Poem #1 1994

          Poem # 1: 1994

Who will die, and what will die –

In brief, will change identity?

What plans and systems hit the floor,

A heap of dust in ninety-four?

What institutions far and wide-

Disorder, borders, cultures fried?

What plaques and monuments be carved:

Informed, infused by masses starved?

What scientific theories spurned,

Records broken, taken, burned?

Celebrities. We always wonder

Which will die or just go under.

Famous men and women frame

And give our generation name.

It comforts us to see them go,

We also mourn the passing show,

For though we like a bit of smear,

To gossip, throw a secret spear,

We mourn the passing forms we knew,

Formulas by which we grew.


In ‘ninety-four, the conscious eye

Will peer out of itself while wakeful ear

Will strain itself to hear

In preparation. Throats will clear

While nose that’s sensitive smell fear:

Certain endings, circles closed,

Cycles within cycles doused.


What will pass in ‘ninety-four,

Go back to sleep to snore,

Creating once again the lore of yore?

It is a bore.

We never learn.

© Poem #1 1994 1.2.1994

Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin


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