There Was Always A Fall Feast,
Way Before The Pilgrams Even Came,
Squanto Was A Prisoner,
Taken Over To Europe,
And Worked As A Slave To Spanish Monks,
He Was Captured From His Village,
And Returned There 5 Years Later,
Where His Tribe Had Died From The Disease,
The Europeans Had Brought Over,
The Pilgrims--Savage And Starving,
Were Rading Near By Villages,
Scavenging In The Tribe's Food Storages
Since Squanto Knew How To Speak English,
He Befriended The Pilgrims And Taught Them,
To Fish And Hunt Off The Land,
When The Fall Feast Arrived,
They Did Not Eat Turkey (Yes You Read That Right),
Squanto And Some Other Natives Brought,
Venison, Crab, Lobster, Fish,
And Feasted....
So You Can See--That What We Learned In School,
Is Not True,
It's Just One More Common Misconception,
Just Another Secret,
This Country Has Tried To Mask

Who The Hell Is Reading Me?
        (a first draft, pre-sleep whimsy)

Who the hell is reading me?
Occasionally, I see one, two, three -
It’s rough,
And certainly is not enough!

I usually do not complain,
But fellow poets, you know
It’s the ****-dest pain
To work for hours,  - sometimes days
Refining, re- re- re-ing phrase
And syntax,
Checking idioms and facts
To get across idea and spirit.
Are you with it,
                         reader friend?
No trend, no agent/publicist to wave a wand,
No publisher to send you huge advances
Because he’s of the sole conviction of your chances.

[Do you], get my drift?
Shifting in your seats,
Because you recognize the whiney bleats
That you would like to scream out too?
Well, *****
                   the reading force,
That leading farce that forces us
To sit it out in silent grumble,
Mortifyingly discomfited and humble.

But know what mate?
I love it!
Never sated, secretly, I love it!
As my confidante, I tell you this.
I wouldn’t miss this silliness
For all the tea in China!

I don’t have to be a winner
Eating Nobel Prizes for my dinner,
Nah, I’m happy just to do
What you do - writing for the one or two,
(there used to be three – one has split)
Get the isolated compliment
From someone honored
– or not.
(everyone’s got
                         their own way of seeing things).
Not trying in the least, to be convincing,
Cheerio, to you who may be just my opposite;
And good, good, good, good, good goodnight!

Who The Hell Is Reading Me12.19.2016
A Sense of The Ridiculous; Defiant Doggerel;
Arlene Corwin

Every breath I managed to take,
felt worst than the pain losing you made.
****** concrete is the only portrait I can paint,
but I can't count the times I've ended up with your face on the page.
I'm sorry I can't remember things for ****,
then again, you didn't remember I loved you,
so, am I the one to blame for this?
maybe if I think too much, I won't think at all,
but honestly, I've thought so much I've made a stall,
yet broken through, and ****** my hand up on the drywall.
Haven't eaten in a mere six days,
but I've gotten use to knodding off and these delusions set to daze.
I ******* hate dropping my cigarettes,
and I love the rain, but I hate getting wet.
Don't ask me questions cause I don't ******* know.
Dig into me, settle under the surface.
Work your way in depth to me.
It's falling apart and I'm breaking down,
like ashes colliding into the ground.
Never thought complete silence could create such shuddering sound.
My mind's running circles but my stomach can't keep up with the round n round.
Rading cabinets and getting caught up in the sound of the bottle,
savoring what I reluctantly found.
A few for the memories, a few to pass the time and a few to wash em down.
My skin is crawling, stinging, itching to open up,
just for you to lore inside.
Crawl beneath, sink and hide.
Dig in deep, and dwell within.
Scratching, scratching,
yea, digging through skin.

Cold finger grasp
Like branches
In darkness stirring
Navigating the air
Grading ones strength
Inconceivable breath  
No longer clinging
G**one is a candles flicker.