Arlene Corwin Poetry

Doctor: “What can you expect?

You’re eighty-two! Accept it!

Vocal cords, no longer tighten.

Yours will never close again.”

Goodness knows, boy, do I know it!

Unpredictable, quixotic.

Coming, going, throwing

Intonation out the window.

Eighty-two, all soon to be

An eighty- three.

Must Corwin flee because of age?

Flee the stage because of age?

Damn, no!

Today, tomorrow,

She says no to going!

Sings her heart out – when she can.

Songs fantastic; jazzy, cool,

Breaking rule harmonic

For the music and the fun of it.

But voice, alas, hard to control,

Its life so unconnected to the whole.

Bitch pitch, stich with crooked seam;

Bad, sad, how she sorely wants to scream.

She doesn’t.   Giving out the gifts from heaven,

Hearing flaws – now a given.

Focusing

on now and only…

Singing, playing joyfully;

Doing when and how,

She crowns the gig and takes a bow.

^{Gifted But Out Of Tune 10.7.2017}

^{Vaguely About Music II; Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Aging;}

^{Arlene Corwin}