I Love Talent

 

I love talent!

I just love talent!

Talent is an ace,

A grace –

A freebee,

Blessing,

Something that you get for nothing;

Something that’s a bank, a chest

Of treasures

And a toolbox all-in-one.

What next, and

How to reach it,

Find and turn it

From a talent

To a skill? Still more,

Teach it

How to be its best?

 

Talent’s quest as guest of soul:

Soul butler and handmaiden.

I love toiled refinement

And the balance of alignment;

Risk of pain,

Of world’s disdain:

A talent in itself –

And I love talent.

 

I love Talent 8.17.2001(revised 9.25.2015)

Special People Special Occasions; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Men Who Need Lots Of Women

One of my more outlandish reflections which will go into my collection called Circling Round Eros II (I’ve already published #I).  Also Love Relationships II. (I’ve already published #1)

Written during a sleepless night the other night (when the mind is unbridled,  and worked on all the next two days.  I hope I’ve got it right – as a poem, that is.

    Men Who Need Lots Of Women

        (analysis and summary)

 

A hole is a hole,

A tit a tit,

A tongue a tongue,

A come a come,

Orgasm which, like qualities in life

Has ups and downs. 

Grownups must expect, accept them.

Why, the greed, speed, need and lust?

Time wasted in the hunt,

Exhausting in the chase,

The chase a case of fleeting fun,

Seen in mind’s eye only, and

The running ‘round a chaos.

 “You must remember this,

A kiss is still a kiss…”

It is simplicity and peace,

With simplicity in love.

 Analysis and summary

Designed to break illusions

Of the men who need a lot of women.

 

Men Who Need Lots Of Women 9.21.2015

Circling Round Eros II; Love Relationships II;

Arlene Corwin

arlene corwin poetry.com

The Day I Passed Garbo

 

Blasé New Yorkers are blasé goal walkers,

Harboring no other thoughts than achieving.

Seeing not, hearing not, smelling not, yet,

On a wet, windy day,

Making way upwards West 57th,

Shoes coming toward me,

Brown, flat, longish coat, aging face, hat or kerchief,

(Or am I imagining) rather dark glasses.

As New Yorkers do,

Fobbing off glance or gawk,

I walked.

It was Garbo, of course.

Our paths never crossed.

Never turning my neck,

Never swerving the gait,

Lacking nerve to slow down,

I continued my goal-walking moment to class

Cool, detached, saying nothing to anyone.

I, Arlene Corwin had passed Great Garbo

That sixty some years ago,

Only to mention it now.

 

The Day I Passed Garbo 9.21.2015

Special People, Special Occasions; Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

Life is Serious

Life Is Serious

 

Life is serious.

Humorous, but

Never superficial, which

Shallow, meaninglessness,

Being self-important

Kills the moment.

 

Moment-centered gives one focus,

Ego-centered an unworthy pleasure

At the cost of learning,

Growing –

Knowing more.

 

Life has import.

One life,

More,

It doesn’t matter –

All are

Serious.

 

When you find,

(and even if…)

The chatter prattle,

Life has substance –

It’s a distillation of your essence:

Serious.

 

 

Life Is Serious 9.4.2015

Circling Round Egos; Circling Round Reality; Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin

When I Left

When I Left

 

When I left,

I didn’t have the means of entry

To an honesty that should have said,

Could have said,

“I loved you once, but now I don’t.

I do not love you anymore”.

 

Such simple words, and yet

I could not think of how to say them.

I, the wimp said “Yes”,

Not making clear the unconditionality of No.

“I said instead, well, thought, not said,

“In a way” or, “like a friend”.

What was I thinking when

I really wanted it to end?

 

Hidden somewhere among fears

I could not find an honesty –

Which only brought more tears.

Fear of hurting you? No, it was

Weakness and hypocrisy, which

Given a like situation

I would never do or be again:

Saying yes when I mean no.

I’d go,

But with more

Candor.

 

When I Left 9.5.2015

Love Relationships II;

Arlene Corwin

Boy On The Beach

Boy On The Beach

 

Boy on the beach

Out of reach

Of hands,

Of consciousness.

Soft, bendy

Little babe of skin and bone

Borne by a shaken sentry

Used to death.

 

Boy On The Beach 9.5.2015

Our Times, Our Culture II; War Book II;

Arlene Corwin

They Leave Their Homes

They Leave Their Homes

 

They leave their all,

The walls of safety fall, replaced by

Dislocation and displacement;

Movement into unknown lands,

Terrifying territories,

Truculent terrains;

 

Small, small babies

Wrapped in quilts.

Desperation’s guilt immense

And not a snowball’s chance

in hell

Of coming home to restoration or,

When pigs fly, restitution.

Nevermore.

 

Sorrow, tragedy – the waste colossal,

Rooted up and leaving all

Because

They must.

 

 

They Leave Their Homes 8.31.2015

Our Times, Our Culture II; War Book II;

Arlene Corwin

 

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