Just thinking…🧘‍♀️


Is it cheerfulness or merriment?
Exhilaration, ecstasy?
Jubilation, feeling high,
Well-nigh euphoria?
And do you ever think about it?

I myself think it is a quiet;
And a state of non-expecting;
Acting out of one’s own nature
Without stature in our sites.

Restfulness on such a level
That no matter what the action or pursuit
There is well-being free of evil and upheaval,
Not one tendency to cavil.*
Un-bedeviled by claimed rivals:
Made-up or contrived.

Are you happy?
Do you fit the happy pattern?
Or do days feel rotten,
Best forgotten, flat or flattened.

Always worth a word or two
Through verse and to
Each one of you.
Happiness is twice as nice
As un- or not-
And worth the aim
Of talking ‘bout.

How Do You Define Happiness? 3.20.2019 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Circling Round Everything Again; Arlene Nover Corwin
*cavil: make petty or unnecessary objections: complain; grumble; find fault with;


Do you ever feel like or identify with so and so?

Sometimes Like Whitman✍️

Like Whitman, I love women, men,
Children, cats, dogs, birds, ants, even
Flies, bees, wasps – the things that bite
By day or night –
That come and go
As in the ego
Rlsing like a queen –
Pushy, domineering,
And between a humble nun.
Ego’s power’s a sneaky one;
Self-ness changing hour by hour,
Self-less self-ness into -ish-ness.
Sometimes I’m like Whitman:
Full of fullness or
A structure frail and faulty.

Sometimes Like Whitman 3.18.2015 revised 3.18.2019 Pure Nakedness; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Corwin Nover

The Meaning Of It All: a race that is no race

     This was inspired by my friend Ulf who takes umbrage at my predisposition for rhyme and meter   which he interprets as weakness.  You ought to write prose, says he.       

  The Meaning Of It All: a race that is no race

                      (a poet speaks)

I may never be ‘streamed’,

(the modern stamp of popularity)

No theme alike in all I write,

For all I write is as diverse as hours in the day,

The changes taking place within the mind

With just one cup of of coffee 

Or the viewing of a tragedy

On a ubiquitous TV.

Yet, with eyes to see

There is consistency, 

A constant that is, let us say, a me,

A thread of personality,

Of pity for the way of, shall we say, humanity.

A love for the reality of life,

A search for its illusions,

And when seeing them,  

A reaching for the answers.  

And then the need to write them out;

A kind of scientific paper never absolute per se, 

But sure there is a key

Even to death’s mystery

Which still eludes the me.

Wherefrom come this need to share?

Not fame, not name

Though they are protons in the atom’s lair.

No, the need lies deeper than the gene or cell.

A part of creativity and tendency to feel well.

A part of love that satisfies the giver

Just as much as it might satisfy receiver.

Desire’s hope gets in the way.

A hinder to analysis and objectivity.

Hope’s desire is the night to day.

Thus verse instead of prose.

One bouquet instead of one sweet aromatic rose.

Thus a freedom formed from discipline, revision;

Tiring and emptying until a moment’s inspiration 

Jostles for first place:

A race that’s is no race.

The Meaning Of It All: a race that is no race 3.17.2019 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

Trying To Manipulate Vanity

 Once again I’m sending this out to a) friends I’m seldom in touch with, b)  people I only meet on my email site who I suspect are interested or touched by this topic, c) friends who don’t have Facebook or never look at my site Arlene Corwin Poetry both .com and net, d) people I’m fond of who have Facebook but who anyway, I like to keep in personal touch with.  In other words,  all kinds of relationships I want to stay in reach out to.  
  As for the poem, I love it.  (You now how it is with a new baby).  That’s why I’m sending it at all.  Besides which, vanity, facial makeup or not, affects us all, and we shouldn’t be fooled by it.  It’s not a good thing.


When putting on my makeup, which I like to do each day,
I dedicate it all to You so far away yet here to stay.
Knowing, hoping, speculating on this abstract energy –
A complicated thing to clarify.
I’ll try:
There it sits, this ego-my;
Nothing good or bad – just my.

When it turns into a vanity
It sets illusionary dreams to task,
Asking them
If facial beauty
Has a value or a duty.
Part of me says “No, of course not.
Facial looks will die and rot
Just like the rest of you”.

And still I do not view
The process with disdain,
But daily put on liner, lipstick,
Every stroke and trick
A sense of look and balance;
Not too thin and absolutely not too thick,
Playing ‘round with all that paint
As if I had an artist’s talent.

In the end with all that mastery,
Dedicating it to You (a What or Who I cannot govern),
I define it as a means to grow into
A person who likes beauty for the sake of beauty;
Trying to manipulate a quality
Which at worst’s a waste, at best’s a fancy.

Trying To Manipulate Vanity 3.16.2019 Circling Round Vanities II; Found On Scraps; Arlene Nover Corwin

True Caffeinated Confessions

One of my silly ones. But I love it – love it enough to have spent the time revising i.e. re-working, having stumbled upon it not half an hour ago.

(one day some coffee company is going to give me a noble prize for all the eulogising poetry I’ve written to it)
You all know how one just loves one’s morning cup of coffee! 😜


When I’m high,
And morning cuppa’s done the trick,
Slow-ish thyroid smart and quickened,
Then I start;
Choices clear, mind too,
Arms, legs, all body knowing
What to do
And even how to do it.h
‘High’ sounds utterly,
So totally, so wholly, so taboo it’s
Clearly hyperbolic overkill
To nearly blame it, dearly name it
The result of coffee.

Back to diplomatic understatement:
When I’m high and un-befuddled,
Elevated in an un-bemuddled way,
In optimal condition where
I share in
Energies that pick and choose
So’s not to lose a time so prime.
The wonder is,
The mind, which picks and clicks,
Multi-tasking, seeding shortcuts,
Riotous new recipes,
Old elements, new mergers.
Even quiet and no-fuss ideas
From made-up phrases that proliferate.
Select and nominate –
High’s amazing!
And it only takes one cup of coffee to a-raise it.
Thus I praise it!
In conclusion:

If there’s been collusion between you and me,
And on some level you agree
I’ve reached the goal of vers-itry,
And these one hundred ninety really odd,
God given words were worth it;
Worth the birth pains and the plod.

True Confessions: When I’m High 3.12.2018 Revised3.11.2019 A Sense of The Ridiculous II; Coffee Book II; Arlene Corwin

Two Things Operating

Two Things Operating 🧘‍♀️

There are two things operating both at once.
The never-ending cosmic law,
The underlying core
In motion till the end of time
Working all things out,
Working in you –
Which is all that counts.

One which you cannot make sense of
All except for choices made, results thereof.
Acceptance and rejection for the this and that
Which leads us to life-meant-to- be: peace, beauty, love.

Since it is law inherent in the way of things,
To find if for yourself
(a thing to do
If you’re to
Stop life’s sad self-doubts)
The best is to say no to fear,
Yes or no to choice most near,
Hear the voices in your ear
And trust the fairy godmother
Behind that urge.
You will eventually purge uncertainty.

You’ve a microscope inside you.
You’re a Nobel Prize researcher
Never knowing when your very own antibiotic
Will show up – fortuitously, accidentally,
By a fluke and serendipitously.*

Two Things Operating 3.5.2019 Definitely Didactic II; Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

*serendipity; If you don’t know the word, it is a word worth looking up, it is a word of promise.
The same goes for ‘fluke’.

To The Doctor Who Examines Me

I wrote this in 2002, revised and renewed it in 2004. It is the kind of subject that has no ending for all that is still wrong and all that is yet to be done. It is now 2019. My former doctor has it framed and on the wall.

To The Doctor Who Examines Me👨‍🔬

I was thinking that this body is a unit, and
If you don’t see a pattern
In the portions that go wrong
Then perhaps you’re sitting in a chair
To which you don’t belong:
Too tired, young or not attentive.

How I wish you’d see all symptoms
As an ocean bowl,
With rivulets connecting whole
To dams and sluices where the juices,
Pebbles, stones are formed within,
All kith and kin to one another.
It is plain that pain or pressure
Down a leg has a connection to the hip,
The pelvis, stomach, large intestine. Let’s not skip
The knuckle bumps, hard private lumps
With their connection to the rest:
Cholesterol and stressed out parts
In hearts not happy pumping.

Always working to your best.
To fix a system that will not dissect –
One hard to see: a one-in-many,
And God knows hard diagnosed.

Yet it is your job to cure,
Find sense, be sure—which can’t be done
Unless you see the parts-in-one
Which, failing to do
Means you’re still too
Young and blind,
Or just not paying mind
Enough attention.

To The Doctor Who Examines /refined version 3.10.2019 Birth, Death & Death III; Our Times, Our Culture II; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Nover Corwin

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