When Summer Ends

When summer ends,
The air is strange, the mood estranged,
Winds begin, heat descends,
One wends one’s way
Across a browning lawn
To go back to the city, town.

Winter coming.
Urban living, job or studies,
Plain old washing dishes humming.
Kids in school again.
It could be you relax again.

When summer ends,
Visits, guests and nature over.
Leisure, in so many ways,
But as in everything, the flip side too.

Summer, fall and winter blends
Into one year
Again
As in
Its antecedents.
Life goes on.

When Summer Ends 8.23.2017
Circling Round Nature II:
Arlene Corwin

Life Is A Corned Beef Hash
          (A metaphor)

Life is a corned beef hash -
Or chicken, pork or any stash
Of edibles you have at hand.
If you are clever
You will use the cleaver
To make dishes
So delicious
Guests will never understand
With formulaic words
How to make the bouquet of accolades
Big enough.
(Wow!  That was pufferific!)

All you have to do is focus,
Be a tiny bit courageous,
Use a quantity of hocus pocus
So your genius
Can shine,
Your mine of treasure
The impromptu measure
                           of the moment.

Life Is A Corned Beef Hash 8.12.2017
A Sense Of the Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin
puffery – in case you didn’t know: exaggerated  praise; hyperbole.

there has to be some defect inside me
to only attract people
who do easily can leave me
without a fight.

I'll mask these feelings
in alcoholic drinks and cigarettes
in dim lit bars and busy coffee shops.
I am left to accept kisses from just as lonely people that I have never met
and never will have the chance to.

No one shows you the inside anymore.
It's all about the exterior
because as I've learned
the second you show the inside,
they leave and it hurts more
than it did when you were alone.

I hope it doesn't stay this way forever
because God knows we all deserve a little favor
and a little better than what we've been given.

An ocean apart,      but a bridge is built
and old souls meet on      the road less travelled.

Water fills the cup.     If it is too strong,
its flow will either      break it or bounce back.

****
Can't believe I'm still here
It's been a crazy couple of years
Crazy in the scene, now I'm going crazy
Innocence taste
Just as good as it once did

Just like they once did
Took some ****
Now I couldn't ******* dream of
...

It

It being above me
Somewhere
Why the hell did no one seem to care?..
So self aware
Of my brainwaves
In this cramped and damp space

Dullards are lucky
****
I wish i could pick up a sawed off
And get these kids
Of my **** lawn
Then blow my brains
All before the break of dawn
And the break of my fast
I fasted change

Turns out all i got to eat
Is beans and toast
****, I guess i'll starve then

Back to the wall
Covered in  faces
mocking me
I know it
Show the rest of yourself
Then the youth you
Use as an excuse for good health
Won't do you much good
This is my neighborhood
Down here all alone

*******
I wish this house was a home
This grass could grow
Up my ankles
I'm as thankless as angles
With *******
Just missing some grace
Or some ****

Rest in piece, more like
(Heh)
Rust in place



I'm so alone....

names for no one
named by no one

poems about nothing
poems about everything

aren't they the same thing?

no function, no form
but now is the hour
it's how i get through
to the next one

two packs of cigarettes a day
it is getting expensive

old heartaches aren't forgotten
when nothing takes there place
and cigarettes don't pay the rent
freeform makes people stop listening
agoraphobics don't have much to write about
but need to say something
to someone

i wish i'de never met you.
all you did was hurt me in a way
that keeps on coming back, no matter how much times go by.
it was the way you looked at me,
like i was the ugliest thing that you had ever ******
and it made you feel good to let me know.
and it got worse from there, because you threw me away
and then would sporadically write to let me know
you were gone for good.
you were a total ramsay bolton type.
some days i have a memory and can't breathe or function.
i still have nightmares of you

trying to beat me to death, calling me to list off all the things that are wrong with me.

if i can't forget you, it would be great if someone would cut off your ****. sometimes i fantasize about hiring someone to do that to you in your sleep. you could wake up dickless and i could be free of you. but back to the poem:

10 and a half years haven't gotten me anywhere
i've been too old for too long

Bob Dylan
Neil Young
Rolling Stones
Leonard Cohen
Paul Westerberg

everyone is too good for them now,
especially you,
i read that in vice

they made a list of the worst musicians of all time
and all those names were on it.

Johnny Cash was on the list too.