Everything That Comes To The Surface

Everything that makes its way onto the surface
May be good,
Its matter surplus, or not wanted -
Dead fish notwithstanding.

A surgeon’s stitch forgot, ignored,
(as was my dated fate of late);
The spooned off  fat on top of soup,
Secret thoughts self hidden
Coming up and out unbidden,
Sifting happiness from pain.

Again, again,
Examples endless:
Plants that sprout to charm the bees;
Corks that float,
Pus gravitating towards an ‘out’,
Shoots whose object’s being eaten…
Endless signature secretions
For the use of us
And every creature,
Surface purpose their first feature.

Everything That Comes To The Surface 3.12.2020 Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

Everything You Do

Everything accomplished needed repetition.
Repetition means rehearsal;
No reversal till you get it perfect.
Practice and continuation
Flexibly reflected, flaws corrected;
All dissected till you’ve got it right.

Playing, praying, cooking  training,
You’ve a will and brain
To shape it all from large to small,
From simple to precision’s detail.

Everything needs doing over
To deliver what it’s meant to be.
Nothing’s fault-free, all agree.
But all activity has aim
Combined with spontaneity.

Repetition is an art,
Discipline a healthy part;
Continuance the dart and cart
Which thrown and borne
Brings start to what we’ve learnt
To call accomplishment.

Everything You Do 10.29.2020 Definitely Didactic II; Circling Round Experience; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin

Examine, Chronicle, Explore, Reflect: Your New Mantra

Four words, my mantra new:
Examine, chronicle, reflect, explore!
To do in no particular or special order.
Exercise of which I am a new supporter.
Imprinted somewhere in the brain,
A symbiotic, soft refrain
Which like all songs you sing and love,
Affect behaviour down, above.

Reflect, explore, examine, chronicle!
Manacle the mind, front and behind
To spaces that you cannot feel,
You cannot measure or reveal.
Seal the words, the concentrated curds
Of new and deeper ways of thinking;
Symbiotic interactions living in such close relation,
Benefiting world and nation,
Each sensation in the psyche,
That they strengthen self’s identity.

Make a mantra of the four.
Or find some more that feel right.
Repetition is the requisite
To reaching what’s been painted as
The Highest Insight.

Examine, Chronicle, Explore, Reflect: Your New Mantra ;1.20.2021 Definitely Didactic; Vaguely About Music II; I Is Always You Is We; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Up all night pondering this deep question:
        Examining Modesty:
      (a modest examination)

We use ‘my’ without a thought.  My goodness! Oh my!  We use it affectionately, sympathetically; my dear boy; my poor baby!  Also belonging to or associated with the speaker: my name is Arlene; my friend.
And yet, and yet…my is possessive.

         Examining ‘My’

My, means belonging to…
Does anything belong to you?
I don’t  think so.
My face, body, cat or house.
Worse,
My child, my wife and coin possessed?
Preposterous and pointless.
Mine to own?
Fallacious and  illusion;
All’s a loan.
Each object, person, situation
Not the tiniest bit mine.

It is better that you say:
“I go, you go, he goes, she goes”.
Goodness knows, each object goes:
Nothing’s mine and nothing’s yours;
Each thing seen, touched, held; a guise..

The range of verbs you choose to use
Should be reviewed to understand reality.
Everyone and everything but temporary.

Try to take a day or two
Getting used to finding out what, how and who
Relates to you.
Rotation, alternation, staying in our lives a day
But never staying always.

Examining ‘My’ 6.20.2020 Circling Round Reality; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

****** Hairs Mystify

****** hairs mystify,
Growing how and where they will,
Which partly sheds light on reason why
They call it, *****-nilly.

White, black, silky, coarse,
All on the selfsame surface –
Growing inward, shooting up and outward!
It’s ridiculous!
At times I curse the space
They call the face.
It shows no logic.
It’s not magic, not strategic,
But some feeble plan of nature,
Some chaotic plan inscrutable
Whose structure is a stricture
On a want of one thing or another.
  
Keeping tweezer handy
Without ever understanding,
I surrender
To a power
Higher than…
And I give in,
Say a prayer for some unwitting sin
I must be paying for.
Follicles win
Hands down, I mean,
Face down.

****** Hairs Mystify 10.15.2016
Circling Round Nature II; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Vanities II, Circling Round Woman II;
Arlene Corwin

.

Although I consider faith a sine qua non without which one can accomplish nothing, I have a decidedly unromantic view about its nature . Though faith has a vague can’t-put-your-finger-on  essence, one thing can be assumed.  It works through and with the synapses of the brain.

Dear World, There are days (in this case only one one) when, for reasons only known by nature,  one feels peeved, disheartened, discontented, life-weary... A poor set of adjectives  which ought to read 'fed down' or 'unfed' or goodness knows what!  Here's the day I felt "Fed Up":

             Fed Up

When one has been admired,
Fired up and complimented…
There are days when
Cheery, shell self soul
Becomes no longer cheerful in its whole.
‘Exasperated’, ‘aggravated’  -
Compound blend of pique galore,
Paralysis its core, takes over.

‘Annoyed’ and ‘irritated’ are more names
That germinate spores of fed up-ness,
Helplessness,
Frustration there inside, beside.

A micro sense of hopelessness,
A no way out,
A strained acceptance.
In which case, a simple business
Which is what and all it is!

Crushed, pushed,
Squelched, squished,
Dashed, squashed -
Mind disheartened,
(Does the mind have heart, heart mind?)
One fights discouragement;
All the dis- words there that bind
And blind.
But,
Hope will be caught or thwarted,
Hope will not say no lifelong,
The state of fed up-ness being all wrong!
One sees the flaw
And starts to thaw
When one has got some patience back.
But for the moment one’s fed up
And fallen off the hope train track.

Fed Up 2.3.2020 Pure Nakedness; Arlene Nover Corwin

If I Had An Editor

Benda Starr reporting in with the latest news!

        Finally, A Black Hole Captured

Always writing, these two followed one another in sequence, mind working from places that surprised and tickled.

   Finding Goodness In The Most Unlikely Places

“Finding goodness in the most unlikely places”
Read this phrase and had to face
The fact that friends whose characters I took for granted
Showed and have bestowed the unexpected
Love, respect and qualities unknown and unsuspected
In the most unlikely situations,
Causing my relations with the whole darned world
To tears unfurled
                            the first time in my life.

Changed forever, never to return to sheer
Indifference, judgement or ill will,
Never more to stand aloof,
Just tears of gratitude to verify its proof.

Finding Goodness… 11.29.2019
Love Relationships II; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Nover Corwin


      I Stopped Being Envious

I killed my envy-filled green eye
When I beheld the day to day
Recasting of both face and a_s.
That each one changes not just
Year by future year but now and here.
So, on that day, that very minute
Envy went away to stay.

Smallest waistline, glowing skin,
Intelligence so high it whitens out the sky,
The stars and universe:
Blessings all and also curse:
Best to worse the sadly likeliest.

Round twenty-ish
I was no longer jealous -
Drew each atom to a close.
IQ middling, talents too,
Each one pondered, I felt rosy,
Grati-satsfied and well-to-do.

Lost all envy when I'd learned
That all things change.
I had discerned
Release from chain.
That’s what freedom’s meant to be
For you, for me, for everybody.

There is no competition,
Only similarity and contrast.
No one else is you, and you
Will never be a someone else.
Soothed by sharing, (mostly caring),
Shutting out the envious,
It’s obvious, that you are matchless, unsurpassed -
A one and only without need to be another cast.

I Stopped Being Envious 11.30.2019
Circling Round Reality; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Nover Corwin

Finding Out About Yourself

Who am I?
Who are you?
It will be asked till time is through.
In fact, it may be
Life’s key issue we pursue;
Extro- intro-, odd man out;
A coverall for all the doubt.

Who are you, you the total real?
Finding out will skål the soul,
Give skill to soul,,
Transform the budding soul/you whole,
Give vision of capacities you’ d no idea,
Where life’s no more apologia.

It’s a game of Treasure Chest,
One where you must persevere:.
And in the end you are the measure of the treasure
And your best.

How, you ask, can little me be all in one:
Human, angel, paragon?  
In a nutshell, a nice person!
Remember too, it’s only ever you
Who knows exactly who you are,
All others are interpreters, projecters
Of who they are.
Far
From who you are at any moment.
So,
While you are there observing,
Being altered and improved
Finding out about yourself, you cannot waiver.
It’s a trip demanding courage
Into superannuated age,
Its pointers in the right direction never over.

Skål - Swedish: drink (to) the health of, drink to, salute, honour; archaic pledge.

Finding Out About Yourself 9.20.2018 Nature Of & In Reality; Revelations Big & Small;

Another one of those days on a roll.  Wait until you see the next poem coming up. I Like To Wash The Dishes.  

      Finding Out The Truth

Finding Your Rhythm

Your rhythm can have heat,
It can have speed.
Depending upon what you need
In the moment’s feat,
It’s very heartbeat.

Whatsoever gives you power,
Your bio-clock
May rock
That hour.

Power by the minutes is what counts.
It mounts by seconds as you play.
It plays,
And you should let it play
Since rhythm’s power never stays,
Permutating with each pulse.

Respect it, for it’s no one else -
The simplest sample of the minute’s you,
All you are and all you do,
Adapting, altering, amending,
Reconstructing and evolving
As you solve new pages,
Entering and leaving stages.

When I play or sing
Finding tempo’s rhythmic swing
Is key; door’s opening
To fundamentals: moving, sitting, cooking,  eating…
Finding beat the core and more.

At the bottom your rhythm
Lies a measure of your pleasure,
An intrinsic part of it;
Pleasure in the heart of it.

Finding Your Rhythm 3.28.2018 Vaguely About Music II; Circling Round Energy, Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Corwin

Finding Your Rhythm

Your rhythm can have heat,

It can have speed.

Depending upon what you need

In the moment’s feat,

It’s very heartbeat.



Whatsoever gives you power,

Your bio-clock

May rock

That hour.



Power by the minutes is what counts.

It mounts by seconds as you play.

It plays,

And you should let it play

Since rhythm’s power never stays,

Permutating with each pulse.



Respect it, for it’s no one else -

The simplest sample of the minute’s you,

All you are and all you do,

Adapting, altering, amending,

Reconstructing and evolving

As you solve new pages,

Entering and leaving stages.



When I play or sing

Finding tempo’s rhythmic swing

Is key; door’s opening

To fundamentals: moving, sitting, cooking,  eating…

Finding beat the core and more.



At the bottom your rhythm

Lies a measure of your pleasure,

An intrinsic part of it;

Pleasure in the heart of it.

Finding Your Rhythm 3.28.2018 Vaguely About Music II; Circling Round Energy, Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Corwin

Finding Your Style

There is a You that is;
That’s at the center of all that you do.
It’s formed, changed often
By the wind, the season’s whim;
But once you know and let it,
There’s an inner conflict
That no longer is;
No longer there;
It gives and is a freedom free of care.
Restraints held once, dissolve then disappear.
You carry on, the same old you,
Doing what you’re used to doing,
Knowing what you’re born to do;
Doing it throughout the day –
From within your ‘ordinary.
Taking place with every breath
You step into each hour with depth;
The outward inner veil revealed,
You’ve found a style to make you smile,
For it is only you who sees it,
Knowing you don’t have to freeze it,
It’s just there! You –
The flexible and true
To carry on mistakes and flaws,
The inner doors
Consistently ajar.
You are!
Finding Your Style 2.11.2021 Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Finger-less Or Finger-free

I’ve met those I’ve called talentless,
Who, with light irony,
I now call talent-free.
Now me?  
Not finger-less but finger-free:
Adaptability
Manifestly
               evident.

Big chords are out,
Arpeggios too.
Monk-like bass and base lines do.
Accompanied by vocal runs of dissonance
And lyricism: touching, new.

Then there are the household duties:
Kitchen, bath- and bedroom -
All rooms needing tending to;
Ways to brush, cut, ***** a cap:
Just plain old *****.

New talents, yessiree,
For those who may be
Talent-free, or finger-free,
The likes of mastering potentiality
That leave us free.

Finger-less Or Finger-free 2.17.2021 Nature Of & In Reality; Vaguely About Music II; Pure Nakedness II;Arlene Nover Corwin

Flattered

This is actually a letter
To the editor.
I'm flattered, flattered, flattered
When the editor begins and ends
His email with "You're trending."
It mattered, boy, it mattered.
It was the kind of confirmation
That gives artists of a genre whatsoever
Faith and trust and strength
Which almost never
Happens otherwise.  
Thanks Hello.
You have made me feel like Jello.
Thanks and thanks and thanks.

Flattered 11.26.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous;
Arlene Corwin

Flattered

This is actually a letter
To the editor.
I'm flattered, flattered, flattered
When the editor begins and ends
His email with "You're trending."
It mattered, boy, it mattered.
The kind of confirmation
That gives artists of a genre whatsoever,
Faith and trust and strength
Which almost never
Happens otherwise.  
Thank you Hello.
You have made me feel like Jello.
Thanks and thanks and thanks.

Flattered 11.26.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous;
Arlene Corwin
This is really a thank you note in disguise.

Flawed

Listening to Thelonius Monk.
(Give him a try -
If you haven’t already)
I myself am sunk
In heaven.
(or is it ‘raised’)
Anything for a rhyme
Anytime.)  
Ouch!
Anyway, there’s genius
In being flawed:
In honesty, in bravery  -
Wrong notes,
Strong, short, long notes;
Flatted fifths, half-tones the chord;
Finger placement – absurd.
Who can be bored!
Who cares?
He dares.
Stares into space,
Jumps up and down,
No smile, no frown -
He plays his junk,
Always a Monk – Thelonius..
And so I sit in pillowed bed,
Caffeinated (to my toes and head),
Cogitating.  
Letting, simply letting…
Waiting, writing
With an honesty and ***** (see Monk, sunk, junk)
Flawed to the gills.
Hmm, sills, bills, chills, kills…hmm.

Flawed 11.19.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Vaguely About Music II;
Arlene Corwin

Forever Counting (Words to Ponder)

Carbohydrates, calories, vitamins  & minerals,
Week workdays, holidays,
Tax returned and money earned;
Last summer’s weather, winter too…
The list of what you count depends on you -
But count you do, counting on the life you lead
And what you need.
What is the meaning of it all?
The fact of calculating, tallying
Tied to each and every errand.

We say, “It/he/she doesn’t count!”
Translated: it’s of no importance,
Has no meaning or significance.
It’s like saying matter is not/does not matter.
So many layered words turn in upon themselves
To even up the oxymoron,
Or more, add up to paradox?

We count on, count upon,
Count someone in,
Count something out.
What the heck’s this all about?
I count on you to think this out.
Engrossing as it is.

Count Basie!

Forever Counting (Words to Ponder) 10.17.2020 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

For Those Who Can’t Believe

For those who can’t believe
I leave you with: God is just word
To gird up life and lessen pain;
Intended to encompass unexplainables
That science or psychology can’t clarify:
The ecstasy of insights
Helplessness of death,
Mystery philosophies
Of paths that lead to happiness;
With logic all their own to laud,
Reality reduced to primal cause
That some call God.

Problems of belief lie in
The gene or flair; the character
Or IQ that x factors cannot cover.

There, in entity invisible, in force likewise,
Books, systems aim to clarify
In symbol, parable and story;
Threads for some, nonsense for others
Who prefer to live by ethics; other codes
To take a hold of.

“God” is odd,
And hard;
A word,
A shortcut, like the Sanskrit Om -
To something real, a waterwheel
To rain down onto neuron’s brain.

That’s almost all that I can say
Leaving those who can’t believe
Until some other insight comes its way
Some Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
Friday, Saturday or Sunday.

For Those Who Can’t Believe 11.13.2016
To The Child Mystic II; God Book II;
Arlene Corwin

Found On Backs of Envelopes

Talent helps, but at the end
A chain of forces gives intent
Its form whose links
Are luck and karma,
Perseverance as its armour.

Pushing doggedly against the odds:
Time’s cycles, ups and downs,
Fenced in or pushing back or at
Rejection, vanity, the blocks
Of dailyness-es, laziness-es,
Each a hindrance stealing time.
Yet talent is the ground
Fed by the virtues which turn destinies around.

I’ve had this scrap since twenty four: two thousand four,
Which means it’s been
A household tenant fourteen years,
(I date my scribblings),
Its poetic siblings coming after
Several thousand crafted rhymes.

A lesson here somewhere:
Save bits of paper,
Be they toilet, pamphlet, poster, letter…
Keep each ballpoint you collect -
Guidelines you will not regret
But laud, applaud one day
When someone reads the stuff you’ve had to say
And says “Hurray”!
All from not tossing out the scrap
Or throwing crap away!

Found On Backs Of Envelopes 12.17.2018/revised7.27.2020 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creativity, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Found On Backs of Envelopes ✍️

Talent helps, but at the end
A chain of forces gives intent
Its form whose links
Are luck and karma,
Perseverance as its armour.

Pushing doggedly against the odds:
Time’s cycles, ups and downs,
Fenced in or pushing back or at
Rejection, vanity, the blocks
Of dailyness-es, laziness-es,
Each a hindrance stealing time.
Yet talent is the ground
Fed by the virtues which turn destinies around.

I’ve had this scrap since twenty four: two thousand four,
Which means it’s been
A household tenant fourteen years,
(I date my scribblings),
Its poetic siblings coming after
Several thousand crafted rhymes.

There’s a lesson here somewhere:
Save your bits of paper
Be they toilet, pamphlet, poster, letter…
Keep each ballpoint you collect -
Guidelines you will not regret
But laud, applaud one day
When someone reads the stuff you’ve had to say
And says “Hurray”!
All from not tossing out the scrap
Or throwing crap away!


Found On Backs Of Envelopes 12.17.2018 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creativity, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

PS 5.9.2021I’ve done the whole thing over: punctuation, syntax - all to make it clearer to the reader - and you.  See if it makes a difference.

   I’ve been taking this apart & putting it together umpteen eleven times, unsure of what I was aiming at, unsure of my attitude and what I was saying.  Finally, it itself formed my conclusion.  Ah, the creative power of poetry.

   Fragments Of Energy II

Fragments of energy, forces of power;
Distance illusory… near, here or far.
So much is theory, notion, idea.
Is God really God,
We, the peas in an almighty near and far pod?
Is the mixture a mishmash but all-of-a-one:
Unified fractals* that make up the fun,
Snowflake or buttercup, echoing bird.
Re-stated everywhere - here, now and every ‘there’?
(Look up the word)
Clusters or clutter, matter plucked,
Plunked down with order;
A concert in motion, a symphonic One.
Part of the order of earth, moon and sun.
All of a fragment with no counted number,
Each of us members In atom toned embers.

In some sort of incomprehensible way,
One is glad to be
Even a fleck of those fragments of energy.
Fragments Of Energy II 5.9.2021 Circling Round Science; Nature; Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

fractal; a curve or geometrical figure, each part of which has the same statistical character as the whole. They are useful in modelling structures (such as snowflakes) in which similar patterns recur at progressively smaller scales, and in describing partly random or chaotic phenomena such as crystal growth and galaxy formation.

From Popularity…
              (comes danger)

From popularity comes hazard,
Risk of peril,
Boy or girl at danger’s call.
From anonymity comes shelter:
No one knowing you at all.

Every country loves its tourists -
Bridges, tunnels… easy access;
Weapons, drugs,
Lawbreakers, thugs:
In short, new foes;
New secret foes that no one knows.
From popularity come woes.

Self-imposed expansion low.
Moderation is the answer,
Modesty the balancer
Of friendliness
And isolation.

From Popularity 4.17.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin

I never remember what poetry I've put on Facebook, AllPoetry,  or even on my own site, Arlene Corwin Poetry.  And I'm much too lazy to check.  (I suspect that that's the danger when one writes everyday)  If you've read this before well, read it again.

It just is what it is.  The fact that Sweden's smuggled weapon rate has skyrocketed since the Malmö-Denmark bridge was built - as has the crime rate.  A good example of the dark side of the moon.
The dark side of the bright side.

To quote my dear Swedish Kent “A less abstract”... poem.  I like that, because I suppose I have two aims when writing: one is to write a poem the reader can identify with - something both concrete and universal and two, to write a poem of quality.  As an example, this simple, some might say simplistic "From Wakeful Night To Active Day" took roughly a day and a half or 6 hours to write from idea to end.  And you never know, it may not be the finished product yet.

       From Wakeful Night To Active Day

I lay awake.
I no longer take
                      for granted
Night long sleep.
That’s quite alright.  
I wind, unwind my yogic limbs,
Find things to do
While torso twists & screws,
The mind at ease,
Positions so brand new,
No book has yet to catch or photo.
There I lie with things to do.

There is a ‘me’ that does not choose;
A something that already knows;
Some inner cleverness that goes
From limb to limb, joint to joint,
Anointing every cartilage, each ligament
With blessed flexibility,
Accessibility,
Facile ability:
Yoga session moving forward
To a most advanced degree.

It isn’t fun to lay awake,
But when it’s done,
One falls asleep.
Perhaps not Rem or deep,
But it’s enough.
A cup of coffee
                       does the trick.
Awake and quickened,
Competent to not delay
But go the whole way
In a stream from recent dream
To active day.

Mysterious this nighttime cycle;
Structural, visceral, mental, spinal,
Hormonal, remindful?
Grateful and humble,
Glad to report that it was not final.
From Wakeful Night To Active Day 1.26.2020 Pure Nakedness II; Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin



ARLENE CORWIN
ArleneCorwinPoetry.com
Facebook/hellopoetry.com/jerryjazzmusician/
Cyberwit.net/Amazon.com/Barnes6Noble.com/allpoetry.com

From Whence The Drive...

Full OfLife’s Meaning

Health and meaning,
Productivity and goodness,
Each without the other
Pointless, empty, aimless.
Karma is as karma does,
Cause, effect, impact that follows
Following the karmic laws;
Chains of act and motivation:
Like a train into a station;
Moving on - you get my point.
Pointing in and at direction
New to view, ensue, continuing
Forever on.

For that reason goodness pays.
So does purity of heart.
These the simplest of start,
Richest at the end.
(and even in the middle,
though not looking like it then).

This, a facile little verse
Written post a cup of java.
Oversimplified, naive,
Written down with caffeine fervor,
Nonetheless sincere endeavour
To get at a truth received;
The intellect experiential,  never swayed
By morning  coffee’s  coaxing way.

And so it ends as it began:
Metaphysical, material and grand,
Taking effort to achieve,
You and I but motes
And sometimes idiots
Living disquietly in worlds of floods
And wars and riots.  

Just remember, life that’s full of
Health and meaning, creativity and goodness.
Each without the other pointless, empty, aimless.
Life itself, its energy
Was meant to be
That!
Full Of Life’s Meaning 9,17.2018 Nature Of & In Reality; Revelations Big & Small; God Book II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Funny Autobiographic Thoughts

In 1966 I burned my bra –
Haven’t worn one since,
Content with what God gave me once;
No plastic *****, no silly-cone nonsense
Standing up when l lie down -
A thought I find amusing
To be added to when musing;
Funny mem’ries such as these
Will carry on as they occur –
Which they will I’m sure.
Bubbling up unceasingly.
(to be continued in the future).

Funny Autobiographic Thoughts 12.4.2016
Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Woman II; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin

Gardening The Forest:  A Work In Progress


I garden the forest.

Walking everywhere – like Johnny Appleseed –

I keep my excellent Swedish clippers at my side,

And when I eye a roadside tree

With branch too low, so’s I can see,

I make the lower branches go,

Prune and clear selectively,

Clip high as I can reach,

Which,

Being five foot one

And using muscle of the female kind,

Is always kind to undergrowth,

Seduced by ‘further’,

Blazing paths that never were,

So light can filter through.

It wants for sun. It makes for light.

The woods and I are one;

But I can’t tell a soul.

Wandering on until de-celeration

Starts to take me over,

Signs I’ve learned to recognize

When fervor starts to waver

And observer me says “Rest!”


Works in progress never cease.

It is a forest,

After all.

Work In Progress: Gardening The Forest 11.28.2006 revised 1.18.2014/again 4.20.2015

Circling Round Nature; Circling Round Nature II:

Gerontology

Sitting in the car
Mulling over near and far,
There
And what is definitely here:

Youth cannot ‘feel’ eighty-two.  Doctors too.
Your doctor, my…
So many symptoms pass them by.
‘Tis pity, for ‘tis
I who suffer, study,
Face to face with, analyze.
Use self through trial and t-error,
I who ponder, for I must,
There being no one I dare trust
(except for God unseen
who has the charge of body mine).
Nonetheless, geron (Greek for old man)
Plus –ology (the study of)
Is what is needed in our time,
Oxymoron though it sounds, and given that
The young can never feel out
Time’s dealing out,
Apprentice doctors in their prime
Should get to know the facts of age,
The pages, wages of real life,
For theory is theory,
A fact that disappoints me
Visit after visit,
Closeted by slow decline
When I am looking for relief.

Gerontology 10.18.2016
Circling Round Aging;
Arlene Corwin

Gerontology*

Sitting in the car and thinking…maybe wrongly,
Youth cannot identify
With one, who eighty-one or two
Is me - or you;
The age non-real,
Too far away to feel.
Sadly,
Doctors too: your doctor, my…
So many symptoms pass them by.
The pity is, it’s we who sigh, or cry…or die.
We, who do the main research,
Left in the lurch
To crouch in front of the computer,
For we must,
There being none to trust
Except for God,
Who, just and boss
Is first in charge of  soul and loss,
Age and body,

We need doctors eager, sage,
Whose zeal is aimed at us: the aged:
Who burn to, yearn to heal, engage
The living old,
For theirs and they
Will be join the white-haired fold
One day.

Gerontology re-viewed, renewed 3.24.2021(original 10.18.2016)  Circling Round Ageing; Birth, Death & In Between III; Arlene Nover Corwin
*Gerontology
the scientific study of old age, the process of ageing, and the particular problems of old people.

Gerontology

Sitting in the car
Mulling over near and far,
There, and what is definitely here:

Youth cannot envision eighty-two.  
Doctors too. They cannot ‘feel’ eighty-two:
Your doctor, my…
So many symptoms pass them by.
‘Tis pity, for ‘tis I who suffer,
I, who faced with ebb and tide analyze,
Use the self through trial and t-error;
I, who ponder, for I must,
There being no one I dare trust -
(Except for deity unseen
Who has the charge of body mine)

Geron (Greek for old man) –ology (the study of)
Is what is needed, given that
The young can never feel out
Time’s dealing out.

Apprentice doctors in their prime
Should get to know the facts of age,
The pages, wages of real life,
For theory is theory
Until you get there by yourself.

With visits by appointment only,
This is the die that disappoints
(The lie that also disappoints) when I,
Life’s force in slow decline
Am looking for relief.

Gerontology 10.18.2016
Circling Round Aging;
Arlene Corwin

Getting Loonier But Freer

Sitting in the bathtub come prepared:
Pen and pad squared off,
Ready for the spinoff
Boring or imploring
Phrase, theme, word
To make inspired this not tired,
Not yet batty lady
Who, in dotage her,
Is sounding more and more like Lear
(not king – the other one)
Using words in play from fun
To pleasure those with fun-ny bone
Or anyone come close –
With dose of looniness and freedom.

Each thought legitimized – seen through her eyes -
She writes as if the script were scripture,
Thought brought down from god-knows-where,
She, prepared to edit if she must,
Every bit writ down on trust.

The paper pad is soaking wet,
Words dimmed and saturate.
Time to get out of the tub,
Dry hair, the ***’
And superficially skin deeply
Watch the evening’s mediocre,
Scary, all too interruptedly TV.
(For TV’s actually for money,
Not for me, or them’s that’s like me.)
Pity!

Getting Loonier But Freer 11.6.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Bath Book II;
Arlene Corwin

Just thinking...    

  Getting Your Affairs In Order

I’m getting my affairs in order.
By affairs I don’t mean love affairs -
They got ‘ordered’ long ago.
You reach an age where you no longer
Think yourself un-deadly;
Getting one’s affairs in order is a ‘getting ready’ -
You who having left your prime,
Traveling through time not only limited to astronauts.
Life support that may have passed,
‘Affairs in order’ is the comfort of a passport,
No more a worrywart divisive,
Indecisive about treasure gathered over years,
Tied and bound by tears nostalgic;
Wondering who’ll want this, where shall this land?
Pondering over hindering or squandering.
You want those apples of your eye,
Your prides and joys,
To go someplace where they’ll be loved;
Want to leave the place you lived
Not just an empty space but gift received.
We weave a life we’d wish to leave,
Woven for those far or near, bereaved or dear,
And that means putting your affairs in order
From consideration of a future -
Not of yours but of the other.

Getting Your Affairs In Order 3.22.2021 Birth, Death& In Between III; Arlene Nover Corwin

Gifted But Out Of Tune

Doctor: “What can you expect?
You’re eighty-two!  Accept it!
Vocal cords, no longer tighten.
Yours will never close again.”

Goodness knows, boy, do I know it!
Unpredictable, quixotic.
Coming, going, throwing
Intonation out the window.

Eighty-two, all soon to be
An eighty- three.
Must Corwin flee because of age?
Flee the stage because of age?
****, no!
Today, tomorrow,
She says no to going!

Sings her heart out – when she can.
Songs fantastic; jazzy, cool,
Breaking rule harmonic
For the music and the fun of it.
But voice, alas, hard to control,
Its life so unconnected to the whole.

***** pitch, stich with crooked seam;
Bad, sad, how she sorely wants to scream.
She doesn’t.   Giving out the gifts from heaven,
Hearing flaws – now a given.
Focusing
                on now and only…
Singing, playing joyfully;
Doing when and how,
She crowns the gig and takes a bow.

Gifted But Out Of Tune 10.7.2017
Vaguely About Music II; Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin

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

Got this idea the other day- but only as a title.  Worked on it the past two days.  See if you appreciate its point of view.  Notice that I place it in the collection called Circling Round Egos.
            

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 right against the wrongs.

We even sing fight songs

In 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 manoeuvre.



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 as they sip their sauvignon.

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 4.27.2017

Circling Round Egos;

Arlene Corwin

Coming home, turning on the Mac, tuning in the radio, expecting to see, hear the installation of the President-elect, I read instead “Miguel Ferrer Is Dead”.  Priority is clear.  Dear Mr Ferrer takes precedence.

        
          God Bless You Mr. Ferrer

God bless you Mr. Ferrer
Where’er you are.
‘My Father’s house – many a mansion’:
That you’re somewhere I am certain.
One remembers José, powerful as Cyrano.
Now we shall remember you;
Compelling, formidable in all your roles,
You unintentionally stole the roles
Becoming one with each.
And one is sad!   Nigh inconsolable!
Sixty-one!  So young these days!
No phrase of admiration, value and esteem can reach you,
Few can match you, rate you high enough.
And I, engulfed in loss,
No grading high enough
Shall miss you.


Coming home, turning on the Mac, tuning in the radio, expecting to see, hear the installation of the President-elect, I read instead “Miguel Ferrer is dead”.  Priority is clear.  Dear Mr Ferrer takes precedence.

God Bless You Mr. Ferrer 1.20.2017
Special People, Special Occasions; Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin

God Has A Plan

God has a plan.
A plan?
What does it mean?
And what is God?
Not meaning to be mean,
I want to take in
Them’s that do and them’s that don’t
Believe or doubt.

If followed to the end,
All roads lead home to Rome.
Good-natured, good humored,
Dastard, *******,
Substandard, no standard
Which means bad, good and all the world.

The plan, a plan
Is interesting indeed.
To analyze, interpret, give word to,
For we need
A word to read, be heard,
To take into the heart and head.

If you are a keen observer
Of the concrete and empirical,
You see that things have patterns,
(for example, thought and matter).
Post- and pre-  the pattern makes it lyrical.
(That for fun – the main thing is the plan.)

Laws to measure, near and clear,
Self-evident, plain as the nose upon your face.
(Water seeks the lowest space).
Laws unclear, obscure, inferred,
Laws that find no place in science.

Plan, the God adored - is Law;
Door short of adoration.
There’s nothing wrong
With seeing through those eyes,
To please
Those on the border
Of belief and dis-
                           belief.

God Has A Plan 3.30.2017
God Book II; Circling Round Science II; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality;
Arlene Corwin

Going On Forever

I don’t want to disappear,
But stay here
Growing, learning,
Watching its eternal earning
With a quiet eye.

Yet and yet, not able
To face label Death,
There is a daring me - preparing,
Filled with stashes of creativeness
That make up for
The fear of disappearing.

Without forethought I find notes to play;
Better than before or ever.
Unpredictable the throat, but I don’t care
Because inventiveness is there.

What might have been a vanity,
Self-consciousness and worry,
Is an energy of nonchalance
Letting in pure chance
And taking in delight
In finding just what’s right
In word or song,
As if the wrong-est word
Ought still be heard by others,
Thanks to confidence
That smothers fear of being judged;
That if I’ve fudged a phrase expected,
Anything can be corrected.

Hence the fire of desire
To go on forever,
Bedded in indebtedness
Undying.
Going On Forever 5.20.2021 Birth,Death & In Between III; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Going To You

I couldn’t sleep. What could I do?
I went to you.
I go as often as I can,
As often as élan emerges:
Like a spy whose operation purges,
Does not tell (well,
                 those detected and elected).
I ought to come to you more often.  
True to form you’re there to soften
In one way or t’other – like a mother.

Is it just interpretation, fancy, brain synaptic,
Watching happenings?
Often ending as I would wish they should,
Seeing failings patched, detached,
Improving slowly once they’re hatched?

If I had been born to preach,
Joined synagogue or church,
Become rabbi, Mormon, Witness, priest,
Going north, south, west and east
At least I’d feel I landed.

But I’m silent and agog,
A secret seeker through the fog of worldly turbulence
And tastes that tempt, participating in the dance
With casualness, no casualty, but taking in causality as One,
It being April one, a day of fun at fooling friends –
Supercool, I face and grace it with my presence.

Going To You 4.1.2017
God Book II; Circling Round Reality; Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin

Newly re-discovered and re-written with the eye and mind of an 86 year old.

             Gone

It isn’t that I was a beauty -
Ravishing or stunning,
But the young have assets winning
In the limber and the nimble,
In the willowy and flexible;
Ligament and cartilage,
New formed partnerships.
Skipping grace, the ageing seeps into the
Shortened, lengthened, thickened heaps.
Creamy, glossy, high cheekbone
Erased and gone,
Replaced by pressing lines that frown.

Not loss but changes [to the]
Self, our peers, - our generation disappearing.
Knowledge which, though understanding
Is no restful, cheering peace
But fear that meets us with a tear,
With answers which may ne’er come near
But carry on their jeering.
        
It isn’t that I was a beauty.
Looking-glass and date remind me
How much beauty’s in the supple,
“You’re the apple of my eye”, says nature.
Ageing’s wit and not an answer!
Muscle mass, the well-formed ***,
Ratio of nose/lips, waist/hips;,
Elasticity an aching stiffness;
Movement showing signs of stress.
Hostile drooping chin through to neck…
Heck, hopefully, the wick of beauty really comes
When youthful beauty shrinks and runs.

Gone 10.23.2008/110.29.2008/re-written 3.39.2021 Circling Round Ageing; Arlene Nover Corwin

This is the 2nd poem I’ve come upon written in 1999, so woefully up to date I feel I must send it out.  Called Gone In A Minute.

                    Gone In A Minute

An avalanche, a mud slide ,
Every meter drenched and plastered,
Gliding and colliding, guided
By terrain alone,
And crash, boom, clang,
The whole shebang is gone.

People!  Yes, of course!
Their words and art;
The future’s start.
Centuries of minds,
Mines of thinking gone:  
In a non-thinking wink.

How long then, family name?
The worked for fame?
Volcanic ash, a lava stream,
Centuries of verse, and worse,
Memory all creamed away.

Fire, flood, the drowned, the charred:
Things no longer anything;
The best and worst on equal footing.

Wars: the scarred, disfigured, marred
And all the future Bachs, Picassos,
Jenny Linds, Carusos,
Shakespeares, Einsteins,
(not to mention Arlene Corwins)
Never to expand a wing,
Create a thing,

The crux is, what we bring to mind
How easy and complete,
How fast defeat
Comes to a globe
Once calamity’s in orbit.
And we wonder what is worth it, what is not,
Ask what lasts when pasts wiped out
Leave nothing.

Gone In A Minute 8 22.2020/improved from1.2.1999 Our Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Putting on my lipstick and feeling silly.

Guilt & Shame, Exhaustion, Doubts & Failure

I’m capable of grief, regret and feeling sad.
But is that guilt? And is guilt bad?
Knowledge that the one responsible is you,
However caused:
From innocence or ignorance,
Naiveté, unworldliness,
The mess created to put other(s) in a stew.
Perhaps it is.

In the stillness of decision,
From a willingness and will,
Rejecting guilt, dismissing shame,
Taking culpability in name of karma,
(though I’d never harm a
                                     fly on purpose),
If I’ve done a something to a someone,
I will have to pay back someone sometime,
Try to form and glue a future, integrated, sutured me,
New belonging and identity;
Acquiring a philosophy to lean on:
A new frame, new name, rules of the game
Ameliorating guilt and shame.

They write about this all the time
Have done it since the start of
Any kind of written art -
In prose, in picture and in rhyme
In life, in death, with every breath,
Mistakes corrected to reach truth
Uncovered and un-smothered,
Reaching out that truth to other.

Through the spittle,
Perhaps victual
Of the title
I reach out to you.

Guilt & Shame, Exhaustion, Doubts & Failure 5.7.2017
Circling Round Egos; Nature Of & In Reality; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin

Gustav The Cat

Gustav’s had  
To be put down.
The day was lovely, light, pristine.
Gustav Cat, gregarious and household king
Gone wandering -
Disappeared the past few days,
Back sick, no visible, familiar cause.
And then the news:
A chronic and/or fatal illness
Common among felines.

Put down - an awful phrase –
One would prefer
Sent up to ***** paradise: a cat-adise.

Tuesday’s diary:
Part beauty and part tragedy.
Gustav Cat, well taken care of,
Loved,
A gorgeous little red-haired boy-cat
With a destiny unknown,
And, it seems
A destiny he did not own.
Do any of us?
So we mourn,
The mourning will not be postponed!
We mourn.

Gustav The Cat 7.6.2016
Cat Book II; Birth, Death & In Between;
Arlene Corwin

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

           Half-Full Glass