The Perfect Egg

                 The Perfect Egg

The perfect egg came to my room today –

As you’d expect, on breakfast tray.

Accompanied by perfect bread toasted just right,

Blue cheese topping with slight melting,

Coffee uber- lightly milky:

Every bit of breakfast silky.

 

Back egg:

White hardest ‘neath the shell,

As it approached the middle, well,

It turned to something creamier

Less firm, protein-ier,

Approaching yolk, a golden such

Still warm and loose (but not too much);

An egg where nothing jarred the senses;

White not phlegm-y, yolk not hard,

Each molecule a bard

That spoke of poetry and vitamins,

Lecithin – pure nourishment.

 

To s-egg-ue into finish:

Thank you rooster, thank you hen;

Thank you them again, again.

Thank you he who cooked and brought you;

Me, whose morning hunger sought you.

He, whose chemistry had wrought you;

Thanks to all those mental banks

Inside providing all these thanks

For nothing but a perfect little egg: the perfect egg.

The Perfect Egg 1.30.2018 Revelations Big & Small; Small Stories Book; Arlene Corwin

 

The Great Lover

         The Great Lover

The great lover:

Quiet, yet beneath a furnace;

Passion without fuss.

The greatest plus!

How can one explain it?

Concentrated, in the moment,

Expectations nil, from self or other;

Blend of lover and of brother.

How can one describe it?

Mind not pushing, body rushing,

Or conversely,

Mind not rushing, body pushing.

Blend of observation and involvement;

Participation all the way,

One might say, creation;

Jazz improvisation, for,

What happens happens.

This great lover is creative,

Not dependent on a pattern,

Yet there is one –

Never monochrome but comfortable like home.

Reader, do you follow?

Do I reach you?

I’m not boasting out of vanity,

But out of joy.  Oh boy!

I’ve got him.

 The Great Lover 1.27.2018 Love Relationships II; Circling Round Eros II; Arlene Corwin

 

It Rules The Planet: Nature

         It Rules The Planet

It rules the planet, schools the planet,

Still we don’t take seriously

Storm and earthquake, flood and rain,

Temperature and ocean size,

Human death and insect death,

Animal and fauna death,

Heat waves, all the waves,

Attempting step by step

To step on it,

Then conquer it.

How idiotic!

Wars continue.

 

Thinking that the cyclones, floods,

The sweep of muds, the slides and thuds.

Containers, trucks,

The heaviest of objects turned,

And then the fires, people burned

And buried

Under forces too complex to list.

Category that and this,

Numbers measuring the forces.

Cars on roofs, numberless losses;

Categories three, four, five,

Searches for the people live, the few survived.

And still the wars.

 

Unpredictable the changes.

Some think they have a wealth of time.

Changes in intensity, they stick around through lava lime;

Stubbornly they stay and die.

Some say we’ve learned a lesson.

Experts say it will get worse.

It the curse of global warmings.

Non-believers like D. Trump play golf through stormings.

There will be repeated more to come.

Volcanic heat that lies below,

And some don’t seem to care or know,

Which (that) alone can blow the flow

As wars and hate

Accumulate.

 

It rules the planet.

Still we do not seriously

Change our path.

* 1.23.2018 Horrifying coincidence; day after this is written there is a 7.9 earthquake in the Alaskan Gulf.

It Rules The Planet 1.22.2018 Circling Round Nature II; Our Times, Our Culture II; War Book II; Arlene Corwin

 

Pain of Place

        Pain Of Place

We were happy or we weren’t.

Blended feelings formed the most;

College, restaurant, bookshop, church,

Street, park, architecture host

To chunks and bits of searching,

Forming eyes of yesterday.

Covered market, cups of tea,

Open market on a Wednesday,

Stalls of veggies, jewelry;

Child to school and child picked up,

The walking to, the walking back,

The elder tree we plucked, hands cupped,

While counted blocks betrayed a lack

Of some fulfillment. What the target?

Surely not the streets and market.

Not the people either, nor

The daily passing through home’s door.

Gone. But pictures still remain.

And with the pictures tints of pain.

Of place that’s not the face,

Not company.

The place acts independently,

Its energy “the spirit of…”

Its colors move.

Algos: pain.

Nostos: going home again.

Sweet nostalgia’s pull is ‘bull’.

Place may frame the pre-ordained;

Memory’s the game pre-pained.

Twists and lists: a dream.

Place and act, smell and sound:

Mind boundaries.

Mostly, we were happy or we weren’t.

 

 

Tansformong A Bad Poem Into A Good Poem

Transforming A Bad Poem Into A Good Poem

       (tinkering & fooling ‘round)

It may take days, months, years:

You tinker.

That’s the key.

To definitely not linger,

But go ‘way, come back, go on

To see with psychic opticons

(my own construct-ee-on) a vision

Of’ creative options,

Freedom new,

A fooling ‘round that’s new for you –

And you are new and changed a little;

Flexible, unbrittle-ized,

(another word vocabul-ized)

A new-sized you

Wherein you see the tool in all,

And all’s a tool.

You’ve fooled around

Just as I’ve done

With word and sound,

And lo, a sound and solid poem transformed

From

Bad to good.

 

PS

With eyes revitalized

You’ve seen creative possibilities that revolutionize…

You are one might say, well revised

Wherein you see life as a tool

To take the mundane to the blissful.

Transforming A Bad Poem To A Good Poem 7.6.2016/8.19.2016 Revised 1.18.2018 Definitely Didactic; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Corwin

  

There Is A You That’s Only You

There Is A You That’s Only You

There is a You that’s only you

And no one else:

The meditative point’s dynamic

Force that stimulates all progress;

Within the system You or process.

You the core, nub, bottom line:

You without a fine distinction.

 

There is a Cause that’s cause

And nothing, nowhere else.

For some an easy goal,

Even a means of solid gold.

 

The point of points is to unite

The You that’s only you with Cause,

Invisible, one might

Proclaim invincible.

 

So let us start with you, your tool:

Arms, legs, trunk, head

Inside of which the trillion cells

(More than the stars, the galaxy’s as well)

Which make up I and All Q that is you.

 

Why do you think they’re there?

To share with others, naturally,

But to evolve to unity:

A two in one,

(or if you’re into Trinity

Then three…)

 

To make the story short,

Wise thinkers, seers over all the planet

Have perceived pragmatically

Two ends:

To find the You that’s only you;

To get into

The Cause that’s root.

After which you’re through

To all that is and true.

The end.

There Is A You That’s Only You 1.9.2018 To The Child Mystic II; Revelations Big & Small; Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jazz: I Heal

A jazz musician myself, I feel this strongly.

         Jazz: I Heal

I am jazz. I heal the soul

Of player – and of listener.

I, spontaneous, create a whole

From themes, small tunes,

Two bars, small strains…

I add to brain’s complexity.

I give the ear holistically simplicity,

The hearer symbiosis.

 

I am jazz, a riff.

The opposite of stiff,

Flexibility personified,

I move without, within a chord.

I must be heard to be appreciated.

Played to be created.

I love to share my air

And air my song.

I can’t go wrong –

From Dixie, swing to bebop,

I change with the times that show up,

For, as jazz, I’m real,

And I heal.

Jazz: I Heal 1.8.2018 Vaguely About Music II; Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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