Repeated Word 1996

 

      Repeated Word

There is something in brain

That makes will into word,

And the word into chain

Of enzyme nut/bolt;

Whose aim and design

Is to will a result

Through the spark and volt.

 

I’m starting to see a constancy’s grit:

Over and over – the saying of it:

Something in brain,

Some electro-magneting,

Chemical, wonderful,

Indifferent, loving.

All we need do

To make willing come true

Is to say it again and again.

©Repeated Word 96.10.2

To The Child Mystic; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

 

Arlene Corwin

.

Reflections While Lying On The Floor Doing Yoga 1996

 

      Reflection While Lying On The Floor Doing Yoga

God is more a law than person.

All the gods and goddesses

Turn towards its light in salutation.

I turn towards the gods themselves

To set the mood in evocation.

They in turn, turn in a wave

Towards me. I sense their scenery.

I take in waves of sympathy.

I visualize a dot of light

Far, far away past day, past night –

Way past their realm

To where the light stands at the helm

Of everything. When I am through

I feel that I’ve been worked on,

Thoughts more sweeping, true, impromptu

Than they were ten minutes gone.

©

Reflection While Lying On The Floor Doing Yoga 96.4.9Circling Round Yoga; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

 

Rambling Rose 1996

     Rambling Rose

If I’m not careful and don’t watch it,

If I’m circumspect-less and unwary

I can wander, ramble – thoughts askew –

A drunken gymnast in the splits.

Spontaneity is nice.

It’s admirable,

But the price

Can be too high. A little

Self-reflection,

Self-rejection

May be just the thing

To make the ring of universality

Replace the ring of gossip.

©

Rambling Rose 96.4.5 A Sense of the Ridiculous,; Circling Round Woman; Pure Nakedness

Prayer Of A Developing Recluse 1996

 

      Prayer Of A Developing Recluse

When I get old, out goes the phone!

The folk around will think I’m mad.

All older people that I’ve known

Are on the phone with gusto,

Family, children; friends they’ve had

A million years.

Do they have fears

Of falling off the bed –

Dead?

Alone?

When I am old I won’t play bingo,

Won’t have friends to drop around.

-That eccentric lady living

There, they say she’s not for giving

Too much of herself. Raw boned,

Skinny, voice box tinny,

Happy on her own –

Alone.

-We never learned her lingo.

-We’ve never understood her type.

Not efficient, self sufficient, misanthropic;

Not outside the realms of fear,

And yet that feast

Is one I’d like to taste.

It might mean paying dearly,

But I’ve read that saints appear

To those who value solitude;

So at the risk of seeming rude

I’d rather compliment the east

And those whose phone is in the cave;

Those who’ve lost the need to shave,

Refusing to be slave

To sad and sociable old age.

Call me naïve, I just may reach the grave

An un-sweet little lady sage

Who is at peace.

When I behold I’m old

I want my measured days to be

A bar of hammered gold

Like all those avatars before me.

May those solitary days restore me!

©

 

Prayer of A Developing Recluse 96.7.12Birth, Death & In Between; Circling Round Woman; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Perplexed 1996

 

      Perplexed

If you are light,

And I am light,

And I am really part of you;

If I can’t reach you just because

My body separates us two –

If you are limitless, and I

Would like, no, yearn to be also

But can’t, despite my yearnings

And the likeness I assume is true,

What do I do,

To meet with you

Without this body dying?

©

 

Perplexed 96.10.18To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

 

Overlapping Rhythms 1996

 

     Overlapping Rhythms

Life is overlapping rhythms.

Writing over-

Lapping rhythms they’ll not understand.

So what! I know that

All of life is overlapping, molding

Cycles; birth and fall –

In between unfolding themes.

Four and three and five and seven:

Underneath, a pulse

Where rates and teeming fates convulse,

Then sudden…stop! And yet it’s heaven

If you look beneath the bedlam of the seeming;

The ostensible; the chasm

Between starting act’s orgasm,

Its arrhythmic spasm (breath),

Protoplasmic life

The final ectoplasm… (death).

Overlapping.

Land/sea/town -scapes;

Swing and cadence, tap, tap,

Tapping out the shapes

In beats and forms phantasmal.

©

Overlapping Rhythms 96.3.21Vaguely About Music; Nature Of & In Reality; Birth, Death & In Between;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

      One Sin A Year

How to begin! How to begin?

A New Year’s promise – that’s a start.

A new year makes it feel more real,

As if the digit had a heart.

That leaves, no, gives fifty two

Whole weeks to work off one whole sin,

Kill mistress miss-the-mark.

Yes, I have tried

(But not within a frame of time) to bide

My time with too much patience.

What I hope to do this year is

Systematically put one of

Miss Spent Perpetrators on the run.

To stun.

I think I’ll make it Sloth: delicious

Sin that worms its efficacious

Self deep into deed and thought,

Turning I will, into I ought.So subtle! Makes procrastination cancellation,

Cancellation guilt and guilt’s unhinging child

Remorse: the sense that all is lost –

‘Why try’, ‘you’ll fail’, and ‘so exhausting’.

With one year to reinforce

Awareness, change the thinking style,

I think I have a chance, so I’ll

Commence the course on New Year’s Day –

Five exciting, five keep writing days to say

In mantra form, “I’m though with you

Old subtle slug!

Go glue your dung to someone new.

For I will dry each fork, each prong,

Sort drawer and shelf, and plug away

The way I’ve read the strong do.

Why, the kitchen can be combat zone one:

Lino- shiny, tiny crumbs gone.

This is the year to put Sloth in a coffin –

Or my name is not Private Arlene Faith Corwin.

 

©

One Sin A Year 96.1.9Pure Nakedness; Defiant Doggerel;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

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