The Now Again 2012

The Now – Again

 

What a science!  If I’m at the sink doing dishes, and if I remember the slightest thing that hasn’t to do with the dishes, my being-ness has lost that moment and gone into the past or future.  On the other hand, if I’m aware of devoting the dishwashing to, say, God,the action can indeed take place on two levels: the devotional and the active.  But one doesn’t say “devote, devote, devote..,”.  One takes that microsecond of devotional aim and goes back to the feel of the hand, the sight of the dish, whatever sense is dominating.  It’s subtle.  Senses and intellect hold the now – or should.  Desire and wish belong to the non-now; take away from the now.  (I’m thinking this through as I write – spontaneity.  But I also have the tv on.  Non-now.  Non-spontaneity.)  Subtle.

February 15, 2012

 

After Last Night 2012

After Last Night

Sitting in the bathtub thinking

What a pity

That the memory

Gets in the way of now.

Last night’s success

Completely gone –

Departed,

Spent absolute.

No substitute.

If time is taken

To think ‘then’

(Just hours ago),

A method

To make then a ‘now’

Without

Losing the moment?

Maybe some can.  I can’t.

Yet.

Bath Again 2.8.2012

Bath Book; Vaguely about Music;

Arlene Corwin

Always Nice To Couple 2012

Always Nice To Couple

 

It’s always nice to couple

On a birthday:

Easy going, slow to fire,

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Unsure and slow

With privileges undiscovered

By the young:

The privilege of backing down,

Breaking off.

The privilege of heeding

Intuition’s guide,

Needing nothing, really –

Knowing that no one will feel insulted

If the one or other stops;

And knowing

That the unexpected

Suddenly can ‘pop’,

The best cork

Of the best champagne

Because,

The laws of love and candor

Reign.

Happy Birthday!

 

Always Nice To Couple 2.8.2012

Circling Round Eros; Birthday Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

LOVING COUPLETS

2012

GOOD NOT TO BECOME A STAR

OR BE TOO POPULAR.

WHEN REACHING SEVENTY AND FOUR,

NO ONE, INCLUDING YOU,

THINKS BACK TO TWENTY-TWO,

YOUR PRIME,

GIRLS CHASING ALL THE TIME

WHILE BREAKING DOWN YOUR DOOR

TO GET A GLIMPSE OF YOU

ONCE MORE.

LUCKY FOR THE PLANET EARTH

TO HAVE TATTOOED

UPON ITS FACE

A KENT:

THE BEST OF VIKING’S RACE.

TO ALWAYS HAVE BEEN

LOVELY, QUIET, CLEVER KENT,

EVER PATIENT AND CONTENT,

CREATING THINGS FROM STICKS AND STONES,

NOT AFRAID TO BE ALONE,

HAPPY ON YOUR OWN,

CELEBRATING AN EVENT

OF TWENTY-SEVEN THOUSAND

AND TEN DAYS OF LIVING

IS THANKSGIVING OVERDUE.

HAPPY DAY OF BIRTH TO YOU!

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡

 

Loving Couplets 2.8.2012

Love Relationships; Birthday Book;

 Special People, Special Occasions;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Cried Last Night 2011/2012

I Cried Last Night

I cried last night – a different cry.

Reading where the character –

An old man, rabbi –

Lays down, dies;

The long term cause, old age,

The short term, cancer.

Age and sickness notwithstanding,

It was I projecting certainty,

A time foreseeable –

All our times expected. Mine.

Just then.

Unwillingly, I cried.

I cried.  He’d died.

I cried. I’d died.

So sad and unexplainable.

I Cried Last Night 6.15.2011 (re-written, conclusion new 2.5.2012)

Birth, Death & In Between; Birth, Death & In Between II

Arlene Corwin

A Problem In Reduction 2012

A Problem In Reduction

 

For the sake of my new public,

I’ll write shorter poems.

No more

Arriving at A4’s

Last row,

Theme drained and spent

At A4’s bottom.

 

Now to state

An essence, core, crux, spirit

That is short

And art.

 

Now to say the whole

In mini-forms that satisfy

The norms I go by –

Be an owl, a mole,

To reach a world,

Bigger, outer foreign; every child

Whose language I’ve not heard,

Avoiding trick and joke

That soothe my heart.

So translators can translate

Idiom, thought-through-slaved over.

 

Challenge, entertainment, woe?

Don’t know.

I’ll try.

(You see, it is already lengthy.)

Oy!

 

A Problem In Reduction 2.4.2012

The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thinking About Harriet Balter

Thinking About Harriet Balter

 

Harriet died when I was thirteen.

She was thirteen too.  Or twelve.

Harriet popped in every day.

Everyday.

She talked too much, had dimples, curly hair,

And she was chubby.

(I haven’t heard ‘chubby’ since those years.

Is anyone ‘chubby’ anymore?)

One day as she chatted gaily.

“I heard the doctor tell my mom –

I was in the other room –

That I have Bright’s Disease.

I’m going to die…” No one home

Believed her.

In her sing-song, quasi-boastful way she giggled.

Neither she nor I believed she’d die –

A concept so remote.

She died.

She’d heard it right.

What kind of doctor says that shite

In hearing distance of a child?

White-dressed in open casket.

I peered in and went away,

Not absorbing that my friend’d

Really ended,

Where was I?

Detached, unformed, unsympathetic, green –

Sixty-four years late H comes to mind.

I cannot find

The proper words

It’s taken decades to redress –

Amend a sorry! Really, really sorry!

To a friend.

 

Thinking About Harriet Balter 2.2.2012

Birth, Death & In Between II; Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

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