Arlene Corwin Poetry

It may be right to be ‘a little mad’.  

         Flawed

Listening to Thelonius Monk.

(Give him a try –

If you haven’t already)

I myself am sunk

In heaven.

(or is it ‘raised’)

Anything for a rhyme

Anytime.)

Ouch!

Anyway, there’s genius

In being flawed:

In honesty, in bravery –

Wrong notes,

Strong, short, long notes;

Flatted fifths, half-tones the chord;

Finger placement – absurd.

Who can be bored!

Who cares?

He dares.

Stares into space,

Jumps up and down,

No smile, no frown –

He plays his junk,

Always a Monk – Thelonius..

And so I sit in pillowed bed,

Caffeinated (to my toes and head),

Cogitating.

Letting, simply letting…

Waiting, writing

With an honesty and spunk (see Monk, sunk, junk)

Flawed to the gills.

Hmm, sills, bills, chills, kills…hmm.

 ^{Flawed 11.19.2017}

^{A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Vaguely About Music II;}

^{Arlene Corwin}