Once I Write ‘Em

Once I write ‘em,
I don’t read ‘em.
If you’ve had a feast,
You don’t go back to feast again -
At least not feast selfsame.
Eaten’s eaten,
Drunk is drunk.
The yester- feast a kind of bunk
When looked at and reflected.
Looked at un-corrected.

Nothing’s wrong
With bettering that song,
Polishing and honing,
Yes, fine-tuning.

Last night’s feast had too much salt.
You won’t do that again,
Fix the fault
But write some more.
More’s the door
To consummation.
Less salt to improved digestion.

Break the silence, the taboos.
Make the ‘boo boos’.
Keep on going
In the imperceptibility of growing.
Cook the feast.
Release the moment’s best
And once you write ‘em,
Leave ‘em.

Once I Write ‘Em 9.13.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Vaguely About Music II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin

One More Wrinkle On The Upper Lip

Yup,
One more wrinkle on the upper lip!
I quip you not.
It came this morning
Like a ship on the horizon, showing up
A shapeless form from out the blue.
What shall I do?
I’m much too old and used to lines
To be the type that whines;
Too old and worldly wise
To be one who modifies a truth.
“You have no longer youth - the truth.
You can’t expect a skin youth-smooth.
Be glad that you can see reflections
Looking back at you
                                 at all.”
I left the mirror on the wall
And went to yoga.

Be thankful that you can see it, said my friend".

One More Wrinkle On The Upper Lip 9.1.2017
Circling Round Wrinkles; Circling Round Aging; Circling Round Woman II;
Arlene Corwin

Even though my vision aren't clear as before
But when it comes to you, I can see you clearly for sure

As my man I can see from afar
I could also say that I am looking onto a star

I wonder what you are thinking
The way you look at me since the beginning

If only I can have the chance
Seeing myself through your eyes

In that sense I could understand
**That you can or can't be my man

Bemoaning Similes & Metaphors

         (the lack thereof )


I cannot think in similes or metaphors.

I can, but it’s

An artifice.

A gift

I’ve not been left with.

Of course,

I’ve got Thesaurus –

My old pal -

To push me

In the simile

Direction.

Those

Whose

Aptitude’s

To see,

Their inner eye

Comparing parallels unconsciously –

A gift of gene and DNA –

Overwhelm me.

While I moan about my lack,

They sit with throne and luck

Expressing with an ease,

Anything they ****** well please

In metaphors and similes

I lie in bed,

This running through my head.

That’s why it’s here.



Bemoaning Smiles & Metaphors 1.13.2010/8.17.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin

your embrace is no longer warm
it's not a field of sunflowers
or a safe place
anymore

now it is a cold winter storm
your arms are the gusts of a hurricane
while i stand in its eye;
we feign our affection
and the air can feel it.

You see i have these little spurts,
all at one time ideas come and it almost hurts,
can't get to them all which makes it the worst,
so I have to do all this work.

Write it down as fast as I can,
breaking my hands
like a downward spiral
you never know when it gonna stop.

Like an elephant in the room
fat and crushing
taking in all the air
everywhere and nowhere.

For days it coils within and waits to be set free
and I just bleed,
bleed, and bleed.
Knowing this is just what I need.

I flow and flow like I'm at a place with no gravity
true travesty
no reality.

Then it ends
out of battery.