Where goes the time when it flies?
Simplified by expression, and stained by clarity.
Smudge by lucidity
smeared by simplicity
tainted by intelligibility.
Tempus fugit as in time flies.
Sharply distressing with painful feelings
to the point of mental instability
morning or night
we become possessed with its mystic dealings.

Where goes the time when it runs?
Not a solitary explanation is found.
It happens and it won’t stop
until life terminates as well
without cause.
Derived of rationalisation
lacking understanding
short of justification
bursting with vindication
persistently and with conviction.

Where goes the time when it sails?
From the second that we’re born.
Where were we existing?
We cannot be so sure
Cannot recollect the past
Not for the first five of our years
Memory so blur, so shadowy
Hazy with distortions
obscure and confusing
Unit our mind starts slowly to recollect.

Where goes the time when it escapes?
The chronology of life so mysterious.
Nothing can solve its ambiguity
for time is a complex case
with an infinity of secrets.
What’s the obsession when we have so many setbacks
drawbacks and obstacles
obstructions and conundrums
to take care of before time perishes away
and leaves us stranded in oblivion.

Oh time, you magnificent of all mysteries,
the high and mighty of ambiguities.
Show us mercy and explain
we are not detectives of secrecies
your spell with us reflects on the whodunits.
Oh time of things past and yet to come
give us a clue as to what is to derive!
“Remember”
it softly replies “Make most of your lives”
“Once I fly away no one can have a replay”.

Blue Red
The Fire flickered
I won't
Struggle in vain

Heather screamed
As they tore it out
The Raven came to the Lamp

The Antique Watch
Tick-Smack-Tock
The Golden Boys being beaten to a pulp

Make me take it
I receive the Offerings
Under the Sacred WoodTree

One, two, they jump crawl
Three, two, it comes full circle- stop!
Three more and- yes, that should do it.

I just want to break away
from the coffee mugs embrace
Break the kitchen
The heavy stone cracking
Wood having an emotional breakdown
split in half disgustingly

Hair plastered to the face from all the sweat
Animal being made again no thought whatsoever just take it take it and I beat myself into submission on your buttocks while you reach the heights of pleasure and I in my pit of self-deprecation just a line of savagery connecting us no rationalisation not now not here no, we are going to the bottom of this
in that ***** I find bliss and I forget all forget myself forget yourself remnants of feelings and memories flow up in tatters bringing phantasmagorical purple nightmares before my eyes vision is blurring so I take it out on you please, I've had enough of biology and isn't *** more than nerve endings inflamming
I might just want a slow **** and a humanity to stare at while I *** a humanity to scratch my back later opened as a flower finally an Honest is seen, I have to write like this more often, the tender and the frail that I enjoy seeing and then maybe then bringing force to it, a deeper *******, always digging deeper into thin air of our own oily brains with the women and the men and the Symbol bottle of wine and the ****-you-mother-Sonja and the whole of it is contained in that one 3am gasp at the foot of our bed you draped in honesty and want to connect nakedness I swimming in a drunken stupor thinking whether to call you a ***** or kiss you tenderly and its all contained as I've said, in that routinely disgusting brown coffee stuff I use the word 'indulge' on, just indulge in feeling You=Me, just indulge in the kiss and the nerve ending inflamming at the touch of an *** I'm not even hard just eat something and look and talk Words That You Need To Say Nothing More and then listen to the sea with its rythmic massage maybe it is just the nerve inflammation but **** me its not that bad, ey?

I don't care about procreation
To increase our population
I just want some copulation
Some vaginal stimulation
Simple genital integration
There ain't no rationalisation
For my urge for satisfaction
In my lower region location
I'm pushing the realisation
That with the physicalisation
Of the ******* sensation
Is the only stipulation
Pushing the physical activation
Of ****** gratification

I am hot with the seduction
So no more procrastination
We have all the education
To perform this fornication
Without meaning or relation
I'm not looking for affection
Or a long term infatuation
It's just a simple invitation
To engage in ****** deviation
The heated manifestation
Of a physical altercation
Without an ulterior motivation
With not a single ramification
Just ****** gratification

Of course we'll use protection
I'm not looking for infection
Don't wanna have an inspection
Followed by a painful injection
Ive a straight up expectation
That you stick your big *******
In a prophylactic invention
Stopping all types of creation
We have built up the anticipation
And my wetness is an indication
That I'm ready for connection
I want some ******* action
No mental manipulation
Only ****** gratification

This is not an exit
That what Brett Ellis said
In restaurant of conspirators
As the victims freely bled
The blood just keeps on pumping
Though they were slain
Months and years ago
For reasons half forgotten
Pushed down so far below
In the back alley
Or on Wall Street
The disconnection
Is the same
To remove what is not desirable
And make them take the blame.

Extract from a letter answering a friend about my productivity:
     “I have neither habit nor stamina - at least not consciously.  It’s more from laziness - the writing, that is.  I see, hear or read a phrase or reportage and I’m off!  That’s it!  And  because repetition creates habit, be it smoking, biting your nails, or quilting - then if you have a particular talent, well, there it is - the automatic stamina and habit..”


           A Poet’s Rationalisation

She writes daytime and night.
She’s neither stamina nor habit.
It’s because she’s lazy.
When she’s complimented (as she’s been at times)
The only word that has occurred’s tenacity.

Reading, seeing reportage, message hitting the right the spot,
And lo, she’s hot!
Computer open, blank page there
And she is where she ought to be,
Comfy, lazy, some ability
Wakened for the sake of…
Nothing!

Prolific - she’s aware of it.
Gazillion ideas make her sit.
And when she sits and pushed to write,
She writes because it’s what
She’s pushed to from within, without,
Stimulation like a clout from heaven -
Happy as sandboy,
Seventh heaven’s brand new toy,

Theory, philosophy, hypothesis,
This, her only explanation
For the many extant stanzas
Published and unpublished
With no purpose whatsoever.

Thank you to whomever
Pays a tribute or has praised
Or lauded and applauded reveries,
The fantasies that intellect can cover.
What more can one ask for?

A Poet’s Rationalisation 12.6.2019
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

The feeling of despair, makes one feel impaired
Stuck, in the repetition of questioning rationalisation
Should I have dared to inflict more care
To what satisfaction is my ignorance
Inflated despair causes desperation, to my realisation

When sense makes no sense
When one's world is upside-down
When there is conflict between interest and intention and action
That's when despair we meet

Feeling loss of control
Forgetting, not everything is in your control
Faith broken with no hope of repair
Internal conflicting with external

I dare say being despair is feutal
As we grow we learn the wisdom that life is eternal
Life experience of experience occurs even unintentional
Emotions are there until they are there no more
The logical healing of despair is the beauty of life

the wild ones are always within
suppressed by modernity
longing for release
it's the way we were meant to perceive complexity
not with rationalisation
but with spontaneity and emotion