Coming Down To Earth

If you’re famous,
There will always be a someone
Who has never heard or seen a picture
Of the likes of you;
Not seen your picture,
Doesn’t have the least idea
Who, what you are
Or what you stand for.

Doesn’t that scoot little you right down
To terra firma?
Started this in two fourteen.
Found it on a teeny hidden-somewhere-scrap.
It’s two eighteen: I feel the same as.
(rhymes with famous – see line 1)
Poet’s freedom once again,’’’
I can’t resist.
Might have been comedienne,
But then,
It’s not my calling.)

Anyway,
It does become one
(rhymes with someone -see line 2)
To come down to planet earth
And stick to anonymity.

Do your job,
Stick to your your day.
Things are working out your way
Without you knowing
What they’re doing.
Let the winds of fate and karma
Make the lack of show your army.

Coming Down To Earth 3.1.2018 Circling Round Reality; Definitely Didactic: Arlene Corwin

The island writes
To the shore,
Don't build a bridge...
I want to be a stranger
To the world's end.

this poem
has a title
so that all who read it
know
that this poem has a meaning

because without something to reference
a name
or a title
things are left behind

just like me
in all the years
i tried to remain
untitled

rather

anonymous

untitled people
like me
are given no
second glances
no
first chances
no
social advances

nothing

left behind
like a poem
without
a name

Small and quiet, fluorescent,
the room holds anonymous faces.
People waiting for flu medicine,
hopes and fears and minor concerns about rashes
that we thought would go away.
Frequent urination
a tremor in your left hand.
A business man closes his eyes and kneads his brow.
He sits tensely in a blue upholstered chair
and smiles at me when he catches me looking.
Ruffling pages in magazines
like a moth's wings.
No mayo, rye bread, a nurse says.
Tapping her lavender acrylics
to music just low enough not to recognize.
Mind on shuffle, dreams achieved and
failed dreams of medical school,
little ones tripping and laughing out of double doors,
lining up to be whisked away in Suburbans or Geos,
carrot sticks uneaten at the bottom of a backpack.
A doctor sets a clipboard in front of her
and words are hastily typed into a computer.
And I wait for her to call my name.

Don’t leave your home.
Don’t cross thresholds and borders.
The boats are bottomless.
Even if the sea does not swallow you
and you find dry land,
your heart will be broken.

You thought the softness
of your flesh would protect you.
You’ll be lost in the crowd of foreigners.
You’ll be no one, a number
in their eyes, cool with mistrust.
Your high cheekbones won’t remind
anyone of your grandmother’s
and your name stripped of its meaning,
pebbles on the tongues of strangers.

You’ll lose your ground.
Grammar of the new language will riddle
your bones, hipbones and spine
won’t align to sit on earth.
You’ll long for the scent of jasmine and bread.
You’ll miss the gold fish in the garden.
You’ll forget the names of trees and flowers.
You’ll lose the key to your house.

There is no refuge, no sanctuary.
The boats are bottomless, vessels
to extermination center of the sea.
Stay where you are,
where you know the color of the hills
in winter, spring, summer and fall.

this analogous dance step we have happening
looks beautiful from above
we dip, parry, swirl and turn
creating marbled patterns across the battered and weathered landscape of other people’s lives

a progression for two voices
written together, but, we'll never meet
the same tonic
do you sing your part or play
I play, the other to create the chord,
a harmony, not seeing the instruments each other plays

we could be friends you know
share our story, the ones that looks so alike
at best we simply yell across the divide
warning each other about the things that are thrown at us from the sides
events and types that divert our paths and cause us to dance our river, cutting through the dirt

the bomb that went off in my life is coming to you next
you can see it from where you stand
helpless to stop it, unable to run ahead, we know it is going to hit….now
I feel your pain, understand, riding the the shockwaves tumbling through the aftermath
just like you did for me last week.

lives in parallel
destined never to meet
observing each across a plane
knowing the path each other treads
destined never to meet

@thisjourneyofdays

Autonomous you don't wanna miss
Synonymous with anonymous
Alcoholics drinking like the glass is bottomless
Lost confidence and gained higher consciousness
Now doing opposite to avoid consequence
Pertinent providence prominence
Profits from the pompousness of old profits of our fifth
They were out prophets then
Now it's promises
Back to provenance of our populous
No predominance
More contentedness with our documents with what's cognizance
And the monument of spiritual opulence
Wheather hypothesis
Or is what it is
To remain in the violence
Or turn optimist
All your perogative
Wish you well
Wish you rocket to the fourth dimension ****
But most of all wish you to close your eyes to hear what it says
Cause that you don't wanna miss
It could be your bliss
Reminisce but remember they're remnants
Fragments
Resentment you keep in your sentence
Is your penance
What you recieve is your resemblance
No regrets for pass but remembrance
Your true presence is endless
Practicing temperance
Life is tremendous

I want to
scream so hard
that an aperture
swallows my whole
existence.
Me and my history,
my own body and conscious
mind.
To be totally
immersed into
complete nothing.
No one knowing or
ever knowing .
My eyes desire to roll back,
tongue flipping to be
swallowed