#underlying
a poem of gratitude,
the sun has emerged
after a week of
relentless rain, multi~ugly variegated blacked grayling
on a pseudo-mocking-teasing background of pockmarked puffs of
white, while I endless still instilled, coughing hacking,
meanwhile,
we schedule life where the
precipitous precipitation chances is only less than 20%,
so I am suffused with gratitude
everyday
I awake in our mini-paradiso,
the writing comes so easily,
we, can’t compete with our other business like self,
and just pile
up drafts enough for another year and half
but my chiefest joy is the overflowing inbox
of the delightful crazy concoctions you shed
into my eyes, and gasp, to grasp the pool of
talent among we plebeian poets…
my woman happy beside me, contented by being
on her 4th book in 5 days,
more than suffused, I am
***effused
the blood is further heated by 20 .oz of
Blue Mountain highly caffeinated beans,
and she turns and asks:
why am I emanating, emitting
sunshine inside the house so bright,
she says, pass my sunglasses!
because my brain is cluttered by
words of pleasuring and not a word of mine,
just a justification for all of those who commit
the writing act, the action of filling my soil
with extra large green grapes juicy with
happy tears…
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 9:25 AM UTC
maybe math is the foundation
maybe math is essence
maybe math tells us everything
or maybe not
maybe it's a trick
or a bad logical conclusion
based on faulty logic
or wrong assumptions
or poor observations
or just ****** minds
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
Cake is one of the most confusing things in the world.
It can be complex or simple to make,
With a variety of different ingredients per cake.
The recipe can contain ten different steps,
Or ten hours of grueling prep.
It, more so, depends on the person baking,
Whether or not they're capable of taking
On the pressure that comes with making
A terribly delicious cake.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
Sitting Outside A Day In May
I find myself not only wondering [but]
Thirsting, needing to know when and how they died, [but]
Thoughts or suffering or not: in short,
The state before and during…
I observe a skin that’s wrinkling,
Drying out and shrinking,
Hear and spy a bird in tree,
See the freshness, spring’s new growth,
The only thing I really see is death, a passing.
I allow myself my breaths,
The moods, desires -
All that goes along,
Forgetting for the most part.
Deep down I see the buds of parting
And an emptiness because
I have no answers.
All that I can do is wait and act and meditate
As if life equaled all time-in-the-world.
Every year in spring
I find I’m writing,
Charting age unconsciously,
Literally marking time.
Not sad, not glad but emptier
Than years before,
(or maybe more).
Noticing, acknowledging a substance;
The substantial underlying all the grandeur.
Sitting Outside A Day In May 5.21.2016
Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
Sometimes—when it’s raining and when
the sun is barely peeking through
cumulonimbus clouds, the atmosphere feels right
and wrong at the same time.
it’s inexplicably comforting,
but ******* awful.
And I listen to popular songs from the 90’s—
British artists with sappy lyrics about a lost love, occasionally
of a growing love, and dreams of new beginnings.
they’re totally corny, but I like them.
I guess.
Maybe, I’m just being delusional-
hoping for you to fly back to me, or
perhaps descend from the rain clouds and
land in front of me, forgiving me.
I told you that I was done.
Regret ran through my veins instantaneously.
I told you that I loved you though, my chest felt
empty and cold where my heart used to be.
Monday, everything seemed perfect.
You looked at me with those chocolaty
brown eyes. And my soul latched onto yours
connecting on unimaginable levels of actualization
described by the lyrics of those 90’s love songs.
I’m lying awake right now,
it’s been a long day—things are starting to
fade along with daylight.
Things?
Things that made me love you that way I did.
Suddenly, the skies are as dark as they are
going to get for the night. The cold in my chest
drops temperature, the emptiness is subdued by
my restlessness and late night thoughts.
I just want to sleep tonight.
Sorry again for today, by the way.
I sound passive because I don’t know what
to do at this point and I’m thoughtlessly
writing about you every few minutes to
figure out how I’m going to make this up to you.
But for right now, I’ve lost you again.
Yesterday, I begged for you.
I knew I’d been childish—you were just done
I wasn’t sure how we even got to that point
Again, but I knew it wasn’t going to end well.
Again.
Because at the time,
I was done too.
Only if I’d not been such a ***** that day last week,
Perhaps we’d be on better terms.
Happy even?
I think so.
I would say so.
Until now, I had not given much thought
To how much I needed your love.
To me, it’s the best thing I’ve ever had.
You were the best thing.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
Someone has made my bed differently today,
For the covers are brown and rough,
I can't be certain who it was
that tucked it in so tightly at the sides,
(I always hated that...)
So constricting;
I cannot move.
Such discomfort.
It's almost as if I am trapped in some form of elaborate prison.
I really cannot bear this cover;
For it hardly keeps me warm at all.
So cold, so scratchy,
I feel frozen so that I cannot stir,
My skin, like ice.
And yet...
I rest so peacefully.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC