there was a little dog a clever chap was he

oneday to be a guide dog he just long to be

he was very gentle and very very kind

and to be a guide dog he could help the blind.



help them cross the road help them on there way

and away from danger they would always stay

he went to training school to learning his guiding skill

he passed with flying colors this gave him such a thrill



now he was a guide dog his dreams had all come true

he could help the blind just like he longed to do

How Long Is A Dream?

How long is a dream,
Stream of consciousness
Mirroring –unconsciousness,
And speed of thought
Reckoned
In seconds,
Pinned into entities
Clear as a bell.


The pain or the joy of
Of a day gone away,
How long is the theme
Crammed into a dream,
The bad and the good
Reflecting the childhood dance
Of experience,
Mire of desire explicit as film.

How long is a dream
Is the same as to ask about time
And the time that it’s taken
To organize, star in, produce and direct -
(You do/are all four)
Constructions so tricky and dotty and flighty
It might take one years
To write out all those fears, hopes and wishes
Compressed into minutes
From snippet to whole.

How long is a dream,
In its limits or boundlessness
Fluff as reality stuffed into seconds.
Puzzling, perplexing,
It keeps a man guessing,
The question as madd’ning
As how long is string?

How Long Is A Dream? 1.25.2017
Circling Round Reality; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin

I plumped down sinking back first into the middle of the cushion.
Resting my arms behind my head.
Thoughts of spending the rest of my life here crossed my mind.
Now drifting off in thought.
I watched the sun drift off into the horizon.
Peering through half closed curtains. The inside of her eyes.
I always wondered what things looked like from here.
A beautiful thing, the clouds engulfed by one another.
Patiently laying there, feet spread apart. Wider than my shoulders.
The fear of drowning never crossed my mind, Sailing so far from I originally docked myself.
The closest I've ever came to setting sail before this moment was dangling my feet from the pier.
Hanging from the edge of her eyebrows.
By far one of the best memories happening before my eyes.
I loved how this felt. Surrounded in total comfort.
Embraced by nothing except cushion.
I sunk deep. My outer face cradled by cushion.
Watching the current of clouds ripple across the sky.
Snuggling my head deeper into the cushion.
Internalizing the thought of spending the rest of my life here.
Laying on the cushion of her heart.
Viewing the world through her eyes

My heart aches,
And I love it.
My mind turns,
and it tosses.
My eyes yearn,
to see your smile...
though I'm hurting,
I know it's just for a while.

I’ve seen enough **** and ***** for a lifetime.
It’s growing old now.
It’s a mix of lust, addiction, and fantasy.
Mixed together seeing the same thing
And not having love.
It’s confusing and misplaced attention.

everyday I walk past the same bus stop searching for a familiar face in the windows
I couldn't tell you how many times the bus stops there each day but I can remember each time the memories begin in my fingers and ended in the tears on my cheek and how often the driver closes the door so fast that it busts on my face like my windshield did last Christmas break and how I sat and listened to each piece of glass cutting into me like the words of my father whose religion was drinking himself to death
everyday I walk past the same bus stop with the same people at the same hour and I wonder how often they go home to shaking bodies and broken bones and how many times that door gets slammed in their face so hard that they remember every time he grabbed her too hard and how she would claw the door for someone to pull her up for air or how often they almost got away but they didn't press the gas hard enough or the window wasn't high enough
and I wonder how many of the innocent souls on the damaged bus have seen the light after they've been in the dark for so long