I stood, unseen, as the lights faltered and
I heard a heavy thud. A wave rushed through
me. My friend, out of reach, disappeared. Vapour.
The ceiling was gone - stars, stars. I couldn't
feel anything, it was all normal. Then,
the ***** came. It burned all down my throat
into my stomach, bitter bile tearing
me apart from the inside out. I couldn't
walk. Local hospital, apparently
I had a 50/50 chance. They filmed
me for evidence and I killed them in
the process. Cancerous. I was shipped to
Moscow, my wife being left in the dark.
Confidential. Contagious. Dangerous.
The ones who died were lucky, we were burning
alive from the inside out. My hair fell
from my body. My skin wept after the
false calm of nothingness. The dead skin fell
off in clouds of black dust, my flesh being
eaten and turning a violet black.
I can never have *** again, in case
I contaminate my wife. No more children.
Chromosonal damage. She was afraid
to touch me when I saw her again in
case she would die too. My skin will weep forever
and they call me one of the lucky ones.

Pretty pester
The fist-bumping champion
Schoolyard jester
My all-time fixation

Classroom walls shake
When you guffaw and laugh
Makes my heart ache
When every tease’s a bluff

Beneath your grin
I long to find your glow
But it’s a sin
So says your burrowed frow

My heart wishes
In another lifetime
Pranks to kisses
With your hand locked in mine

I’m Lucky

I’m lucky.
I don’t have to earn my living as a poet.
But I have to write it.

No reward to energize,
No prize,
No monetary chance for status,
Fame the same;
A nano-chance to spread my name.
And yet, and yet,
Out of the air
Ideas occur.
And while I sit or lie or stand
Wholly unplanned,
Forced, driven
Structure, meter as yet hidden -  
To seek pad and pen
With no predicting what and when
Will come to mind,
Inside the thing,
Inside the process of the writing.

It is as if some muse takes over
Former Arlene Faith Nover,
Improvising from said air
Ideas she never knew were there.
What could be luckier?
Silly couplets sometimes deep,
Forms arriving from the beep of spontaneity.
How lucky can one be!

I’m Lucky 4.12.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II; Revelations Big&Small; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin

I remember the time I really looked into your eyes; I mean I had always thought they were brown, but when I looked, and I mean really looked, I was mistaken.

The fourth of July actually was a time for color and celebration, and as I sat beside you and watched the glowing works explode the sky's veil, I knew I didn't want the flames to stop falling through the haziness of your eyes.

Speckled green. The perfect color, just in between all the rest, absorbing life itself.

Each laugh erupted louder than the booms in the sky, and every smile was something like the Cheshire Cat, gleaming in the darkness.

And once the golden whirlwind had ended, once we walked apart, I stayed humming the tune of your voice as it replayed over and over in my mind.

-Julia Aubrey Rhodes-