they say that darkness falls.

they believe it overtakes the
Sun, in all its brilliance,
at the end of every day.
in their eyes, the clutches of night
abduct the light that is exuded
on to our haste-driven,
humming lives.

per contra,
black waves have never conquered
the biting bars of golden sunlight;
instead, it has always billowed
from opposite ends of the Earth
to replace a fickle Sun, one
that forsakes stars and city stripes
for new moieties, and
new existences.

at night, a duvet of ink swirls above us,
blanketing bodies and nature alike
under enchanted, glittering tapestries
woven together with the glittering tears
of galaxies out of reach, sewn and fitted
to the quintessence of shadowed alleys,
whispering fields, even
the dimply lit room where two beating hearts
unify.

they say darkness falls,
when the truth is, it rises.
darkness always rises like the calm, gentle wave.

Chapter 1: Goody Goodwill Was Exceptionally Great at Being Good

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you; I shall show you the way.
-Psalm 32:8


      The Preacher Goody Goodwill was a very fine man, and a good preacher too. Destined for the cloth, Goody felt that his was the way into the Good Lord's Grace and Goody knew as sure as God chose hues of blue and a brush He purchased* in March of 1973 at a PennySavers Discount Store in Moscow, Russia, to paint the sky from the break of dawn until the sun disappeared in all its God-given glory beneath the Western Horizon.

The Preacher Goody also knew that the Good Lord was a rather curious being, and even though He was an all-knowing, all-seeing omnipresent Divine being He was He and man was man and perched upon a Golden throne He often felt all on his own and gazed beyond the Pearly Gates and down the path of Salvation itself, and looked upon his Earthly domain and felt the urge to walk among men; thus, on far too often occasions in far too random locations the Lord took on the form of man, woman or animal and walked among his children. Once he even took on the form of a pebble on a seashore (though that turned out to be a rather boring experience not to be repeated).

Goody, too, decided that it was his duty to walk among men so that he may see sin for himself although he did so rarely and never randomly: a mere four times a year - on the first Monday of each season - Goody prepared a ritualistic bath meant to wash his holy vows away if only for a single day, and when he emerged from the scalding water, his skin was scathed which felt to Goody as it should be even though what he was doing surely had the chance to jeopardize his Holy soul and yet he did it not for hI'm but for mankind as Goody thought that God had planned despite no single word within the Lord’s own book described to be an act that preachers should be taking so they may be better preachers; but Goody knew what Goody knew which was what God expected preachers do, thus with common clothes and common thought, and feeling good he walked on out of this house and out of the town and among the men and women who sinned.

The preacher Goody Goodwill came from the very small town of Dimply, West Carolina, which was not much of a sinning sorta’ town but beyond its borders down a beaten path which then turned into pavement and led to a Highway, if one followed that path one would reach the Big City where sinners sinned away and where God and Goody both discovered how it was to be a man among the common man. Though the Lord Almighty frequented the city often and in many forms the preacher Goodwill had a strict routine to which he strictly stuck to, year after year.

          Throughout the day, four days a year, Goody put his faith to test as he roamed the big streets in the very Big City and watched and held his tongue lest he preach and his plan fall apart and the sinners would then see that a preach was in their reach and they surely would reach out and then Satan would have one ‘fore if Goody fell the way of the men who sinned all day then for sure he would be lost because Goody was the priest and he couldn't well forgive if he couldn't self-confess thus the risk which Goody took when he chose to risk his soul was a risk he surely knew was a risk that God would see and would write with His own hand in the Book which He would use to judge every single man.

As the sun began to set and the daylight fade away, he would start his way back home and thank God the day was done. Goody felt at peace when he finally reached his home where he'd take another bath and would emerge a Holy man and would don his Holy robes and he knew that he had proved what he knew he needn't prove, that he was a real good man and that good was what God wanted.

I don't know
Why when I mop
It doesn't glow,
Why even without a bottle cap
Your memories
In bubble wrap
I cannot pop,
And thinking
And missing
I cannot stop,
In my surroundings
There are simply
Everywhere treacheries,
Betraying you like Wingdings;
Or that too obvious undercover cop,
But in my mind you are fading faint
Forgot if your face is smooth or dimply,
Like my heart enveloped you in packing peanuts,
Left my straight jacket at home cause it's warm outside
But I know you know that I know that only for you I'm nuts,
And I await you like patient zero awaits a cure at the airport curbside...
© okpoet

The smell of something putrid
protrudes up through your nostrils
as you walk down these dimply lit streets.
You hear the fire crackling, you see the glow off the side of an abandoned building.

Is this one of those fires you see on the news -
set ablaze by anger and retaliation?

No.
It's the burning wounds along Jacob Blake's back.
It's the marks of oppression -
the scars we "distract" ourselves from.

There's a fire burning in America
and the source is plain to see:
while bodies line up along the streets,
people following along on their TV screens
say a prayer for broken windows.
They mourn items that are looted
as if it wasn't a life that was looted first.

There's a fire burning
and it melts the black skin right off their bones.
A skeleton has no color
yet they blame corpses for their own murders.

There's a fire burning
from Sanford to Staten Island,
from Louisville to Kenosha.
But those very flames were ignited
by the people designated to put them out.

Who watches the watchmen?
Who stands with the people?

The hammer has dropped.
The bullets have left the chamber.
As long as our brothers and sisters
have to fight for their right to live,
Red, White and Blue lives don't matter.

I never knew
someones smile could
make me so happy
When
I look at your dimply
smile it cures all
my sadness
your smile holds so
much power

I loved his hands
Not too big
Not too small
Just right
And fitted on my hip
That splendorous press
In the small of my back
When he wanted me close

I loved his eyes
That darkly gaze of
Auborn
All full up with the passion
And persuasion
That could make me
Doing anything
The toe tingling
Look or heat
When he turned
That gaze
To mine.

I loved his lips
Rough
And wicked
On my skin.
That purse
Of soft sinfulness
That pressed my
Own to part with sighs

I loved his laugh
Husky happiness
Unrestraind and deep
That moved me to smile
Brightest.
Joined in joyous
Inside jokes
That lingered dimply
In his cheeks.

I loved his heart
The steady thrum
When pressed ear
To his chest
That secret space
Of blood and ache
That he gave me access to
I loved it all


But I
did not
love him.

Short Term Memory Loser
<>
the joke on you,
with foolish hobgoblins hobbled,
them youse~peeps whom to themselves
think “oh, I’ll never forget this precise
precious momentary
fragment”

haha ha on you!

more fragging(1) of our minds
into piecemeal shards

claiming, boasting, that it will
live forever
within this rented
storage unit, leased
& renewed analy,
upkeep-no-needed

haha ha on me,

the ironic ticking pricking of
my brain, when least expected,
in my kitchen sinking awaning,
days, the poem potions potentials,
fly to mind with the fast and furious,
with missile accuracy entering, gleaming,
but explode before I can script the scribble,
and the notional dissipates into ****** ashy,
left with a title, no body, a perma-headless ***
mulish poet hapless, sap~less, sticky stuck
with no idea what my intended writ
was to be it, and I consign that.title
to death by draft, never to be
credited created or crafted,

cause that’s how bad my
short term memory has
devolved

or more dimply put,
slam, bam, thank you man,
the whole blows up faster
than one can utter our
American anthem,

*** IS WRONG
with the Dallas Cowgirls?

You’re welcome to share this usually ignored truth with the world.  And for those spiritually oriented people who think I’ve left out ‘soul - even soul has to take a body before it can function. Otherwise, it’s just up there somewhere in the skies.

Arlene

             Body  

Everybody is a body:
Underneath it all, a body total.
Big or small, broad and ample,
Slight, but never trivial,
Arrival on this planet
Nothing short of miracle;

We’re meant to love it, but without
The pride of vanity,
For we know, vanities
Are valueless,
The body, paradoxically,
A  transiency;  
One could just say,
A moment’s instability.

We’re born to care
And not be fooled by armpit hair,
**** and cheek.
Soon or late all parts are weakened.

Tooled to grow, unroll, unfold:
It is a body, after all.
A million, zillion cells
That only ever wish us well.
Dimply, pimply, faintly smelly.
When each jolly quirk is tallied,
Everybody but a body.

Torsos weak and torsos strong
See us through the whole lifelong;
All of you and all of me.
This solely one and only body.

Body 7.22.2020 Circling Round Nature II; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin