Sometimes,
We don't learn by Doing the Right Thing,
We learn from doing the Wrong Thing.
We actually develop skills in our sins.
That are applicable
When we are trying to do something
BENEFICIAL to others.
That's the Strange thing about Life.
Virtue can be Cowardly,
But Evil is Bold!

Be proud of what you've accomplished
Be proud of what you're capable of doing.
Be proud of the skills you've developed
With  rigorous practice.
However,
There is no need
To be too proud of Who or What you are.
Maybe,
I'm a "Descendant of King David",
But So What?
If my Mother was a prostitute,
Should it make any difference to you?

Possibilities are endless
When you open yourself up
Thoughts manifested themselves
And told the story of a wise sage
Poetry saved my life just
At the right moment currently
Growing stronger with each write
Since I found the light at
The end of the tunnel now it's
Time to share my vision
With a curious but cold world..

Intentions confidential
Dreams Influential
Perfection monumental
Life incidental
One step at a time..

One of the first poems I ever wrote, found it the other day..
Arlene Corwin Apr 16

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 screw 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

the story of development
Aidan A Apr 5

The oblivious avian
Has yet to comprehend
The existence thrust upon him.

Atop his perch,
Peering through the gilded bars
Of his confinement -
He awaits the feeder to be stocked
And chirps
At the idea of assured sustenance,
At the thought that this space,
This place, is his own
Through this glass house he peers -
The cage became a home
And over time hes grown
To accept that life is as it is, but

The life he lived
Was not his,
This collective of feathers
Has failed to see, that
He can live a life,
He can simply be
Devoid of pain and sorrow
But at the cost of not understanding
The use of 'tomorrow'
Or to feel progression
For time has no place
For our fair feathered bird
Whose captivity grasps
Further than he can retrace.

Currency is of no use to him
And time is a human construct
A lack of philosophical conduct
Would argue there is no price
To the life he lives...

His wings are not bound, yet
He is bound from flight
The room is warm at night,
Yet never feels quite right
The songs he sings are
Only replied with echoes
Of what could've been...

As he watches the fireplace nearby -
A mesmer of light
The glimmer in his eyes
Gets just a little less bright.

The epiphanised avian
Has just begun to comprehend
That redemption is thrust upon him.

This is not about a bird. Then again, it is. Thanks for reading!

Forefathers shedding blood
In a spectacular
Bravery and unity
Heralded
"A violated-not sovereignty
And self confidence"
For posterity!
What is more
An unpolluted culture
And intact identity!

Thus, maintaining integrity
And hard-preserved identity
Getting poverty and lack
Behind our back,
For the coming generation
We have to pave the track
With Mega projects  Like
--GERD--
So that on a bright tomorrow
Our children embark!

Ethiopia today has locked horns with poverty mobilizing its citizens
Great Ethiopian Renaissance Dam(GERD)-- A self-financed examplary project that could feed electricity to the horn of Africa and beyond!
Great Ethiopian Renaissance Dam(GERD)!
Francie Lynch Feb 18

My original spring was wound,
Tight as a Swiss watch.
The fore-finger and thumb
Of the nun turned the crown screw,
As only the Sisters could do.
Any subject could be converted
Into a lesson of the life of Jesus.
A plus sign becomes a cross.

     Even Jesus knew the angles
     To be a carpenter and Savior,


Grace and Faith kept time.

The Sacrements were frequent topics.
How many would we receive
Between Baptism and Extreme Unction?
After Confessions, I once asked,
Is it possible to sin between Penance and the curb?

     All things are possible with God.

You didn't want to die with a blemished soul;
Being responsible for more thorns and nails
Pounded into the emaciated, pitiful flesh
Of the one to emulate,
With Grace and Faith.

I was fervent in prayer.
I wanted to carry the Holy Eucharist
To the housebound or hospitalized;
Through the throng of thugs
Ready to defile the wafer.
I was ready to die a martyr,
With a benevolent, sober Jesus,
Guarding from the clouds,
Right hand raised like a Judo chop,
Blessing me, preparing me,
Protecting me with a corporeal force field.
Grace and Faith kept time.

I pined to wear the Altar Boy's Cassock,
Soutane-like, long and black,
Topped with the surplice;
To ring the bell, light the incense,
Hold the Communion Plate
Under Mammy's chin
As she knelt in supplication,
Before the Madonna,
My blessed Mother.

Did she envision me as a Jesuit,
Tending to the lame lepers
In the jungles of Peru and Africa.
Me, who issued forth from her.
Faith kept time.

The dark hour was closing in.
The spring was loosening,
Unwinding as I relaxed.
Marian sat beside me,
Thinking of our orders
At the drive through.
The Nehru-collared clerk
Slid the glass window,
Listening to our wants.
I offered her a napkin
To keep the crumbs
Of her little black dress.

A Catholic schooling in the sixties was something to experience and reflect on.
Viktoria Jan 28

I wanna hear you telling me
That I'm the one
I wanna listen to your heartbeat
Embrace your soul

I wanna keep you by my side forever
I don't ever want to say goodbye
Oh never

Matei Codrescu Jan 21

Slowly succumbing to the burning tranquility,
My mind dreads on these moments without you.
A dark and cold sensation strikes me with agility,
Turning my burning heart ashen, cold, as fast as you…
                                                                         …ignite it again.

Is this Nirvana? A place avoid of everything but pain and you?
Or do I have monsters inside without which I cannot live?
Without which I cannot be human? What can I do?
Can I only wait and suffer through this calmness and give…
                                                                            …my scars time to heal?

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