This Body

Pesky, troublesome, capricious;

Efforts to control a wild-goose chase,

Farcical: a waste.

A strain in vain; hurts when it hurts;

Longings and desires, when and where it will,

Its underskirts.

 

It goes its way, in the way

And sometimes, thank the Lord, not…

One is forced to say,

“This is my lot.

I’ll do what I can do to help it stay

As long as possible;

Comfortable, perhaps good-looking, but

God knows, that part is least.”

This body is a beast

With some kind of intelligence that lies in destiny.

 

Goodbye old vanity,

Old friend one used to think so highly of,

Be steered by and obey.

Goodbye old energies one understood so little too.

Goodbye old you –

With arms, legs, trunk,

All of its useful junk inside;

The ride, the slide,

The destination thought its own,

Just bone,

If that.

 

You notice I don’t call it ‘my’,

Belonging as it does to nature.

‘It’ an it and ‘this’ a this; this body a bo-die.

 

This Body 7.15.2017

Circling Round Vanities II; Birth, Death & In Between II; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

It Has Been A Lifetime Of…

It has been a lifetime of, well, meditation:

Meditation/prayer, prayer weaker

(more appeal and supplication

Than an offering without a question).

 

Not really lifetime, I admit, but,

Years and years of seeking It,

Approaching It, trying to find, bind Arlene

With hope that she’ll become more than a hopeless dope;

Hope and that arcane, otherworldly word

That rhymes with earth and mirth and forth and wraith:

 

“What can it be?”(said she inscrutably).

Of course, it’s faith!

The hardest of the hard.

(Don’t let them kid you what they say they’ve got it)

Faith both gift and hard, hard practice.

Owning, losing day to day.

 

It’s been a lifetime – that’s for sure.

But life continues now to now:

Day to day, year to year

And meditation and the prayer

(Each in its place) continue too.

The real me

Still uncompleted

As of our poetic meet

This very heartbeat.

 

It’s Been A Lifetime Of…7.13.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

The Books I Write & Thoughts At Night

It’s 2am and I awaken.

Thoughts break in

And I begin:

 

I write the books.

Charming, informative.

They do not sell.

 

Carefully worked on and out until they gel,

Spontaneous but ne’er pell-mell,

Tight, concise, the format small;

Life’s storms,

Its call to arms,

A bawling at our time’s alarms,

Wailing ‘gainst life’s wailing wall,

Admiring the beauty of it all…

 

What e’er it is I have to tell:

They do not sell.

So what the hell!

 

But what is hell?

The poet’s railing wall?

Perhaps the tiresome need to sell.

 

The Books I Write & Thoughts At Night 7.12.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Our Times, Our Culture II;

Arlene Corwin

 

The Books I Write & Thoughts At Night

 

 

 

Selfies & The (Selfish) Need

Rembrandt painted hundreds in one medium or t’other.

Thanks to photo’s techno-grams

Selfies of all kinds abound,

Home paintboxes thick on the ground

Which begs the question:

Exploration or self-love?

Motives passive and elusive, definitely inconclusive,

Probably a votive to self-love;

The selfie shows its needs up front.

Pretext for one’s vanity, its insecurity.

 

Then there’s the blog:

A kind of selfie, yes?

There to impress via modernity’s express

A world you hope

Is waiting for your scoop,

Your dope, your poop.

 

When you’ve seen a glut of bodies

Photo-shopped and chopped to please,

Is there more you need to see?

Or is it true desire breeds desire

And that fact a warning dire?

 

Impudently, imprudently

Continuing until we rue the days that bluntly

Lead us nowhere in particular

But to the usual, predictable, familiar wrinkling

And the loss of beauty’s pull.

Selfies & The (Selfish) Need 7.5.2017

Circling Round Vanities II;

Arlene Corwin

You Need Someone Who Believes In You

     You Need Someone Who Believes In You

It sounds romantic; a cosmetic;

I would say,

It’s more a cosmic

Underlay:

A kind of agent

Sent

To shout your name world over.

Someone to communicate

The rare fresh flower that you are;

Star-becoming-bigger star;

Someone booming out your gifts,

Strumming, humming wide and far

About your lifting gifted star;

Friday’s date, friend or mate,

Adorable, adoring pet,

Someone there to vindicate and validate

Your expertise,

The artistries

Accrued;

Who’d

Build a statue

Honoring your values

And of course, your value:

Someone who believes in you.

 

You Need Someone Who Believes In You 7.2.2017

Defiant Doggerel;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Tipsy

           Tipsy

I was tipsy last night,

Quite enjoyed it.

Drinking just a thimbleful one time a year,

And there was I, a stumblebum, but clear

In head,

Dutifully fulfilling all that needed

To be done.

A charming, wonderful sensation – fun.

And yet, I thought about my liver.

Will I ever, no, I’ll never

Be a drinker,

I’m too much a thinker

And a Jew.

And if you didn’t know

We Jews are not great drinkers,

Just great thinkers,

Contrite sinners on Yom Kippur

Nobel winners,

Alcohol not in our tribe.

And so, it is not likely I’ll imbibe

Too many jiggers wine or booze;

Too many calories

And I don’t want to lose

My liver’s life too soon –

Or looks, or senses or the boon

Of brain and knowing

Who I am

And who I’m born

To be.

Tipsy 7.1.2017

Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

 

           Tipsy

I was tipsy last night.

Quite enjoyed it,

Drinking just a thimbleful one time a year,

And there was I, a stumblebum, but clear

In head,

Dutifully fulfilling all that needed

To be done.

A charming, wonderful sensation – fun.

And yet, I thought about my liver.

Will I ever, no, I’ll never

Be a drinker,

I’m too much a thinker

And a Jew.

And if you didn’t know

We Jews are not great drinkers,

Just great thinkers,

Contrite sinners on Yom Kippur

Nobel winners,

Alcohol not in our tribe.

And so, it is not likely I’ll imbibe

Too many jiggers wine or booze;

Too many calories

And I don’t want to lose

My liver’s life too soon –

Or looks, or senses or the boon

Of brain and knowing

Who I am

And who I’m born

To be.

Tipsy 7.1.2017

Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

 

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