Make Jazz!

When I perform I don’t get nervous,
But regard the audience
As friends;
That even if I fall off the piano stool,
I can get up, or play the fool,
Start again, begin
And no one there will lose their patience;
That a fault, mistake,
With note that’s flat, forgotten lyric,
May well be misunderstood.
But hey, I’m good!
I’m talented, I sing, I swing,
And I’m a giver!
Just as dust will always gather
On a mirror,
So too,
I, we, you
Will go wrong sometime in our song.
Therefore, it’s wise
To learn to improvise
And make the day
A chance to play.
In other words, make jazz!

Make Jazz! 3.3.2021 Vaguely About Music II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Making Waffles In The Living Room
(a day in the life of an eccentric)

With no one home to say a thing,
She lives out her free spirit.
Not a misfit,
Simply unconventional.

She’s making waffles,
But she wants to watch TV –
A favorite program on on Sunday.
Which will take priority?
Must one take priority?
Why not do them simultaneously.

She grabs a stool
And drags it to the living room.
Step one.
Carrying the still cold iron
Without fear of burn, she sets it
On the stool and plugs the iron in.
Old appliance it goes on,
No On Off switch therein.
Step two.
Bearing bowl brim-filled with batter,
Setting it on stool where it
                            fits snugly in and on its step,
Spoon in hand she spoons the batter
Onto iron piping hot;
Shuts the top and starts to wait.
One, two, three and on to plate,
All while watching TV’s favorite!
What subject for a poem!
Happy that there’s no one home
                                 to say a thing.
Fifteen waffles later,
Piled high and fully sated,
Iron back in place
Not a drop or drip to waste
And no one is the wiser.

from the Greek ekkentros, from ‘ek ‘out of’ + kentron ‘center’.

Making Waffles In The Living Room 3.19.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; I Is Always You Is We;
Arlene Corwin

Making Waffles In The Living Room #2
(a day in the life of an eccentric) improved version

With no one home to say a thing,
She lives out her free spirit.
Not a misfit,
Simply unconventional.

She’s making waffles,
But she wants to watch TV –
A favorite program on on Sunday.
Which will take priority?
Must one take priority?
Why not do them simultaneously?

She grabs a stool
And drags it to the living room.
Step one.
Carrying the still cold iron
Without fear of burn, she sets it
On the stool and plugs it in.
Old appliance, it goes on,
No On Off switch for use therein.
Step two.
Bearing big bowl brim-filled with batter,
Setting it with yogic balance
On said stool and splatter free, where it
Sits snugly on stool step,
Fitting snugly into step,
Spoon in hand, she spoons the batter
Spatter-free onto the iron piping hot;
Shuts the top and starts to wait.
One, two, three and on to plate,
All while watching Sunday’s fav’rite
Sunday program, Sunday film.
What subject for a poem!
Happy that there’s no one home
                                 to say a thing.
Fifteen waffles later,
Piled high and fully sated,
Not in tummy, but in mind -
Iron back in place
No drop or drip to waste,
And no one is the wiser.

from the Greek ekkentros, from ‘ek ‘out of’ + kentron ‘center’.

Making Waffles In The Living Room 3.20.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; I Is Always You Is We;
Arlene Corwin

Many Hours, Many Days

So many wonder, many ask
About the writing: task
Or inspiration?
I say perspiration.
(not exactly, for there’s joy and fun
in reading what you’ve ultimately done)
Still yet,
It’s work and effort,
Spadework fundamental, elemental;
Work, but also preparation mental
                                   for what is to follow
All the golden yellow years to come.
First a phrase, a thought, a sight,
A theme the middle of the night.
The paper, pen, computer close;
The start of slogging elbow grease.

First draft, still filled by sweat
May probably be filled with sh_t.
It doesn’t matter, for
The after-write will be to edit.

Changes, flexibility, ability to cross things out,
Delete, expunge, all but destroy…
There is a certain joy in that.
But still, it’s to exert an effort.
To create is always effort.
To excite and rouse yourself an effort always
Work, but worth it.

Here’s the send-off:
In the end and after years
It’s actually easier.
The fears that held you back have disappeared.
Ideas developed, riper.
Technique, range your own:
It’s called a style.  You’ve a rone,*
A drainpipe in your brain
To carry off unwanted stuff
And carry on much wanted t-raining.

Many hours, many days in which to raise your standard.
Many years of joy and tears -
It all adds up up to guarantees and widened spheres
Of self-esteem and understanding.

*a gutter for carrying off rain from a roof:
Many Hours, Many Days 2.12.2020 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Believe me, I don’t start the day with intention of writing.  And then it happens, a moving phrase read, extrapolated and boom, the synapses light up in connection.  
I’m not a nerd, not especially informed, but something inside is always on the lookout and knows more that I do.

Many Small Acts Of Indifference

They pile up one by one.
The largest iceberg melting, crumbling. falling slowly:
Then, ‘all gone’!

What could be truer -
People neither bad- nor good-er:
Just indifferent;
Never seeing unconcern
Till forests burn.
Therein the problem.

Mostly, one can’t lay a blame.
There is no name, no exclamation:
Maybe something thin and lame like, “****!”
To call this sad phenomenon.

It’s all of us;
Our routine habits that are cause;
Unoriginal, derivative. monotonous…
For where the planet stands today, we’re breaking laws
Set down by nature.
(This planet ‘ doesn’t ‘stand’ it goes,
But where it’s going no one knows);
Round and round or down and down:
It’s all a terrifying puzzle.
We, the powerless and muzzled.

Anyhow, the very slowness gives one hope.
You and I, the dopiest
Can change this moment.
Coral, porpoise, whale dies; gases rise;
Oceans foam, the whole fomenting
Sentiment and action:
Thanks to worldwide inter- nets:
Information at its best.

Beware indifference’ shrugging off,
Bent, trump-ian off-sloughing of the evidences.
It’s you and me, kid,
Who can rid the damage done,
The inner mental situation
Of those small indifferences.

Many Acts Of Small Indifference 4.23.2021 Our Times, Our CultureII; Definitely Didactic II;  Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin
Pandemic-wise

I’ve been thinking about the phenomenon of marketing for a long time now, and how, to be successful in the modern sense, using the words to mean ‘life of ease, comfort, the good life, wealth, riches, fortune opulence. luxury triumph, bestseller-ism, box-office, sell-out, celebrity, stardom, super-stardom, big name, household name, VIP, leading light, and such,  I see the up sides and I see the down sides: the demands, the touring,  all the followup pressures and the exploitation   The transience of it all.  
What to do?  How to view it?

           Marketing

Married Love

Let us try to not/not to
Repeat the stories we have told/we tell
Each other,
Which reminds one more of sister/brother
Than it does of would-be lovers
Who just happen to posses a license
Because that’s what law requires.  
    
Let’s be fresh each day
Without cliché or worn out tale
So stale that wedlock’s
Locked into a place
For always.

Married love should be
Un-harried love, unhurried love, unworried love,
And never tired and overworked old-storied love
If it’s to triumph.

Married Love 6.22.2016
Love Relationships II;
Arlene Corwin

Massaging Each Other

Maturity

What was one thinking then?
What was one thinking when
One did the darnedest things
Ringing of naivité.
Or did not do things of substance;
Choices based on ignorance
And make-up’s many-sidedness.

Looking back today
They seemed so brainless,
Some foolhardy, irresponsible and thoughtless.
“How could I?”  And why, you sigh -
Tear-filled eyes the only prize.

Sizing up with clearer powers,
Time has passed, transgressions paid.
New sown flowers replaced errors.
Karma’s laws have laid the end
With just results: some good, some pained.

That’s what growth is all about -
With rings on trees the perfect symbol;
Narrow, wide, but growing still;
Even now (the adjective)
In silence and tranquility (the noun)

The coming of maturity,
The blossoming sagacity.
One hopes and prays
It comes and stays
Through lasting days
           of wine and roses.

Maturity 11.1.2020 Circling Round Ageing; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Memories Out Of The Blue

Ageing is a funny thing:
You don’t remember what you ate
For breakfast; day or date;
A dozen little things of late…
But classmates from when you were eight,
The teacher’s name and where you sat
As fresh I-don’t-know.
Time used to go so slowly
In the summer holidays.
You, left to roam the streets alone;
The ice cream man, his ice cream van
Jingling melodiously;
Playing ‘potsy’ on the sidewalk,
Marking out the form with chalk;
Trolley cars still rumbling by
Soon to flee, be
Changed for buses, electricity.
There still was coal, an icebox.
I was six.
Wagons rolled, pulled by a horse.
Who would think the time could blink
And nineteen forty-one would sink
Into oblivion: friends gone,
The matinee on Saturday,
Chinese three course lunch a dollar,
Mommy hollering to come inside;
Brooklyn memories that hide till now,
When from the blue, unasked,
Incongruous, an echo and a powder
Banks of memory pour out unmasked.

Memories Out Of The Blue 1.17.2021 Circling Round Experience; Circling Round Ageing; Arlene Nover Corwin

Memory: The Reliable & The Unreliable

Echos of a past that roll around
And called to mind from deepest ground
Behind the mind…  
Ambiguous or accurate -
Can you trust that what you bring to view
Is true?
Age three to eight…early or late?
What how and when do you recall the then?
When does cementing start? ,
How much and what was taking part?
Did you see it because you must?
How much is there, is there to trust?

We know that those who witness
Accidents and tragedies,  
Give testimonies contradictory -
Eyes, brown, no, green,
Height, tall, no teeny,
Fat, round, thin, face.
When and what took place - erased.

Often spoken, joke invoked, the anecdote
Snoringly or boringly jacked up:
Do we know that we repeat?
All the time collecting, re-connecting;
Predilections and renditions
Gathering and bathing; simply put, projecting -
Putting self onto the world -
Of change, of never-stops,
Of dreams, of ‘props’
Which being built to fool are worldly tools.

Memories and memorize.
Words that though alike in size,
Words containing wish and prize,
Faculties essential to our mental health,
The endless wealth of whats and whys.

Final question:
Do you, do you not -
Knowing well that times do rot,
Trust in memory and memories,
Knowing that each one is but
Prioritised interpretation, information?
I do not, but live the knots that days present
Giving each minute to a past.

Memory, The Reliable & The Unreliable 2.5.2021  Nature of & In Reality;Arlene Never Corwin

Message To Garcia Revised

I, admittedly without the skills or knowledge of
Affairs of state, power struggles, machinations
Do not get one certain thing:
Western world-ers all, bombing
ISIS, and who else I can’t remember,
With the threat of conflict spreading -
Would it not reduce the blood
If it were weapons plants we bombed instead,
Exhibitions where the latest are displayed
And all the demonstrations demonstrate,
Their potency impressive –
Would the killing not be shortened
If we bombed the messengers?
Am I naïve, so uninformed?
Or is it too undemocratic?

Message To Garcia 10.28.2017 (found ‘revised’ somewhere in Mac)
Our Times, Our Culture II; War Book II;
Arlene Corwin

Mid- Night Nonsense

It’s good to start from nowhere
In  particular,
Let it grow,
Intuition’s urging knowing.
The trick is to keep going -
That’s the hard part.

4 a.m. husband asleep,
And like a twelve year old, I creep
Under the quilt.
With minor guilt, pad, pen in hand,
Keyring flashlight, writing,
Fighting hard to stay awake
For art’s sake.

There’s no other explanation,
So amusing is the situation.
There will be continuation -
Or, as Arnold coined,
“I’ll be back”… joined to you
Post breakfast, and as promised.
Not just brain but body too,
Then we’ll see if this needs closure
On exposure to the light.
As for now, goodnight, goodnight!

Mid- Night Nonsense 9.16.2020 Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Just finished tinkering with this old thing from 2013 (editing my "Swedish Book")        
          Mister Cause

Tonight's a full moon so I thought I'd leave you with this, written in 2003.
Mister Moon Looking In The Window

.   Mister Moon Looking Through The Window
                    

Sitting here watching a science program about the next biggest telescope ever built.  To come out in 2018, it's called the James Webb telescope.  Reminded about a poem I wrote in 2001 called Mister Red Shift, when I was captivated by by the most distant light then available: the red shift.
And now we're planning to see even further.

            Mister Red Shift

The core relationship I have
Is with you, Mister Shift –
Mister Red beyond the skies
At heaven’s end,
Beyond the stars and galaxies,
The disembodied substances
Whose silence is a dearest friend,
And furthest, cosmic-nearest friend
Whose essence never shifts.

Mister Red Shift 6.5.2001
Circling Round Nature; Nature In & Of Reality; To The Child Mystic; Revelations Big & Small; Circling Round Science;
Arlene Corwin

More Bits Of The Puzzle

More Questions

More questions from reflections
For your meditations:
What verbs apply:
To have, to be…?
That point of energy
Containing all,
No, being all, no, knowing all?
A consciousness? Non-consciousness?
Verbs puny.
Adjectives, nouns, pronouns too
Think or bust, reflect you must;
Inevitable, you will ponder, contemplate,
Bit by bit eliminate…
That’s it!

He/she, even it is you,
And if complete,
Then you’re its part,
A part-ner cog.

Assuming cause,
You/He all One,
A mind aware, with laws.
It’s God, for goodness!

Theoretically, the  hypothetical
Needs faith to lead faith to
The  real;
The anything of something..

More Questions 8.22.2013/revised 2.7.2020 /5.12.2020 To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Circling Round Meditation; Arlene Nover Corwin

More Than Pet

Albert Cat lies at my side.
Pressed up against my thigh he sleeps.
He’s slurped some yogurt from my thumb;
Not much, for he’s not hungry -
Took a whiff, showed interest;
I appreciate his interest, his intelligence;
It shows we’re equals:
Pals.
His senses know my tones of voice.
I try my best to sense his choices:
Moods, foods, evidences he evinces through the day;
His likes, dislikes, what’s good, what’s play.
He’s whimsical and unpredictable;
I’m conversational, respectful;
Relationship reciprocal,
I am the more responsible,
And that’s okay with me;
The mutuality enriching each.
Time tells me,
So does he.

More Than Pet 4.30.2021 Cat Book II; Circling Round Experience; Love Relationships II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Morning Greeting to God

On waking I say (thinking, really)
“You’ve been here all night.
You’ll be here all the day,
Providing time, my needs,
And more abstractly, destiny.  
The trick is to be welcoming,
A trick that makes the play of pain
More comfortable,
For comfort is so comforting.

When I say pain,
I do not mean
A shoulder ache or thereabouts.
It means the pain of all around,
An ‘all around’ that’s all unbound
Which one will never have the skill to grasp,
Or power to reshape.

The day’s blank piece of paper,
Bland or stimulating,
Filled with action or quite still –
Always etude and apprenticeship.

So I ask myself (symbolically)
What can I learn?
With no idea of what’s to come,
Anticipating nothing
I accept each crumb that falls from
Shall we call it ‘heaven’s table’
(just a metaphor.)

Heaven’s table may be fable,
Morning’s greeting, fleeting phrase;
Both are ways to start the days
With positivity, an energy
To improvise with happy creativity.
What could be better?

Morning Greeting To God 9.25.2017
God Book II; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin

Morning’s Minute Meditation

I send my heart this morn,
Not with emotion but with intellect –
For I suspect
                        that’s quite okay.

One may think one’s way,
Not necessarily emote,
For one connects
                                 in any case,
Each with a modus operandi.

In conclusion,
Not to worry how it’s done
Every bit a hit
(as in reward for effort).
Just one minute needed.

Morning’s Minute Meditation 11.12.2017
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; To The Child Mystic II;
Arlene Corwin

Mourning Patricia’s Mom

Patricia’s mom, gone.  Ninety-one.
How to write a requiem:
Remembrance in honor…and an honor
For this writer.

Reaching ninety-one, then gone.
I didn’t know her,
But know her daughter
And I wish to honor all I saw.

One learns a lot from observation.
More aware of what one’s got
When day comes and there’s not a dot
Of earthly earnings, birthday's energies run out.

In the meantime, one’s learned
Love’s devotion is the winner
Where there is no sinner
But an ocean of reward:
Award: a honeycomb of golden good.

So in meekness I pay homage to:
The daughter
And the mother
And all others who, with gestures of unfeigned support,
Find words of thoughtfulness  and comfort.

Dear Patricia,
Know that I impart,
The dearest feelings in my heart,
Certain that you’ll pass them on
With love and deep affection.
Without selfishness but blessedness,
A messenger to all surrounding.
Mourning mom with love abounding,
Mourning Patricias’s Mom 6.29.2020 Birth, Death & In Between III; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Sometimes one just has to 'take the **** out of...’ and laugh at oneself! Philosophically, of course!

Mourning Song To A Face

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

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

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

My Barometers Are…

That no matter how it looks,
Everything expands till it contracts:
Beings, universes, forms, e’en ‘facts’;
That everything that lives loves life
Through one or other framed belief;
That human beings love themselves,
Have egos, inborn tendencies
Inherited from endless chains
Of genes that either hinder,
Getting in the way
Or manifesting advantageously
In the mind and body;
That energy, regardless of - the good, the bad,
The sane, the mad, the shown, un-shown
Contains within
The opposite and equal influence.
Untold measures to describe the treasure islands
Which reflect the ways to judge existence,
Put to use in everyday experience.

My Barometers Are 3.13.2021 Circling Round Reality; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

My Dear Friend: A Response To

My friend wished for his ‘childhood’s nest’
Where he felt best;  
Protected and…not least:
Time which went more slowly than
The feverish haste in which it can
(Or seems to)
Run away each grownup day.

Time goes neither slow nor fast:
It only is!
Always passing; tasted, wasted.
Friend, the aim is
Not at to feel It pass at all.
Which, my friend can never fail
If one has peace in the soul.

Peace-in-action is a mix
To fool the brain in terms of time;
One of tricks to prime techniques;
Premier help rid the self of pining
For a past un-lasting.  
Nostalgia is a painful thirst;
An ache usually illusory;
More unreliable than trustworthy.  

Summing up, dear friend,
Do not worry, do not yearn.
Do not burn for pastimes gone.
They, good/bad, fast/slow
Dull/thrilling as they are right now.
My Dear Friend: A Response To 3.12.2021 Circling Round Experience; Circling Round Time II; Arlene Nover Corwin

late 18th century (in the sense ‘acute homesickness’): modern Latin (translating German Heimweh ‘homesickness’), from Greek nostos ‘return home’ + algos ‘pain’

My Dear Friend: A Response To

My friend wished for his ‘childhood’s nest’
Where he felt best;  
Protected and…not least:
Time which went more slowly than
The feverish haste in which it can
(Or seems to)
Run away each grownup day.

Time goes neither slow nor fast:
It only is!
Always passing; tasted, wasted.
Friend, the aim is
Not at to feel It pass at all.
Which, my friend can never fail
If one has peace in the soul.

Peace-in-action is a mix
To fool the brain in terms of time;
One of tricks to prime techniques;
Premier help rid the self of pining
For a past un-lasting.  
Nostalgia is a painful thirst;
An ache usually illusory;
More unreliable than trustworthy.  

Summing up, dear friend,
Do not worry, do not yearn.
Do not burn for pastimes gone.
They, good/bad, fast/slow
Dull/thrilling as they are right now.
My Dear Friend: A Response To 3.12.2021 Circling Round Experience; Circling Round Time II; Arlene Nover Corwin

late 18th century (in the sense ‘acute homesickness’): modern Latin (translating German Heimweh ‘homesickness’), from Greek nostos ‘return home’ + algos ‘pain’

You will excuse a small vanity, I hope.

My Jazz Has Changed

My jazz has changed.
Warts and all,
Jazz is my call
Reflecting life’s endeavors.
I could never leave it.
I mature and it matures.
Meaning: freedom and invention.
Freedom of invention,
The sensation near ecstatic.
Who cares if I use elbows to create a chord?
No one!
Who cares if I make ***** up,
Am not a nerd – part of the herd?
No one!
Everything is up to me, in me, from me –
Each note, each beat, each melody.
Coming each year, parting fear
That was and used to be there.
A ready leaving of control,
Letting an other whole come through.
The point is: no one knows or cares but you.
The freedom and invention where it should be
At the very point in history.

My Jazz Has Changed 4.16.2017
Vaguely About Music II;
Arlene Corwin

My Killing Machine #2

My Purry, Furry Friend

My purry, furry friend lies at bed’s end.
Dozy, cozily pressed into every bend of owner’s body.
Not tender actually, agenda elementary,
Relationship is cordial and familial,
Amiable, congenial; mostly cheerful
But for times he earns an earful,
Hours unpredictable;
Claws that have peculiar laws -
Mostly in, but sometimes out
Which suddenly can sprout and spout
Unwelcome knives all sharp and venting,
Rending floods of blood and ranting.…  
That aside, they mostly hide,
And Albert Cat (his name is that)
Is quiet, undemanding,
And for Kent and me outstanding
In his feline way;
The finest complement, exemplary
Companion one could wish to have,
Possess, be blessed with.
Albert Cat, our lovely pet!
Not the brightest or the best,
But rusty fur, or dusty fur,
The best for me in all the world.

My Purry, Furry Friend 2.4.2021 Cat Book; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Mysteries That Never Cease

There are mysteries that never cease,
Will always be:
Because of, not in spite of.
Look at progress:
Despite progress, we are more at risk than ever.
I fear, not ‘in spite of’, but ‘because of’, progress never
What it seems,
All the reams of information,
New advances, dancing in our eyes and ears
Dependant on who sees or hears,
Every positive a dormant negativeDependent on whose hands it’s in.

Then the secrets of infinity:
What, where, how, why and when;
A mystery most definitely.
And music, art
The part that improvises and creates
Out of a place inscrutable,
Wondrous, wonderful.

To never understand?
Dependant on whose hand it’s in,
Whose talent, aptitude, inborn mind
Is interested at all to find
The answers.

Mysteries That Never Cease 11.21.2019
Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

My Unconventional Life (to be continued, surely)

My Yoga Girls

My yoga girls are over fifty;
Nifty, flexible and strong.
They’ll live a long, long life, I’m sure,
All striving to discover who they are,
Where, what their star,
Their own par-
                      ticular
And special star.

They’re wonderful, their aim my aim.
My yoga girls are reaching
And a reason for my teaching,
It so satisfying and exciting,
Dare I say delighting
And delightful.

We don’t bother with the Sanskrit names,
A game I used to be involved in.
It is yoga in the everyday,
With tools around to play around with
Everywhere, even while watching Wednesday’s matinee.

Table, chair, each surface in the house:
Tub, floor, door, bed -
No jot can stop the focus
For a body use:
All excuses to expand the head,  
Find mind in muscle, skin and bone,
Synapse, neuron, hormone.
All alive and full of jive.

When I speak of yoga,
My technique and yoga,
And my little clique of yoga girls
Nothing makes me happier.

My Yoga Girls 3.4.2017
Circling Round Baths II; Circling Round Yoga II; Circling Round Woman II;
Arlene Corwin

Nature Takes Its Toll
               (A Wisdom In The Nuances)

The funniest – not ‘ha’ - of all is toll.
A charge, a payment, tax, a levy.
Then it’s said,
“The toll of injured and the dead”…
Toll, for number, count, list, tally,
Finally,
“The toll on the environment… was high”
Toll: harm, or damage, loss, cost, penalty.

Toll résumé of all life’s businesses,
The processes of is-ing;
Summary encapsulating
The inevitable, unavoidable,  
Fixed, fated, destined
And uncertain.
          
Nature Takes Its Toll 3.6.2017
Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin

Nazis On The Streets Of Sweden
(1st draft – there may be others

We have illusions, all.
But most of us don’t want to ****.
I looked it up.
I asked some simple questions.
Google told me:
**** symbols are allowed in Israel!
Also in the USA!
Prohibited in Germany,
Allowed in Finland.
Austria is definite.  No! no! no!, no! and no!
Some countries have no laws at all –
Apparently no views
Or views so lax
They seem to non-chalate* the facts.

Neo- Nazis plan to march
The streets of Sweden,
Thirtieth September, twenty seventeen.
They call themselves a neo –
Their philosophy is old as ******,
Old as Wagner, long before.
False ideals, inner lies but outer dealings
Hates delusional, baiting plentiful.

March occurring on Yom Kippur,
Near a synagogue, to boot.
Their aim: to root out, root out, root…
Annihilate, decimate, eradicate,
Means inhumane,
And most important,
Based on lies!  
Statistical, imaginary, fantasized.    

Nazis on the streets of Sweden,
We do not believe in you!
*non-chalate: I’ve made a verb out of the word nonchalant
because such was needed and could not be found in the dictionary.

Nazis On The Streets Of Sweden 9.30.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin

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

Never Finished – Always On The Way

How can anything
Be ever finished?
In its way nonsensical
That nothing’s final;
Always subject to revision, change.
You-name-it:
Habit concrete, thought abstract -
Changed and changing;
Going on, evolving, processed.
Discontented and/or vexed:
A sign that’s fixed:
You’re moving on, non-judge-
                                 or sentiment-al.
Flexibly,
You willingly
Go with it.
(As they say, ‘the flow’).
Your poems your art, your language too.

Throughout your days,
Through all your years -
And losing fears you stay refreshed
Because you know you ne’er diminish,
Always sure you will replenish, be replenished.
Squeamish never,
Deeds and exploits never finished,
Still you end this life light-hearted,
Satisfied and fully furnished,
That too, no doubt, never finished.

Never Finished – Always On The Way 8.28.2016
Definitely Didactic; Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin

Never Out Of Season

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

One of these sudden thoughts.

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.

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

No Idea Comes Out Of A Vacuum #2
(When I Say I, I Mean You Too)

No Man is A Victim

Can it be, and do I mean it?

It’s a phrase that came to mind,

And so I looked it up.  

One harmed or killed by so-called fluke;

One duped or tricked;

One who feels helpless faced with setback:

So I  chose the last to help.



There’s truth in fate that causes earthquake,

And one’s sole concern’s escape.  

That is a victim.

Then again,

One is alive, glad to survive.

Grounds to begin

Because one can!



But what about

The ones who feel useless in the face of sense,

Interpreting all happenings

With sadness, negativity and impotence,

Downhearted from the very start?

You’ve known a few. Me too.

Perhaps it’s you,

And what to do –

The problem philosophical, pragmatic, existential.

And, if one’s inclined, then spiritual.



Start a something, anything, for life’s a skill.

Good comes from bad, calm follows ruin;

Results come from what’s had or been;

And nothing lasts forever.

One’s endeavour is to strive,

For one’s alive.  

Remember that you’re clever!



Act as if you have a choice

And make one – with your tiny voice.

Summon up your forces,

For of course, they’re many.

Do not hurry.

Lives are scurrying around you.

Do not worry,

For the ‘musts’ and ‘oughts’

Are values of society,

Not boo-choo, cry

Or future you.

No Man Is A Victim 9.30.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;Nature In & Of Reality;Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Arlene Corwin Poetry.com

NonsensePoetry á la Corwin
  
    There is a legitimate genre called Nonsense Verse, a form of nonsense literature usually employing strong prosodic elements like rhythm and rhyme. It is whimsical and humorous in tone and employs some of the techniques of nonsense literature.
     Among writers in English noted for nonsense verse are Edward Lear[, Lewis Carroll, Mervyn Peake, Sukumar Ray, Edward Gorey, Colin West, Dr. Seuss, and Spike Milligan.
     I myself seldom write nonsense poetry, but a friend sent me an email with this phrase:
“Each little bench
Is amazingly French….
     I had no idea why he sent it, but was instantly engaged and inspired to write this back to him:

However, each *****
Who sits on that bench
Has a stench
That could drench
Every river and trench
But not quench
Any watery branch
Or prevent any mulching
By belching.
If you agree much,
Have an itch to get hitched*
Keep in touch!

*get hitched; marry.
Nonsense Poetry á la Corwin 8.16.2020 A Senses Of The Ridiculous II;  Arlene Nover Corwin

Non-Sequiturs – Or Are They?

Silly me!
Quelle luxury!
I turn the tap for water      
Hot!
Royalty not long ago
Did not, could not
Have had it better!
All that labor they went through
Just to get to water!
Then a tap of radiator
And the room is warm as toast.
If wanted, I could roast
A towel, but who’d want to?
Wow,
And swell!
Quelle luxury!

          Watching A Fly

Watching a fly.
Have I matured -
Grown more compassionate?
He walks around my empty plate
On nano- crumbs I’ve eaten/ate.
He looks so cute, endearing, pretty.
What the deuce is wrong with me?
Or right with me?
Is that what happens when one’s reached
Maturity?
Cool!

Non-Sequiturs 10.22.2016
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin