Faith Is A Chemical Dynamic 1995

           Faith Is A Chemical Dynamic

Faith is a chemical dynamic

Affecting cells, making them fresh:

(The celestial and flesh)

Not a dogma, cant –

More pledge, a pact;

The brain engrained in wish and want

With roots spread out in waiting

For a door to open wide,

And you a bride inside.

Faith sanctifies.

It unifies.

It systematizes without system,

Sees the thread in things uncommon,

Making fractions into one:

It always gives an added power,

Energy beyond the hour;

Puts a slant on everything,

(Which is its strength and shortcoming.)

You never go beyond its vision,

Never get beyond its zone.

No clever man or master plan

Or great endeavor pulls the lever.

In itself a friendly law,

It is specific to your wishes.

Faith is bound by its tradition.

Nothing great can be erected,

Nothing lasting be affected.

Leave the hills, reach for the stars:

Faith is chemically dynamic.


Faith Is A Chemical Dynamic 95.7.17 Nature Of & In Reality; To the Child Mystic;

Arlene  Corwin








Covering The Arguments 1995

            Covering The Arguments

What does it do

To the personal you

If I blaspheme or blast off?

Do you think that God minds,

Is insulted by minds that are blind?

God is bigger than that.

He laughs at the ill-behaved brat

‘Cause He loves a good joke.

He loves the whole earth

While he waits for us patiently birth after birth.

He’s such a nice bloke

You can talk to Him any which way that you feel:

Feeling is only like smoke.

©Covering The Arguments 95.2.24/05.4.23

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin




All At The Same Time 1995

          All At The Same Time

I like to start the day with coffee:

Half black power, half au lait,

Turn on the Beeb, begin a poem.

Taking down a favorite tome-

A little read – I clean the bedroom,

Roam downstairs and get involved.

The menu solved, I wipe the floor

Then jump-rump to piano where

I sit, playing a tune or four.

Go back and start a bread. Then yoga

In a toga or a sweat suit,

Standing on one foot I eat a fruit

Then fetch the radio and go outside

To clip a hedge

And while in motion find I dredge

A title, line, a word or two

From deep within the conscious. Whew!

I saunter back because I’m haunted

By the drive to write it up,

So then, undaunted, drink another cup

(I know it’s bad) of caffeined brew.

(It’s such a pleasant thing to do).

Then turning art toward starting lunch,

Poetic hunch aside, I stretch –

A bit more yoga. Oh, the post:

Walk up the road –four hundred meters.

Smell the air. What could be sweeter?

Well, that’s taken care of most.

It’s flame October, mushrooms wanting to be picked.

I’ve time to rove o’er hill and ditch, bog and moss.

I’ve no success.

Through trudge and brook and mushroom book

I know no longer where to look

And bear my bucket home again, no worse for wear,

Free from care, lungs filled with air.

Resuming chores, my song, my rhyme,

My coffee, yoga – ah, it’s time

To greet my husband, feed the cat,

Giving all my warmth to that.

Feeding husband, cat and me – triple-sided chat for three –

I fall from grace and watch TV

Awhile, then go to bed and read –

Perchance to sleep, to dream – or maybe

Stand ten minutes on my head,

Tell God I want to do His will,

And then at twelve, lie quite, quite still.

©All At The Same Time 95.10.31

Circling Round Nature; Circling Round Woman; Our Times, Our Culture; Coffee Book;

Arlene Corwin


A Serious Artist 1995

           A Serious Artist

A serious writer writes daily – or not.

A serious painter paints daily – or not.

A serious painter or singer or player

Paints, sings, plays, takes part

In the art of his heart,

©A Serious Artist 95.6.5

The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin


The heart of his art.

Whether doing or gazing

Or lazing about

With his snout in a book,

His foot in a brook.

If motionless days upon end,

Still he is no schnook,

For in rest is a growth, in stillness a fount,

An upward intention the senses can mount.

Without any force is how art forces through,

Through veins that the gods have imbued

With vitality, gifts and endurance.

Art is endurance.

But there’s no insurance;

An artist is never secure.

In a way, he is pure.

But the gift is to ride out the day

And then stay.

Jazz Without Whiskey 1995

             Jazz Without Whiskey

Jazz without whiskey, jazz without smoke

Would sound to the masses like some kind of joke.

Jazz without whiskey might bring in more folk

But somehow or other, it’s got itself yoked

To bourbon and rye, and the need to get high.

Players of jazz are usually broke,

(There’s just no respect, and neglect is the problem.)

Playing in pokey, cheap holes-in-the-wall

Where the upright’s un-tuned (if there is one at all),

Prices are high, people are drunk,

And most of the listeners think jazz is bunk;

Strange situation this! Something’s gone wrong.

The wonder is that it continues to change – in the song

And the structure – and never goes under.

But whiskey’s okay if the drinker stays calm –

Receptive and quiet while player plays on.

And if there’s applause at the end it’s a balm.

But smoke! There’s an enemy hell bent on slaying

The public, the player. In short, life aborted

By one cigarette times a hundred,

Times three hundred sixty-five unnumbered darts.

The issue is, where does the yearning

Young jazzer finds outlet, sand for the grit

In his oyster that strives for its pearl,

Bosses who care, who have taste and right wit.

(Not the churlish and burly who’ll screw any girl,

Whose aim is the buck sans the need to take part

In the needs of the player to foster his art.)?

Players rise up and open your bidding!

Break off the shackles! Well, whom am I kidding?

I’m timid, and not an example

To take you the distance to getting your due;

But I have ideals; experience too.

Maybe they’d blend to produce the right end

If there were one loner to start a new trend.

It takes balls.

© Jazz Without Whiskey 5.10.1995 Vaguely About Music; Defiant Doggerel;   Arlene Corwin



Inventory 1995


Nothing is as it appears:

The lifting skin,

The lips that thin;

The whistle lines,

The mustache new, dark, fine;

The yellowed teeth,

The stomach fat –

(Unexpected that!)

The armpits bare where there was hair,

The fifi too.

What can you do!

Toenails ridged,

Foot-skin thicker,

Knuckles knotty –

More like wicker;

Long sight shorter, short sight longer:

So confusing- can’t be wrong-er.

When nature has its way with one,

There’s nothing you can say

To make the changes sound like fun.

What Nature wants to play it plays.

There’s nothing to be done.

Yet, nothing is as it appears:

Decaying cells, clear-counted years –

Speeding by as if collusion

Sets coordination’s force. It’s all illusion!

Don’t’ ask why and don’t ask how,

But if you look inside the ‘now’

Inside the mind – it’s you yourself.

It feels exactly as it did when


Or twelve or thirty- two.

There’s nothing going forward there,

As if this time stuff were hot air.

The moment’s now is ageless – fair.

was you and you were two 

©Inventory 95.3.14

Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Vanities; Circling Round Woman;

Circling Round Wrinkles; I Is Always You Is We; Revelations Big & Small;

Arlene Corwin












Inclusive Exclusive 1995

               Inclusive Exclusive

I heard them talking.

Back and forth they talked about gout universal;

Secular society’s exclusion of the concept ‘evil’.

Focusing on genocide – race killing pride –

They harkened back to World War Two –

To Pole, gay, Gypsy, Marxist, Jew –

When one mustachioed-crazed face

Decided to kill of a race that never even was a race.

“How does it come about, they asked.

-And how can we prevent it?

There was rabbi, priest from West and East.

“How can we kill the killing beast,

Turn killing to a feast and peace?”

They were erudite all right. Not right, bur erudite.

One said that we must teach the whelps. Education is what helps.

One said that we can’t burn the seed, so punish those that do the deed,

Chase the villains, make them bleed –

Justice must be served and seen. The cause was man alone.

But where was God, I heard me groan.

The priest and rabbi, smart but green,

-Oh, God was there, but cause was man.

The cause was man?

How can the cause be man when God is absoluter than…

First cause and seed, the first split second all decreed.

All that follows fulfills need.

So plainful clear to me, it followed as the night the day

That even murdered masses stay

Within the scope of God’s good meaning.

If God is and still they die,

There’s meaning somewhere in the sky

And meaning must be dying’s seeming,

Any other meaning dreaming.

Back to rabbi and to priest:

Back and forth they sought solutions.

I could see a key, a yeast

Which, when expanding, chokes pollutions:

Leave the club that says “exclusive”.

Join the club that says “inclusive.

It’s not easy not to hate, include the yids,

The blacks, the gays; to teach yourself and teach the kids.

But it’s the gate. We are the geno- of the –cide.

Try taking God on this queer ride.

A good way to begin; to make a circle drawing in

Someone whose eye you catch,

Who chances near, who seeks your ear,

Who forms the batch of living skin

That happens to fall in your patch.

Include the wretch you are, as well.

Tell, yell and ring this bell.

To make a heaven out of hell, include!


©Inclusive/Exclusive 95.5.23 Definitely Didactic; Our Times, Our Culture;  Arlene Corwin

I’m Willing To Share 1995

          I’m Willing To Share

I’m willing to share my ego – its faults,

Revealing – to anyone – all that I find,

Thinking that someone who willingly vaults

Over worldly assaults, attractive youth’s glue,

Clinging and binding itself to truth’s glue,

Perceiving her faults as they are,

And watching as scar

Becomes scabbing and peeling then healing,

As she becomes swan,

And sharing the methods stumbled upon –

(Process transmittable to those in pain/

Have erred on my plane -)

Those are the things that I’m willing to share

Because I surmised long ago, it helps friend, it helps foe,

And those to whom I owe nothing in particular.

©I’m Willing To Share 5.30.1995 I Is Always You Is We; Pure Nakedness; Arlene Corwin



If You Read Without Reflecting 1995

           If You Read Without Reflecting
If you read without reflecting,
All you have is empty eyes.
 If you read without reflecting,
 There’s small chance of getting wise:
There’s no message to send on.
Without message, wisdom
Has no chance to siphon down
From intellect to arms and legs,
Into the dregs of living.
What you read you need to chew.
If you knew
How happy you could be –
And great
(You’re thinking I exaggerate)
How the page
Conceals the sage,
You’d stop eye from flitting
Like a skittish kitten. It’s a
Form of concentration
That can turn to contemplation,
But it needs assimilation,
News and information;
Even gossip can reveal.








©If You Read Without Reflecting 3.9.1995
The Processes: Creative,Thinking, Meditative; Arlene Corwin

I’d Never Diddle You 1995

         I’d Never Diddle You

When working in tandem with dharma,

A thing

W ill show up by chance, paralleling, bolstering.

(see I Ching);

A natural augur; take note how benign.

For noticing is in itself a good sign.

© I’d Never Diddle You 12.18.1995 To The Child Mystic; Nature In & Of Reality; Arlene Corwin


Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries

%d bloggers like this: