Yesterday’s failure only black-tivity.
Pay no attention to either. They’re empty.
Ladder-like, bladder-like,
Empty, just empty.
Yang-ish and Yin-ish,
There’s never a finish,
One holding the other;
Contiguous brothers,
Like dust on a mirror,
Smoke from a fire.
You’ll pardon my Gita, but each one conspires
To fill out the day.
They’re really just clay,
And never do stay.
What is it I wanted to say?
Oh yes, playing –
And that is the point:
In sorrow or harrowed, encapsuled entire
In this wired spire
Is: each never stays,
But changes and alternates.
Always the nebulae forming from dusts
And the gases of nebulae crusts;
Total explosions that send out the seeds
Of equal potential to fill out the needs
Of new forming clusters
Grasped in their grandeur.
Its essence elusive, which rules out a seeking,
The peeking behind each intuitive find.
Speechless with awe,
Ecstasy permeates pencil and paw.
They grind to a halt,
This entire procedure salt for the day.
Definitely Didactic; Nature In & Of Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 