A Little Quiz


If you could sell a thing for lots,

Finance your yachts;

Would you boycott?

If what you sold

Could finance wars,

Could bring worlds

To their burned-out knees,

Would you do business?


If you could earn a salary

By working in a factory

Producing weapon’s heads,

Guns, poison gas –

All granted by the local laws,

Would you do business?


A little quiz – a little Buddhist –

Prompted by

The sheer potentiality

Of personalities and crime TV

Regarded daily.


Your kids are hungry.


A Little Quiz 8.29.2017

War Book II; Our Times, Our Culture II;

Arlene Corwin

Seventy & Eight

Seventy and eight:

You’ve set aside some vanity.

What was it but priority?

And some priorities have changed.

Acceptance of some disappearance;

Change of balance, skin that’s run the distance,

Re-arrangement of the substances inherent –

or you thought..


When you’re nearing birthdays

Each and every twelfth damned month,

You shun

The cant if you’re observant.

‘Happy Birthday’ not so plain.

This has that… and that’s a pain.

Marriages have come and gone,

You’ve eaten everything on offer.

Gone the need to empty coffer entertaining.


Suffering more neutralized;

So many friends and kin have died.

You’ve channeled drives

That used to thrive on pleasure.


With a birthday coming up

You’re going down each second’s unit

So immeasurably tiny you can’t count it.


Here is where it gets didactic:

Birthdays coming up – don’t hope but have it.

As for vanity, retract it.

That’s it.


Seventy & Eight 10.28.2012/revised 8.27.2017

Birthday Book; Circling Round Vanities II; Birth, Death & In Between II;

Arlene Corwin

A World Full Of Beautiful Songs

There is a world full of beautiful songs

Out there;

Each more sweetly silencing

And bringing forth

More tears than t’other.


Mellifluous as fragrant honey.

Money cannot make or buy it:

Songs so lyrical you cry at



The child, sensitive and innocent

Of harmonies and reading notes

Looks back on songs she learned by rote,

With warmth and ardor.

Learned by heart,

They weren’t hard to memorize.

Their beauty struck a chord

The size of don’t-know-what.


Sweet song or hot,

A taste for this, a taste for that;

It’s music that gave solace,

Reassurance, dancing feet.

World full of song and beat,

Time complete.


There is a world of euphony

And melody

To sing about.


A World Full Of Beautiful Songs 8.25.2017

Vaguely About Music II; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin




Brain, Give Me The Answers

Does this sound too much like prayer?

A little red-faced,

Weakness in my psyche.

Embarrassed ‘cause it’s not like me,

One feels the hypocrite:

I, who stake

My life on ‘God, who makes not one mistake’,

And here I sit,


Asking to change destiny –

At least push it my way.

Shame, shame on me!


I’ve got to wait –

Just like all others.


Reject my druthers,


(I’m poor at that).

Be grateful for the goods I’ve got

(and that includes MyQ

and its capacities))


Nonetheless, addressing you,

Dear self so true,

We have a pact

(And that’s a fact)

So if you will cooperate,

I’ll wait

Until who knows, the whimsicality of fate

Is ripe: propitious, and/or generous

And brain-wise,



Brain, Give Me The Answers 8.24.2017

Pure Nakedness; I Is Always You Is We; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

The Meaning Of Life, What?


Peace, love and happiness.

Three words we miss

In every sense.

  1. a) fail to hit it, fail to get it,

Even though it is the tar-get.

  1. b) We miss it as we’d miss a bus,

The muss of ego messing up, missing us.

  1. c) We miss it as in pine for, yearn for:

Miss in every aspect.


Peace. We don’t e’en know its meaning;

Shunning, running fast away from…

Yet we want it.


Love. And that?

The sex? Caress? Compassion and philanthropy?

Who cares for me and only me?

Love, what? All that?

Yes, probably.


Last, happiness.

Contentment without need for rapture;

Focused in the niceness of the now

No matter how

The outer world appears.

No matter what

Emerges as and from your lonely lot.


The meaning? Socrates:

He knew that he knew nothing.

But his nothing had the ring

Of truth. Though youth

Can’t know it doesn’t know,

The issue stays the same,

Theme worthy of its noble aim:

Life: What? The meaning of?

Peace, happiness and lovely love.

The meaning of its process,

More, patently not less.


The Meaning Of Life: What? 8.24.2017

Circling Round Reality; Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin






When Summer Ends

When summer ends,

The air is strange, the mood estranged,

Winds begin, heat descends,

One wends one’s way

Across a browning lawn

To go back to the city, town.


Winter coming.

Urban living, job or studies,

Plain old washing dishes humming.

Kids in school again.

It could be you relax again.


When summer ends,

Visits, guests and nature over.

Leisure, in so many ways,

But as in everything, the flip side too.


Summer, fall and winter blends

Into one year


As in

Its antecedents.

Life goes on.


When Summer Ends 8.23.2017

Circling Round Nature II:

Arlene Corwin


You Never Know

You never know

What phrase will take you

To a place – what shall we call it:

Your mentality,

The frontal lobe,

The hippocampus,

Heart or soul?

It’s hard to say in words & sentences

Conventionally milked, been said,

And you don’t want to be a part of it:

The hackneyed, trite, cliché, banal –

Repeating news old hat and stale.

You have the need to speak anew,

Speak up in ways that freshen,

And you never know what sparks a notion,

Crumb, soupçon, a healing potion

(oxymoron opportune).


What matters is that it,

It comforts by the letting out,

The routing out

Concealed crypts of knowledge.


You Never Know 8.20.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Revelations Big & Small;

Arlene Corwin




Four Hours A Day

     Four Hours A Day

Four hours a day:

A title to portray

What has become a way –

Of life, of being and transferring

Life’s impressions and opinions –

Most ignored or blurred.


All that happens has an impact.

In the body – though unnoticed.

In the mind – through the times,

And in the case of moi, the rhymes.


Four karmic hours,

Evidence of karma’s powers,

For I had no thought of ever being more than

Life’s beholder; passive, on the sideline,

Witness unescorted by reflection.

Now it’s done and I’ve become

Salted in the brine of verse,

Guided by an inner sunshine that’s a beeline

To the mental universe

Of poetry,

Its balladry.


Effortlessly here I sit,

Mac upon and in the lap

Of luxury;

Passivity has never left me.


Involved in passive ways dynamic

Without taking part in antics

Of the present day,

I spend two, three, four hours in play,

Feel contemporary, up-to-date,

Elated by the process as an inspiration.

Quelle elation!

Quelle sensation!

A gold spun

Of twenty six straightforward letters,

Mixed, homogenized and married,

Occupying hours a day.


Four Hours A Day 8.17.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Revelations Big & Small;

Arlene Corwin



Bemoaning Similes & Metaphors

Bemoaning Similes & Metaphors

(the lack thereof )

I cannot think in similes or metaphors.

I can, but it’s

An artifice.

A gift

I’ve not been left with.

Of course,

I’ve got Thesaurus –

My old pal –

To push me

In the simile





To see,

Their inner eye

Comparing parallels unconsciously –

A gift of gene and DNA –

Overwhelm me.

While I moan about my lack,

They sit with throne and luck

Expressing with an ease,

Anything they damned well please

In metaphors and similes

I lie in bed,

This running through my head.

That’s why it’s here.

Bemoaning Smiles & Metaphors 1.13.2010/8.17.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin


Who Would’a Thunk It?

Who Would’a Thunk It? *

Who would’a thunk it?

Fifteen books

Sliding piecemeal into six…

Other’s bibliographies

Whose credit lists go on and on

In pages worn

By use unceasing.

Here sit I

Noon sun high,

Ablaze with phrase

That turns into (most likely will)

Ideas instilled

With rhyme and substance,

Probing, pressing cortex’ lobe

Gushing, pushing out the job.

Who would’a thunk, in any case,

That it would form the base of hours

Spent each day as child’s play?

(Except that I’m grown up!)

Who would’a thunk it?

Who’da Thunk It? 8.16.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

*Thunk; informal or humorous past and past participle of think.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: