Snakes In Swedish Paradise

Snakes In Swedish Paradise

Snakes in paradise:
I love it.
Not just one –
Two kinds or three.
They come each summer –
All the winter in retreat.
They’re so darned sweet!
A huggorm, copperorm and snok.***

The huggorm can but doesn’t bite.
Just don’t annoy him on his site.
The snok is harmless.
Both so pretty in their tints,
Their hints of tint:
The copper orm my favourite.

How their image ever landed
As a symbol
I don’t understand it.

I tried to rescue one
That was run over.
Oh, I tried.
Oh, I cried.
The copper snake lay in the sun,
Its stunning color quite undone.

Paradise is nice for snakes.
They have their place
In and among the human race.
Let’s not deride this pride of nature
But admire his very fine attire
As he slides and glides, his stature mired
In the myths of danger.
Snakes In Swedish Paradise 5.19.2022 Circling Round Nature; Swedish Book II; Arlene Nover Corwin

*orm means snake.
**huggorm means viper
** snok means snake
***copperorm means copper snake

The Older I Get

The Older I Get

The older I get
The more wet concepts
Become concrete;
Realities to write about,
Grow into realtime and testable corporealities.
Age has its perks.

What once belonged to musing,
Bone and muscle disappearing,
Worry, fearing, body-tearing.
Is now fused to brain-wrought thought.

Old is very many things:
Da da da and wrinklings. tinklings
Sprinklings that live their own life;
Firmed beliefs and small reliefs,
One of which is understanding:
Tolerance and love
Which stand above all former standing.
Things reputed or disputed evened out.

Old is nothing one should shout at:
Nothing to sweat, fret about,
The wisdom compensation ‘nough.
Cough, cough, puff, puff,
Blast off!
Thereafter,
Lift off! ♥︎
The Older I Get 5.18.2022 Circling Round Ageing; Arlene Nover Corwin

The Struggle Between Good & Bad

The Struggle Between Good & Bad

I don’t like to use the words
Evil, vile, devilish;
Don’t want to couple wickedness
With catastrophic, ruinous:
They sound too, too, well, evil.

Weather can be bad, not evil.
People can be bad not hurtful.
One can have the worst intention:
Greedy, lustful, vices seven.
They’s not nice, but devil?
They, you, I have work to do to get to heaven.
We are jerks – each one of us.

To be sure,
There is a struggle to undo,
Say toodle-oo,
Transform the bubble vice to virtue.
House no contempt!
Who ’s exempt?
Don’t be first to throw a stone.
We have unpleasant features of our own
To cure –
To be sure.
The Struggle Between Good & Bad 5.18.2022 I Is always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin

Prosaic

  Prosaic

Inspired, equally ordinary;
Unconventional but everyday;
Interested and interesting,
Willing to be slightly hackneyed.
Poetic and prosaic simultaneously.
Unadorned and unembellished:
That is me –
At least that’s what I want to be.

Using words like yup, ok –
Good old fashioned bad cliché,
I dash ahead with not a doubt inside this head,
So hamstrung this mentality.

My soul concrete
As Brooklyn’s street
(where born and bred)
Aim to communicate
Is all I want –
or ever wanted.

Thus the language is prosaic
Not the academic
Often met.

You bet!
(My dad’s pet phrase)

If there is something you don’t get.
Send me a letter.
I will always try
To clarify,
Clear-speak the best of means and end
To make a friend
Of strangers.
Prosaic 5.17.2022 I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin

Apologia, But

 Apologia,  But…

No politician I,
Peace loving, appreciative,
Like so many, non-activist-ive
Going round my little world a little elf
Developing the Self.

Suddenly I find my mind’s in different mode.
A neutral country’s been attacked,
Civilians killed by torture, rape, brutalities
A brand new fact.
Age-old tactic,
Guns and bullets notwithstanding.

Behind it all, perhaps in front.
A globe is grunting.
Falling, falling,
Some are stalling out of greed’s self-interest.
We may just fail that test
Of world survival.
Then comes Putin’s war as rival.

I, the spiritual and meditative,
Philosophical and art creative
Find myself involved.
God-oriented me
Wants to see
The world revolve:

Sunshine, seasons, myriad reasons
To respect our fellow man;
Love and peace and cease to war –
Because we can!
We can!
Apologia, But 5.16.2022 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Ordinary Sitting-In-The-Sun Summer Poem

Ordinary Sititting-In.the-Sun Summer Poem

Winter slumbers.
Everything alive in summers.
Covid doesn’t thrive in summers.

Sitting here, arms, legs, chest bare;
Cushioned chair, aware of self;
Ant’s shelf the porch and wooden planks –
The whole a bank of happiness.

Blackbirds pecking at the lawn.
Albert Cat is fawning over food potentials,
Spawning dreams of good unmentionables;
Watching, catching, scratching, snatching.

Though they hear his subdued screams,
His reams of sound,
They hang around, pecking the ground.
It’s grand.
The long and short is no one’s hurt.
Whadda day!

They ultimately fly away.
Albert Cat decides to play.
Amusement there for everyone.

Oh, this month – the months to come!
Grass has grown, potatoes sown.
One is warmly left alone
To meditate, create or read.
Summer’s creed fulfilled.

One has waited all the winter
For this banter and the miracle of nature
To occur, concur with frostbit wishes,
Promises and pledges kept
While people slept with sweaters on
And zone by zone
Nature cloned itself.
Ordinary Sitting-In.the-Sun Summer Poem 5.15.2022 Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin

My Grudge Against Death

After seeing two insects halfway up the bathtub – dead. They must have died trying to get out.

My Grudge Against Death

I have a grudge against death.
I’d like to cudgel death to death,
Nudge it to unconsciousness –
Death the smudge on life.
I’m not a judge,
But I’ve a grudge.

I’m sure you all agree.
No one should have to leave
And not come back.

There are some who dodge the question.
I, I bridge this life to force divine,
Its energy a mine of diamonds,
Forging truth and happiness to ripening’s gestation:

Maybe everlasting is too much to ask;
Basking in the breath of living,
Forgiven and forgiving. Oh my!

Grudge is not a nice thing,
But I’m feisty
And the sludge of death
Gives me the right to cry.
My Grudge Against Death 5.10.2022 Birth, Death & In Between II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Things Stop Working

Things Stop Working

I fancy I belong to an alternative existence.
For I cannot stand that things don’t function.
References extremely small,
Annoyances without an unction.

Clocks and watches that stop running.
Printers that no longer print,
Quit at quite un-stunning times.
I use these things so when suddenly and rapidly
They’re shirking and no longer going,
Printing out or whatsoever they’ve been told to:
Go tick tock, sprints slowed to zero.

It drives me nuts for all my buts,
For labor, by the sweat of brow
Piles miles up, waiting, while the bonkers conquers.

Supposing all the power sours
And my works of art, my multi-oeuvre
Can’t be shared;
Bared or cared for globally.
Tossed into karma’s garbage can.
Opus lost. Oh, damn!

Things stop working in the murky circus of life’s cycles.
(Bicycles as well.)
Things Stop Working 5.10.2019/Revised5.10.2022 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Gratitude Continues

     Gratitude Unending

Have I said this before?
It seems to be renewed:
Yes, gratitude revered,

Fresh and vibrant each new time.
Occurring on this very morn:
A tv interview reminder.

And me reminded once again
How very grateful I have been
Each growing day
That I get Comments, Likes and Loves…
All signs that make the day to grow,
And me also.

Deep and philosophic, funny,
Reactions and replies – ne’er an insult.
All the Facebook world consulted:
Asis, Europe USA…
People who I’ve never met
Saying they’ve been wired, taught;
The whole a sire-ing of poets everywhere.
Who could wish for more?

And compliments and homages!
Flattery, good wishes, honeyed words
That push one further.
Given every chance to air,
Think through the wildest,
The most varied, childish themes;
Freedom to the intellect and dream
So limited as only I know that they are;
A chance to change the form
Develop rhyme,
To find my style,
While all the while
Sitting, pecking, tapping, keys.
How pleased I am
To get this chance
To have newly made-up dance
With you.
A glimpse and glance at gratitude.
Gratitude Continues 5 10.2022 Pure Nakedness II; Circling Round Everything; Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Gone

   Gone

This, a non-important
Yet essential thought:
Millions being bombed to death:
Gone in depth. In breath.
But only TV numbers mentioned on
The media.
Where is sympathy,
The empathy?
Empty as one well can see.
I don’t imply indifference,
But ignor-ance to the -nth degree.

Ukraine War
Is more than
Just a Russian thing.
It is the killing
Of the conscious, feeling and reactive being.
It’s the loss of future genius,
Future talent,
Future global gifts.
It’s blood and pain.

Yes, I complain.
Complain when
Features,
Animal, plant, human creatures
Are destroyed.
Toyed with for no patent reason –
Only blatant and outlandish reasons.

Concocted by some mad dictator and orator
Living in a crater of deception –
Probably his own.

Gone is over.
Gone’s no more.
Six feet under.
Gone is fallen, past, asunder.
Gone is done with.

I complain.
For what is slain
and who is slain.
For all the pain they’ve undergone
For all the pinning hopes on high.
Statistics can but signify.
Gone 5.8.2022 War Book; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Nover Corwin

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