"nover" poems
Tomorrow is my beloved Swedish Kent's birthday - a day he completely rejects. I do not, writing this birthday poem which I will present to him in spite of all protestations. I'll bet he loves it!
An Icke* Birthday
“I have no birthday” you insist.
Bemused, a bit confused
Reflecting, un-rejecting, I conclude,
“Good for you!
You never need add numbers to
Your written age.
You’ll grow more sage
Without a wrinkle.
Passing years will never sink you,
You who have no birthday,
Never born,
Never gone.”
At any rate,
I celebrate
This date
And will continue every eight,
For February is your birthday.
Enjoy the numberless-ness in your way.
So if I may,
I’d like to take you out to lunch
To munch on something to your taste.
Why waste an eight?
Why wait?
We’ll go to lunch sometime this week,
Take
our big car somewhere
To crunch on something nice to eat.
Peaceful, sweet,
We’ll have a great
non-birthday dear!
Your icke- birthday’s growing near.
An Icke- Birthday 2.8.2020 Birthday Book; Arlene Nover Book
*icke; Swedish for non-
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 6:26 AM UTC
Another Autobiographical Anomaly✍️
My memory, how is it working?
Reconstructing what I will,
But no matter how I will it,
Using tricks or keeping still,
It goes downhill while lurking.
Mostly, I can’t get the date
Or the event - details I railed at,
Smiled or wailed at.
Where I laid the pen just used;
That is NOT amusing.
Histamine.
I read that histamine boosts memory.
Priority.
What do I prioritise with ear, nose, eye?
My husband tells a story
But his story and the history keep changing.
Joke?
Sheer smoke based on illusion in the first place?
He’s an honest man.
Why change the plan or plane?
How to help boost our brain!
Enigma
And for some a stigma.
Diet, food:
The marvel is the wondrous good
It does in spite
Of all the things we don’t do right.
We’re losing neurons constantly
From ages six- or seventy.
Exercise:
Training. Learning.. Instrument.
Being bent on something! Anything!
For just about all/everything is heaven sent.
That’s what I read
And what I think,
And where my intuition and my instinct lead.
Anyway, this poem is just another way to do it.
Renewing bits with any course available,
And one in which a syllable will stick.
The main thing is to get a kick
Out of the rhythmic lyric of our life.
Yes?
Another Autobiographical Anomaly 2.11.2019 Pure Nakedness II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
She Let A Moth Drown In the Lake
She let a moth drown in the lake,
Waves taking stackars* little thing
Further than her oar could reach.
Standing on beach, cupped eye,
Squinting, trying…
Moth was gone.
Death had won.
Just so you know I do no lie,
That ‘she’ was I.
I am the wimp who hesitated.
Fear of depth, of cold, of wet.
Excuses inexcusable.
Death of moth, still flapping moth
Is just as undeserving as our own demise.
Pedestrian, prosaic, commonplace,
Disgusting,
Yet compulsively discussable.
All living things delight in life-ness.
While they move and throb the slightest,
They delight.
Who takes a life by standing by
Will also die.
It is essential, is it not, to cry,
Identify with kin?
Kin hereby meaning ‘life within’.
Left with remorse and shame
She self-condemns,
She takes the blame.
She hopes some force
That knows the individuality of moth
Shows sympathy in rebirth
In some future form that has a breath.
So be it, Om, Amen to Earth!
She Let A Moth Drown In the Lake 6.14.2020 Birth,Death & In Between II;Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Nature II;Pure Nakedness;Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover, Corwin
*stackars; Swedish; ‘poor thing’
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 6:17 AM UTC
Comeback
Perhaps I should be grateful
That I never was recipient
Of great applause,
Years of adorers,
Broadway’s honey,
Years of being stunning,
Grateful that
I never had to kowtow, bow out,
Miss the kudos and the fame,
Never knowing what life was
With and without them, since I never got them.
Never got to play Las Vegas,
Glad there never came a time
Of longing for a non-existent encore,
Cheering I no longer hear.
Hair going grey,
Kilos heading the wrong way,
You are asked to make a comeback,
Or you’ve asked to make a comeback;
Life feels boring,
No alluring pleasure takes the place
Of listener filled with earful grace.
You sweat and strain, extra kilos off again,
Get back routines,
Move as you did in your teens,
Flexibility, the voice retaining every nuance.
Frank and Cher came back again - and then again.
We followed each rendition, each gradation, limitation;
Cheered until the cheers turned into hesitation.
I am grateful that I never
Had the clamouring for autographs and tresses,
Shredded dresses, theirs and mine.
Never had the glamour and the clamour of masses,
Fervent need to make a comeback,
Coming back to audiences smelling wine:
Hard to define.
And still I play and sing and grow.
Comeback 5.28.2008/revised3.19.2021
Birth, Death & In Between; Time; Vaguely About Music; Arlene Nover Corwin
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 5:07 PM UTC
It’s simply amazing what phrases pop into one’s head and stick - and as they stay there they develop, and as they develop the inner life takes over and what started out a superficial bit of twaddle turns into poetry of some substance, proving anything can become anything with a little bit of reflection.
I Am A Housewife
I am a housewife.
Organize and deputize,
Buy and cook,
See that everything’s delicious,
Making dishes at my best,
Matching wish of man and guest.
Preserving and conserving, I economize,
Hunting down the clever buys
So there’s savings at year’s end.
Mix and blend creatively,
And when I shop
I stop and hesitate; contemplate
And seldom buy on impulse.
That said, I occasionally fall and do.
But mostly, shopping for our food’s
A yoga. So’s the
Washing, cooking, dusting…more;
The most and best health giving chore:
Hands cleaner in the water,
Waistline smaller, reaching up and for…
No breadwinner,
But a winner baking bread.
Cakes and cookies all included.
For, of course, the friends and husband
Whom I feed,
Try to supply each need
Not because it is ‘the done thing’
But because it is the fun thing.
Then there’s me. Filled with creativity.
Actually, a private soul
With my own needs to feel whole.
I do not underplay the housewife role
As many in society
Who downplay tractability and duty.
For to me it stands for beauty,
Not for slavery.
I am a being who serves house,
Deserves the house, My house! Our house!
No mouse by any means
But combination heroine
And superstar,
Dishing out the wonder
Of existence
With insistence and persistence
For a comfy coexistence
Dishing out the dishes
And a family’s wishes.
I Am A Housewife 12.23.2018 Circling Around Woman II; Arlene over Woman II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
All the years before the Corona pandemic, my Swedish neighbours from across the lake used to celebrate the 4th of July with a party, having themselves spent 32 years in the United States. To them I dedicate this poem.
July 4th, 2020 🇺🇸
It is the fourth of July.
A day we usually
Fill with joy:
Fireworks, parades and games
Its names:
Fourth of July:
Independence Day.
United, free;
No more a colony;
A formal declaration
Made of five brave men
And Thomas Jefferson,
Making history, and
The beginnings of a USA.
So, Americans,
My dear, dear Swedish friends
And any there may be elsewhere,
Let us wear the day
In camaraderie and play.
Most all in harmony.
Happy, Happy 4th July! 🇺🇸
July 4th, 2020 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 2:55 PM UTC
In light go all the heartrendingly serious problems I've been writing about lately, I decided to write and enter another side of things.
A Lighthearted Poem For All We Scorpios♏️
This is a poem to cover
All we Scorpios alive or not.
In case you didn’t know,
We are a special lot.
‘Cover’ means:
Envelop and enfold, embody and embrace.
We are lovers
And the charming-est of ‘race’..
(of course I’m not impartial).
We are: fixed, we don’t change easily.
We must learn flexibility.
And mixed: Our colors brown and black,
Deep red/maroon;
Our rulers; Pluto, Mars, Uranus, Moon.
We’re born between:
Oct. 23 - Nov. 22
This poem’s for me, this poem’s for you.
We are the highest and the lowest:
So you ‘knowest’, we are:
Forceful and intuitive, passionate, magnetic.
Lovers,
We are great survivors.
BUT, we’re also jealous and possessive,
Wilful, secretive, compulsive and obsessive.
Make sure you choose the best;
Turn secrets to transparency…
Watch out for all the rest.
Believer in the mystic all/ material
One or the other/none of these
You are a sister, brother, father, mother
Therefore, take astrology with ease
And live with love, and how you please.
A Lighthearted Poem For All We Scorpios 10.31.2018
I Is Always We Is You; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
Words To Love: Emoji *
Pictograph of sadness, cheer…
Every feeling, object, there
To show, enhance, inflate, draw near,
Define, make clear -
Oh, those Japanese - so clever!
E, a picture; Moji, character.
And I, mature, articulate,
Controlled, restrained,
Using it and them more often
When the brain’s refrain
Needs just that little extra bit
To sign and supplement
Whatever’s been expressed already
Boosting, heading
Written chunks of art (or junk)..
Emoji: hidden ***** behind it all -
A detail for the people.
Words To Love: Emoji 9.19.2020 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin.
* whoever wants to add his or her pwn personal emoji is welcome to do so.
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 7:53 AM UTC
Amputation (the final word)
Who thought…? Who knew?
Now it’s you
And fingers gone
To amputation.
You’ve seen programs. Said, “How brave!”
Thought about limbs saved and strengthened.
Training every second hour,
Power growing,
Phantom aches and pains still gnawing:
They’re a marvel!
Now you know!
For that’s the way the cookie crumbles,
And it humbles one, for sure.
There’s no cure for amputation.
Something gone is gone.
The answer is to go on
Taking pleasure, having fun,
Taking sun and making merry ‘fore the sun goes down,
The gone-ness mostly in the brain.
Strong and proud:
Join the crowd!
Amputation 6.6.2020 Pure Nakedness II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin
Amputate; To cut off (a limb) by surgical operation.
Origin: mid 16th century: from Latin amputat- ‘lopped off’, from amputare, from am- (for amb- ‘about’) + putare ‘to prune’.
Note: “Amputation” was aimed at anyone who is amputated and happens to read it. It’s not aimed at the world. I saw this impressive documentary about a group of men and women sorely handicapped in one other way, taking a group trip to and through Vietnam, and was so moved I just had to write something.
They went through rivers, caves, highways, narrow wooden bridges, taking turns at driving, some never having driven, trusting one another, exhorting one another...
That’s what inspired this poem.
Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 3:56 PM UTC
What Would I Do Without You?
(Or Scribbling in the Car)
What would I do without you, lexicon?
What would I do without you, dear thesaurus?
Rhyming book to rhyme with -saurus: chorus, porous, e’en papyrus if it fits?
Wiki’s storehouse ‘cyclopedia?
Little things that make me big and ‘pigg*:
Languages that set agog
The richness of the word?
So much I would not do without;
And isn’t that what life’s about!
Mind so connected to the word,
I would think
Without a varied herd of word
T’would shrink.
T’would atrophy,
T’would wear away,
Become cliché
As cliché wears away the play
From boredom’s lack of stimulation.
So connected is the action of the word
To all the wisdom, the absurd
in all the minds in all the world
Of minds and hearts unaired, impaired…
Is mind to word.
*pigg is Swedish for lively, spirited
What Would I Do Without You…Mind So Connected To The Word 7.19.2018 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
The CPS or Cordial Praise Society
We who write, responding kindly,
Are the humble members of
The Cordial Praise Society’s
Appreciation of what others say,
Each in his way, (and naturally, her way as well.)
We do not try to sell ourselves,
And if we’re liked or even loved,
Get or give approval,
We are strengthened to the depths,
Feeling whole.
With no razzmatazz,
Let’s call ourselves the CPS
The Cordial Praise Society
Who push each other to the sky.
Not asking why,
We know it is the best and only thing to do.
The CPS or Cordial Praise Society 10.21.2020 the Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 7:26 AM UTC
No Man is A Victim
Can it be, and do I mean it?
It’s a phrase that came to mind,
And so I looked it up.
One harmed or killed by so-called fluke;
One duped or tricked;
One who feels helpless faced with setback:
So I chose the last to help.
There’s truth in fate that causes earthquake,
And one’s sole concern’s escape.
That is a victim.
Then again,
One is alive, glad to survive.
Grounds to begin
Because one can!
But what about
The ones who feel useless in the face of sense,
Interpreting all happenings
With sadness, negativity and impotence,
Downhearted from the very start?
You’ve known a few. Me too.
Perhaps it’s you,
And what to do –
The problem philosophical, pragmatic, existential.
And, if one’s inclined, then spiritual.
Start a something, anything, for life’s a skill.
Good comes from bad, calm follows ruin;
Results come from what’s had or been;
And nothing lasts forever.
One’s endeavour is to strive,
For one’s alive.
Remember that you’re clever!
Act as if you have a choice
And make one – with your tiny voice.
Summon up your forces,
For of course, they’re many.
Do not hurry.
Lives are scurrying around you.
Do not worry,
For the ‘musts’ and ‘oughts’
Are values of society,
Not boo-choo, cry
Or future you.
No Man Is A Victim 9.30.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;Nature In & Of Reality;Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry.com
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 7:13 AM UTC
Eccentricity Isn’t Craziness, It’s Daring
Eccentricity isn ‘t craziness, it’s daring
To the -enth degree:
A caring not what they decree,
Not caring what they think of me.
The unconventional disarming,
Often charming -
What is normal?
Living life like all the rest,
I guess accepting colorlessness.
Planets are eccentric
And the sun’s just doing fine.
It shines on planetary quirks,
Sustains the quirk so that it works.
So,
We too can be a sun;
No planet going round,
No moon, but one
Unusual, bright son-of-a gun
Who does his ‘thing’ because it is
The only thing that makes things run,
The only thing that makes life fun
The misfit may not be a genius,
May be middling or bizarre.
Having said that, I give honor
To the one who does his thing
Since he sees through
The illusion, the delusion, the chimère .
Eccentricity Isn’t Craziness…9.3.2015 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; revised/ 9.30.2018 Arlene Nover Corwin
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
The Funniest Word: Sesquipedalian: Long-Winded
I just learned the strangest word:
An adjective ne’er seen or heard.
Sesquipedalian.
Sesqui-pedal-ian:
Are we the aliens depicted?
Is it us the word has painted?
Latin for a foot plus half**
Which makes me laugh.
“Polysyllabic or long-winded”.**
If there ever was a winding
Longish ended word, it is sesquipedalian.
You have to laugh
At something that’s a ‘foot plus half’
That uses fourteen signs to say it.
‘Sesquipedalian names, or prose’
God only knows how long is wrong,
And even, what is wrong with ‘long’!
Eighteen inches, fourteen letters.
Something in the letters fetters.
Words are born from situations:
Every nuance. each emotion.
How they come about’s the question.
Are we so observant, we,
Disposed to live linguistically?
I’ve no idea,
But it sure is
****** funny.
**18 inches or 45.72 centimeters.
The Funniest Word: Sesquipedalian 9.27.2020 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin
sesquipedalian | ˌsɛskwɪpɪˈdeɪlɪən |
adjective formal
(of a word) polysyllabic; long: sesquipedalian surnames.
• characterized by long words; long-winded: the sesquipedalian prose of scientific journals.
ORIGIN
mid 17th century: from Latin sesquipedalis ‘a foot and a half long’, from sesqui- (see sesqui-) + pes, ped- ‘foot’.
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 6:56 AM UTC
On my way to teaching my lovely yoga class this paradoxical poem:✍️
We Die When We’re Supposed To
We die when we’re supposed to,
Karma chained in cause/effect.
One eve I lay there,
Sorry, sad and full of fear
When of a sudden, shocked, aware,
The snare of truth, as clear as day,
Told me that we pass away
From causes self-created
From our characters, our choices,
Gene pushed, situation fated…
You know, when you get these flashes,
(call them insights, revelations, mind disclosures)
You can sense veracity’s exposures crashing in
And you’ve no choice
But to believe
What mind and thought receive,
In this case this:
Death comes when it will,
And it is up
To us to give this hidden ‘reasoning’ a whirl
And take the pill
However bad the taste.
We Die When We’re Supposed To 9.18.2012/8.16.2018 Birth, Death & In Between II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC
THE PAIN THAT IS HEAVY ON MY HEART IS THE PAIN OF A LOST SOUL WITH EVERY INCH RIP FROM ONE END TO ANTHER.
THE FEELING OF THIS PAIN WITH TEARS OF SADNESS THAT NO WORDS COULD EVEN WXPAINED.
MY WORRIES AND MY GIVING OF LOVE THAT I HAD AND STILL HAVE FOR YO IS BROKEN TO PEACES THAT IS SHOULD NOT HAVE TO TRY TO PUT BACK HLE AGAIN. THEREE ARE SO MANY THINGS THAT WAS TO STILL BE DONE MANY HOURS OFB TIMES THAT WE SHOULD BE RUNNING. THE WHEELS OFF THIS ROAD THAT U NOW HAAVE PASSED WITH OUT ME ARE BLOCKED BECAUSE YOU LEFT ME TO FAST AND TO SOON. THERE I FIND MY SELF FRONT OF THE WINDOW WITH RAIN DROPS OF SADNESS AND PAIN ASKING WHY? MY GOD WHY? NOT KNOWING WHAT TO DO NOW THAT YOUR ARE NO LONGER HEAR MY FRIEND. NOT ABLE TO BREATH BECAUSE YOU STOP BREATHING ON ME. HOLDING IT ALL IN WHERE INJUST WANT TO LET IT ALL OUT AND WAKE UPO FROM THIS NIGHT MARE OF MINE.FOR ME MY FRIEND YOU WHERE THE BEST FRIEND ANY ONE COULD HAVE. YOUR HEART WAS FULL WITH SO MUCH LOVE THAT YOU COULD ALWAYS BSEE THE LOVE THAT YOU GAVE TO THOSE THAT JUST NEEDED A HELPING HAND YOU NEVER SAID NO. THE MADNESS THAT ONCE WAS WITH IN YOU GOT NOVER COME BY BEING MY FRIEND AND LETTING ME IN YOUR LIFE. NOT ONLY YOU SHOWED ME AND HELP ME YOU LET ME HELP YOU AS WLL. I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT ALL THE TIMES WE HAD FROM DAY ONE WHERE THE BEST TIMES OF MY LIFE THAT I WISH YOU WHERE HEAR FOR MANY MORE... I FIND IT SO HAED TO LET GO OF SOME ONE SO SWEET AND LOVING AND CARING AS YO FOREVERB AND EVER YOU WILL HAVE A BIG PART OF MY HEART I WILL NEVER LET ANY ONE TAKE THAT FROM ME. I FIND IT SO HARD TO BREATH ANY MORE AND NEVER WANTING TO LET U GO. I LOVE U ALWAYS AND FOREVER YOU MY BESTFRIEND BOSS AND SO MUCH MORE MY DEAR LOVE ABEL TOVAR REST WITH ME IN PEACE IN HEAVEN WE SOME DAY SOON WILL MEET.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 6:29 AM UTC
It Never Lasts
TV ad:
A girl with gorgeous legs
Steps from a gorgeous car,
The gorgeous car the star.
The gorgeous car will rust one day;
The gorgeous leg change, decay,
The shifting muscles waste away.
It never lasts.
The leg, the car.
The gorgeous things we long for.
But bad things too -
They go also, so
Don’t despair.
The hair that falls from top of head
Will start to sprout from parts instead.
The rusty car - the modern-est
Will sadly or indifferently turn into rust,
Crushed, turned into plate,
To use, become a roller-skate.
Jaguar, Rolls, Mercedes Benz,
Converted, crushed, a concentrate
Become the answer to a cancer.
Nothing lasts. It simply changes
As each atoms strangely dances
To a different tune.
Loony as it sounds,
To quote a song I’ve often sung,
“It all goes round and round.”
It Never Lasts 2.19.2021A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 12:57 PM UTC
A Meditative Attempt At Comforting
You are my synapses,
My consciousness,
My chemistry
And everyone’s.
I have no ‘my’,
I have no say.
We are combined and mixed as one.
We are a kind of moon and sun.
That being so,
One has to rest and be at ease
In seeming ****** catastrophes:
Ageing’s ills and strains unbidden.
Youth’s robustness to bed-ridden
Impotence that needs to ask for each and every
Life’s dependency.
This, for a friend ‘who sees an end,
And for another with the bother
Of a herniated rupture.
This, a meditative scripture
On attempts to see things are they are;
As they really, really are,
Have been and will be ever.
A Meditative Attempt At Comforting 9.4.2018 God Book II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 6:54 AM UTC
An Eighty-Third
Ego there, but something’s going;
Some things gone –
Both nice and nice’s antonym.
Prefix Nov- linguistics’ whim -
What does it stand for?
One cares less and dares much more.
Nov means nine but mine’s eleven:
8th November, month eleven.
November eighth; November, Nover.
Arlene Faith "is now in clover"*.
Still, one has reached an eighty-three, (one being me)
We’ll see
What life has left at all…
Life being so irrational.
Et al.
*written by my 6th grade teacher Mr Martin when I graduated from public school
An Eighty-Third 11.8.2017
Birthday Book; Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Nover Corwin
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Given the popularity of tattoos, beards, shaven heads, holes in the body...et al, I'm enclosing this highly relevant observation written first in 2002, revised in 2004 and now again in 2018.
People Get Tattoos
People get tattoos because
They think that there’s no change,
Because they’re vain, in love:
They think they choose, because
They’ve no idea at all
The rain in Spain lies mainly
In the plain,
That muscle turns
And what was breast or chest and firm,
De-firms, deforms
With budding bicep rose
Becoming wrinkled, wilted posy of-the-elbows.
I suppose it’s all to do
With time and how we throw
Away our energies, with time
Outgrowing side- and peepshow
We all worshipped once with gusto.
Oh, tattoo, you are a symbol
Of myopia and youth,
A cockeyed view of truth
That lets us down.
Still, people will demand tattoos,
Refusing all discussion
Until gusto gets to be disgust.
Nothing one can do
Except boo-hoo
This triste refrain to all who’ll listen;
Self abstain , and be a witness.
People Get Tattoos 1.18.2004 revised from 6.17.2002 re-revised 5.22.2018 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Nover Corwin
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
First came the title, then came reasoning, then summing up - the rhyme and meter genetically built in. I loved justifying the concept.
Homage To All Things That Happen
All according to some plan -
New, alien - to keep things going, rescue man;
The right, the wrong: it all belonging
To some one humongous system
Far beyond our comprehension.
I have read
There are a hundred million neurons in our head,
These having millions of their own:
One giant telephone;
Small galaxies
To please the laws
Of effect’s Cause..
Hard to take in,
Come to the conclusion
That all things that happen
Are for something larger than
You, me, the galaxy
And on and on…
One cannot help but gape in wonder.
Homage To All things That Happen 5.27.2021 Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 2:15 PM UTC
Sifting Through The Dross
Fire, flood,
War and blood -
It is no wonder I can’t stand
The papers and TV,
Those apps aimed right at me,
The dearth of quality,
The deprivation, loss of lives,
The angst it gives.
Preferring comedy,
Cartoons by Disney…
Am I cowardly?
Maybe.
Fixated on the negative but well aware
Of heroes all around each day, each year,
Deeds of goodness and devotion,
Yet, there is this bleak emotion, yucky fear.
Another factor is the greed:
The pressured need for growth and profit.
Prophets sow salvation’s seeds.
Many listening, few that heed.
With much to win and much to lose,
One mostly feels the costly loss.
But sifting through the dross with trust,
Stably doing what one must,
One gets a glimpse of tunnel’s light,
Decides it’s worth a willing fight
And pushes on through restive night.
Sifting Through The Dross 11.15.2019
Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 8:06 AM UTC
Saying Political Things
I suddenly find myself
Saying political things.
A president who has a name
That pumps out rhymes that rhyme with stump and thump and clump
So numerous, so humorous you try in vain
To stifle sniggering, giggling, trying to abstain
That is, when you are not afraid of what comes next,
(What, whose head will come undone on any pretext.)
I, who never had opinions of significance inside my head,
Find that I am sitting up in bed
Watching the news,
The countless views,
And find I’ve got some too!
The boohoo, ***** you kind, and views about:
Is North Korea bad or mad?
Why is the crime rate rising?
Is it rising?
Not the least surprised
If it goes either way.
And so I say,
It’s unexpected to discover
Arlene Corwin (former Nover)
Faltering and altering, but taking stance,
Dancing around matters of importance,
Though they may be comical to you,
Positing her new-found thoughts political.
Saying Political Things 5.29.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC
Living in Sweden, as I do, I’ve often noticed that some idioms seem to capture an essence, are more powerful in Swedish than in my own tongue English and vice versa. Therefore, I’ve begun to take the liberty of borrowing the occasional Swedish idiom for use in my poetry.
I Grund Och Botten (är vi lika)*
A Swedish idiom meaning At The Bottom Of Things (we are alike)
At the bottom of things: basically,
First and foremost and primarily
We are alike.
Our temperament, our gifts, our faults
May differ, and they do.
But you,
You are the same as me.
I is always you is we!
We are a race: a human race.
But should we race, erase the commonality
That binds us all? Of course not!
We are one in essence, which we got
At birth, perhaps before;
Sympathy, empathy, the virtues, vices;
All the aims a blend of spices
From self-sacrifice to merchandise;
Imprecise, but there at bottom
From the ******* to the sputum.
All your systems are but symptoms.
At their end a blend of like-ness and uniqueness,
And one race.
I Grund Och Botten 5.31.2018 Swedish Book; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
Words To Love: Interconnection
Crisis after crisis: interconnected.
Deeds apparent or invisible: connected.
Phases, patterns unalike, yet linked and ‘synched’*
With Laws pertaining.
Do not question, and be certain:
Every force contains its obverse.
Things expand and then contract -
Bodies, flowers - all its contacts…
Interacting constantly, the powers of reality;
Related somehow, here and now.
And so, we reconstruct, re-form;
Nature forming forms forever.
Adapting and accommodating,
Interacting and connecting,
Thus, collecting and correcting
Continent by continent.
Intra-, inter- without end.
short for synchronised
Words to Love: Interconnection 4.18.2021 Circling Round Reality;Circling Round Everything II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 2:07 PM UTC