The Paradox Of Being A Homebody

      The Paradox Of Being A Homebody

When I’m away I’m happy to come home.
When guests are here, I’m happy when they’ve gone.
Am I unusual, or are we all?
Is it instinctive that we seek the hole
Of safety’s ritual
And sameness’ creativity?

I do love people and humanity,
Yet love the monastery of the home.
I could produce a tome of praise,
A non-surprising poem to trace
The hundred reasons why
One is a homebody,
A being without needless world activity
From reasons filled with positivity.

The very stopping of the need to chat,
To cook, to think about that others eat
Meets every underlying good.
There’s something beautiful in solitude.
And yet we’re social fireworks without a bit of coaxing.
Therein lies the paradox!
The Paradox Of Being A Homebody 7.6.2018 Revelations Big & Small;Arlene Nover Corwin

What Would I Do Without You/Mind So Connected To The Word

What Would I Do Without You, Or Scribbling in the Car

What would I do without you lexicon?
What would I do without you dictionary and thesaurus,
Rhyming book to rhyme with -saurus: chorus, porous, e’en papyrus if it fits?
Wiki’s ‘cyclopedia?
Little things that make me big
Diverse languages that make me ‘pigg’*
So much I would not do without;
And isn’t that one little thing that life’s about!

*pigg is Swedish for lively, spirited

Mind So Connected To The Word

Mind so connected to the word,
I would think
Without a varied herd of word
T’would shrink.

Minimised it atrophies.
Bereft of play become cliche
As cliche washes away
From boredom’s lack to stimulateon.
So connected, intellected
Is the mind to word.
What Would I Do Without You…Mind So Connected To The Word 7.19.2018 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Teaching Yoga

Teaching Yoga🤔🧘‍♀️✍️

When you know the system
You don’t think about the names.
You just ‘do’ the system.
Knitters knitting by TV
Are counting automatically,
Not thinking perle knit, perle. Pianists
Do not think C major
When they play C major.
They just know and they just do.
They say Turner lost his spelling,
Photographically remembering
Every scene, each hue.
One ‘does’,
When as the Swedish saying goes,
The system’s “in the spine”.

As for the name of God
You can use nomenclature at the start,
But when system’s shrine
Is in the spine,
Just let it, be it, ‘do’ it.

Teaching Yoga 6.7.2014/revised&finished7.19.2018Circling Round Yoga II; God Book II; Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin

World On Fire

I watch and read and, and and…shocked and horrified and helpless.
World On Fire🤔✍️🌋🏜️🏝️
 
Utterly apocryphal, inconceivable.
Everything you’ve ever read
In scripture this and scripture that –
Logicality with unbelievability at its side.
Available to men and women who have understood
The chains of time.
(Think of anytime you’ve ever had an aha moment,
Revelation).
These were ever-lations.
 
Anyway, in simple language
One can only say,
The chain of progress
Is a process of antitheses:
The obverse and the inverse
Of reality, all or any..
 
Now a world with too much rain
And floods therefrom
Has droughts and fires,
Facts and liars
All around the globe.
 
As usual one sees TV,
Its eyeballed views, the daily news,
Ruination, misadventure instantaneous to us.
Catastrophe pluralis.
I’m tired of lists and their statistics.
You know, friend and reader you,
There’s absolutely nothing new.
 
I’m almost geared up and prepared.
But almost is but host to finish.
Goal still niched, unreached but there.
 
In the meantime, there are places where
You’d ne’er dare visit
‘Cause the world’s on fire –
Is it?
Almost.
World On Fire 7.18.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin

It’s Only A Game

Hello everyone. it’s a terrible withdrawal when your computer goes down. Have you noticed? Here I am happily once again, new computer, new and timely poem called “It’s Only A Game”.
It’s the last day of the World Soccer Championship, and I wrote this days ago. But synchronistically, it, my new computer, the poem: all more or less coming at the same time.
Here:
            It’s Only A Game✍️⛹️‍♂️
 
The final days, public in hysteria
Uniting yet inciting.
They call it fervour,
Splitting apart the mind and heart
Of those disposed.
Collective but not necessarily reflective,
A fan not always fantastic but fanatic.
 
July, two thousand eighteen.
All the world’s a TV screen.
Football and the ball is round;
Teams running, bounding
On a spree
To reach a goal that no goal-ee
Can foil.
 
For 90 minutes folk will weep or cheer
Or anger.
Men will fall, miss the ball,
Cards of red or cards of yellow
Referred by referee to tell all
Players who will bellow at the other fellow…
 
While one side of the stadium’s in tears,
Air defiant, the other cheers,
 
Some will go their way in stillness,
Some will go in ´killing-ness`.
 
It is a game only,
Not World War ´bloody` Three.
No one has died.
Two teams have played their best with pride.
Life carries on without a particle of shame.
It is, will always be a game.
 
Only A Game 7.15.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Good Yoga

Just to make your day:🧘‍♀️✍️🌞
Good Yoga

Good yoga lies in details; yes,
The insignificant:
Minutiae;
Stuff you never pay attention to,
To which you never pay attention.

You, the organism
That consists
Of teeny, tiny-nesses-es,
Each of which you must detect.
It’s you – why not?
You are the only you you’ve got;
You’re what
You’re made of,
What you’re based on.
You have nothing better than
To know it
In its wholeness-parts:
Abilities and limitations,
Weaknesses and strengths:
Its opposites.
Good yoga:
Everything you do.

Good Yoga 2.26.2013 Circling Round Yoga; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin

She Dry, He Soft

In these days of online conservatism, I dare not publish what-I-think-is a sweet and loving poem.  Of course, I won’t hesitate to put it into one of three books (see bottom of poem), since I consider it a good poem in itself and an observation worth the art.  Hope you agree.

 

       She Dry, He Soft

 

She dry, he soft.

They hold aloft romance and passion.

Does not passion pass on?

And what stance does romance take

When body fails?  Does one fake?

The keys are there in every action:

Every whispered word, touch, clutch.

Intensity may modify.  

Who needs to reach the sky each twinkling of an eye?

Friendship’s warmth and harmony

Lie at the heart of passion’s key,

And if they go, so will the rest.

At best, what’s left but superficiality –

A shell – and crusty one at that,

Destined in the upshot to fall flat.

She dry, he soft, not often reaching Everest,

Yet sex, oh yes, the very best,

Back and forth in all its warmth.

Superlative

In giving.

She Was Dry, He Was Soft 7.1.2018 Circling Round Aging; Eros Ii; Love Relationships II;

 

 

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