with crowds
Who think alike and think aloud.

The self may or may not be gone;
We like to think in unison,
Fighting for the right 'gainst wrongs.
We even sing fight songs
In the name of right and wrong.

To yield is a second way.
Is it weakness to give in, give way?
It’s often clever - often never.
War means to attack, fight back,
But even Bonaparte gave up his part,
Threw in the towel; weak move but smart.

Giving in to giving way to bowing down to...
Stepping back to take a breather…
Easier, less time-consuming,
Hours left for ruminating.

Friends gossip sipping something sweet.
They’ve all known loss, they've known defeat.
Yet it’s sweet to criticize.
We are a crazy [human] race.

Summed up: the best stress buster
Giving back to life its luster,
And the plan that musters true,  
Is yes in lieu of no: a giving in
To cover most conditions.

Giving In 4.27.2017revised 6.15.2018 Circling Round Egos; Arlene Corwin

Have I offered you this before?  Having just found the scrap I wrote it on, and having a dreadful memory, I'm offering it up - perhaps again.
       Anyone Can Write A Poem

Anyone can write a poem, but,
To call oneself a poet is another thing.
To be a poet calls for gift:
Humdrum persistence,
(Some would call it patience)
Mulling over, musing on; but with distance.
Facets focusing upon all faces:
Places, spaces, graces…
And their antonyms; the oxymorons.

If anyone can write a poem, write one!
If you like it, write another.
You and I are everyman: unsung, unclear.
Become a thinker, sluice and duct;
Avenue for inner construct.
Everything has drama: kitty’s purr,
Dying fir, cowboy’s spur…
The insignificant betrays a stir
That sits within a coma.
All is magma in the planet’s inner.
You, the [unknown] poet winner.

Anyone Can Write A Poem 5.20.2018 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin

The Wonder Of The Human Brain: A Learning Tool

Beneath the hair
I think it there.
In the genius and *****
A hundred billion neurons
(more likely eighty-six that charges up our many tricks)
Brainstem/spinal cord connected;
Cerebellum which located
In the rear
For balance, schooling that is motor.
Cerebrum fills most of the skull;
Cortex called cerebral -
Sliced in half, a left and right,
Small other parts for thought:
Decisions, mem’ry , learning(s) sought,
Communication and perception:
Stimulation out and in.
(You’d think the parts were wearing thin).
Brain soft,
A craft
In white and gray.
Monsieur Poirot was fond of braying
About his  ‘gray cells’ intellect.
(One sees a giant self-respect)
Two percent of body’s mass
With twenty-five the body asks
To keep it thinking, (***’ as well)
Energized in best of health.
It gathers up what we call knowledge;
It’s a collage in a  college.
Sleep or in activity, we’re using all that energy.
In other words, the brain’s awake all for our sake:
Yours mine, a mine of wonder.
The real wonder is that it
Creates new cells to keep it fit:
A hippocampus we can’t see
For learning and for memory:
Seven hundred cells that grow
Each day that we don’t know about.
We do not feel them, seal them, heal them.
They’re just there – like air.
And so the brain rains down upon us
Means and answers, thoughts unanswered,
Mysteries inside
And we’re along for this glad ride.
For whose sake and for why?
Some sort of wonder in the sky?
Could be.

The Wonder Of The Human Brain 6.14.2018 Circling Round Science II; Nature Of &In Reality; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Nover Corwin

Just in the middle of editing my next book Definitely Didactic and thought I'd present this thought here.

           Half-Full Glass

A momentary observation:
               Hot, Hot, Hot

Whenever I have naught to say
I write about the weather.
It’s a good old English way
To say whatever’s
Easiest to pass the time,
The personal not being prime.

Yet here I sit, sunny comfy
Admiring the blue of sky,
The marvel of a lake whose look
Can take the breath away:
White, yellow water lily scattered *****-nilly
By some law of nature I will never fathom.
Row- and motorboats parked here and there
Far and near, on shores and little docks ad hoc.

Cirrus clouds are forming
Storming many hundred meters high.
And yet the sky, still blue
Looks still, yes, tranquil.  But I’ve moved from chair
To capture all in nature so enrapturing these eyes:
The butterflies, the dragonflies, the bees and flies,
Gnats, ants and ticks.
But I digress, for there are ducks to watch, nothing to fix -
(except, perhaps those nasty ticks).
This life as perfect as God made it,
Sun and cloud and shade quite perfect
Though the day is hot as hell.
I welcome every bit of it.

Hot, Hot, Hot 6.9.2018 Circling Round Nature II; Our Times, Our Culture II;  Swedish Book;; Arlene Nover Corwin

The Ability To Cope✍️

Summer Hugs

Summer hugs and Arlene tries to rescue bugs
On windowpane, in sinks and tubs;
Wasps and bees, creepy crawlies
And the flies.
And while she tries
To save from drowning
Insects downed, in need,
The floating few, the struggling all,
She does not (sadly) oft’ succeed.
Wings stick to hand or tool, whichever…
Wings the godly weaver
Curved, swerved so impressively.

Summer green and flowery,
Life narrowly escaping death;
Ant on the road,
Frog and toad…
When sun’s been hot
And not predicted;
Storm and thunder
Under destiny’s unnerving hand.
Is it any wonder
That the wandering gypsy caravan
Had wheels?

Summer Hugs 5.30.2018 Circling Round Nature II; Swedish Book; Birth, Death & In Between II; Nature Of & in Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

Living in Sweden, as I do, I’ve often noticed that some idioms seem to capture an essence, are more powerful in Swedish than in my own tongue English and vice versa. Therefore, I’ve begun to take the liberty of borrowing the occasional Swedish idiom for use in my poetry.

I  Grund Och Botten (är vi lika)*
A Swedish idiom meaning At The Bottom Of Things (we are alike)

At the bottom of things: basically,
First and foremost and primarily
We are alike.
Our temperament, our gifts, our faults
May differ, and they do.
But you,
You are the same as me.
I is always you is we!
We are a race: a human race.
But should we race, erase the commonality
That binds us all? Of course not!
We are one in essence, which we got
At birth, perhaps before;
Sympathy, empathy, the virtues, vices;
All the aims a blend of spices
From self-sacrifice to merchandise;
Imprecise, but there at bottom
From the ******* to the sputum.
All your systems are but symptoms.
At their end a blend of like-ness and uniqueness,
And one race.

I Grund Och Botten 5.31.2018 Swedish Book; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin

Hot off the press!
The Hottest May On Record
I write about the land I live in
Just because I live there and the land’s at hand.
A land forgiven,
For in heaps of, hopeful ways it’s grand.
The hottest May most every day
Since records started to be written, and
A button on the past,
It points to profits oft’ ill-gotten
In a world of greed, technology: half-rotten.
All the harmful tendencies in man
Brought forth, the times and growing population
On their prideful side.
Oh, I hate to be a just one more harbinger
Of god-knows-what:
Plagues and wars and everything that
Brings disaster.
All this from the weather
And this hottest May on record
Within
Little Sweden.
The Hottest May On Record 5.30.2018 Swedish Book; Nature Of & In Reality; Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin

You've all heard of the American in Paris.  But have you heard from the American in Sweden??

Given the popularity of tattoos, beards, shaven heads, holes in the body...et al,  I'm enclosing this highly relevant observation written first in 2002, revised in 2004 and now again in 2018.  
            People Get Tattoos

People get tattoos because

They think that there’s no change,

Because they’re vain, in love:

They think they choose, because

They’ve no idea at all

The rain in Spain lies mainly

In the plain,

That muscle turns

And what was breast or chest and firm,

De-firms, deforms

With budding bicep rose

Becoming wrinkled, wilted posy of-the-elbows.



I suppose it’s all to do

With time and how we throw

Away our energies, with time

Outgrowing side- and peepshow

We all worshipped once with gusto.



Oh, tattoo, you are a symbol

Of myopia and youth,

A cockeyed view of truth

That lets us down.



Still, people will demand tattoos,

Refusing all discussion

Until gusto gets to be disgust.

Nothing one can do

Except boo-hoo

This triste refrain to all who’ll listen;

Self abstain , and be a witness.

People Get Tattoos 1.18.2004 revised from 6.17.2002  re-revised 5.22.2018 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;; Definitely Didactic; Arlene  Nover Corwin

I saw Lars Lerin, Sweden's great watercolorist, interviewed this morning. (If you don't know who he is look him up. You'll adore his painting genius and modest charm. A great, great artist with principle, technique and endless ideas.
It inspired me to write this:
✍️

Same Old Problems

Deciphering Meanings

What Are We Aiming At?

What is it one is aiming at?
And what the means?
Is it utopian to think about?
What is involved?
Such questions asked and answered as the road resolves.
Most times the answers overlap – in fact, each step
The coinciding
Of events and chance
So often and so many, they bring unforeseen abundance!

Means and goal, a little list:
Clarity, transparency,
Ethics and morality;
Fondness of simplicity,
Liking, warmth and care;
Focus and awareness
Of yourself - your faults and gifts.
The means to sift through both
And tackle, challenge, intercept,
Take responsibility for; respect, accept, correct;
To form belief
And follow through.  
It’s hard to let a shape come through you
Like a leitmotif;
A thread that is the real you,
That you were born to find, to be and do.  

What is it that we’re aiming at?
Guess with boldness:
Happiness and peace, of course,
A course of life that’s conquered stress
Made easy by
The depth inside.
Become its bride.

What Are We Aiming At? 5.9.2018 Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic II;  I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin

I wash the brain with peace,
Synapse to sleepy synapse.
Themes may change from day to day,
The mind and will working that way.  Today,
It’s peace – a motif that I never ‘got’.
I’m one step nearer, sensing it.
Behavior freer, talk a bit…
I’m more polite, considerate.
Something’s taking ‘way the ****
That usually rolls around as chaos;
Something near to paradise’s
Innermost best aspect peace, is
Uppermost. I use this basis
For my practice,
Imaging, imagining, examining,
Pretending, willing…
All that matters is the stilling
Followed by activity that does some good.
(What I wish is that it would).
Meanwhile, I am smiling more and more.
This ‘peace wash’ must be working.

Washing Over /My Newest Trick) 2.23.2018 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Revelations Big & Small; Arlene Nover Corwin

I wash the brain with peace,
Synapse to sleepy synapse.
Themes may change from day to day,
The mind and will working that way.  Today,
It’s peace – a motif that I never ‘got’.
I’m one step nearer, sensing it.
Behavior freer, talk a bit…
I’m more polite, considerate.
Something’s taking ‘way the ****
That usually rolls around as chaos;
Something near to paradise’s
Innermost best aspect peace, is
Uppermost. I use this basis
For my practice,
Imaging, imagining, examining,
Pretending, willing…
All that matters is the stilling
Followed by activity that does some good.
(What I wish is that it would).
Meanwhile, I am smiling more and more.
This ‘peace wash’ must be working.

Washing Over /My Newest Trick) 2.23.2018 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Revelations Big & Small; Arlene Nover Corwin

If They Ask: What Do You Want?

I do not want.  
I work and let the aim flow through me.
It is art and all its implications:
Polish, depth, finesse, processing –
Whatsoever makes good art.
So,  
Through re-thinkings, tinkerings, eliminations;
Many hours of flowering thoughts,
Produce is produced; wrought
Through humor, reference, experience,
And always aiming at the genuine,
Discovering that one is not as complex
As one thought one was;
More half-done and many-leveled:
Always a surprise.
Discovering that simple going on
Connects synapses of intelligence
And observation: powers unknown.
Unsuspected gifts and lacks.
Stacks and stacks of new disclosures
Brought on by the writing.

If they ask, “What do you want today?” (and everyday)
Just say, “I do not want a thing”,
And let the bell of creativity ring
Through me.

If They Ask: What Do You Want 4.29.2018 Pure Nakedness II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Corwin

Unmotivated Tears

I used to criticize
The eyes
Of those I knew
Who, at
Drops of a hat
Shed tears of ardor: God-knows-what.

Ascribing it
To vitamins and lack thereof,
Past, present and/or too much ‘love’.
Too something/something out of balance;
Nothing but a prevalence
Of yin or yang
Ganging up
On both those ducts.

Uncaring and unfeelingly –  I used to be.
Now, at eighty-three it’s me.
I may need hormone therapy.
Or is it age sagacity  -
Unmotivated tears
Based on a grasp of life’s chimere
That takes in all -
An all which makes one engineered
By tears
One must defer to.

Unmotivated Tears 4.24.2018 I Is Always You Is We; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Aging; Arlene Corwin

Good morning!
Love,
Arlene
       Embedded In The Problem


Rooted in the problem sits an answer

Well inserted by the laws of physics:

Every energy, each action, force

Contains an opposite and equal heart.

Not obvious, because of course

You’re coming face to face with one small seam,

Large though it seems,

With un’s that scream their presence:

“We’re Unanswerable, We are Unsolvable!”

Therefore, the answer, at least at the start,

Is to see the problem as a part

Of opportunity.

That would be smart!

Embedded In The Problem 4.22.2018 Circling Round Reality; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin