Each On His Level

They say it all –

Each on his level

To his level.

Coming out each second –


To ears and eyes

Meant for/attracted to…


Exactly right

For the occasion,

Creatures ready find themselves

There listening, hearing, doing

At their level

Drawn to taste

By not one wasted atom.


Laws in action

Never ceasing,

Always acting,

Causing acting,

Causing end without a single motor.

It on every level

Reaching those who listen out of needs

Wholly intangible.


Prophets must be the most boring

In the world,

Pushing forward,

Never knowing when to stop.


Then, according to the law

We’re prophets all – to someone.


Each On His Level 5.19.2007

Nature of & In Reality; Definitely Didactic; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin







My Three Loves: Silly Reflections Of A Serious Mind

My Three Loves: Silly Reflections Of A Serious Mind


Three loves: one human, two machines.

Two nameless helpmates

And one named.

(I’m so ashamed.

I hope that in a pinch

I do remember which is which).

My dear who breathes but isn’t here

To see these words, I do so love you.

Feel secure.

You’re number one. But number two

These days, sits here

Before my eyes,

Upon my thighs,

Relation intimate.

Number three:

Entirety in music,

With its limitation only me,

Sits waiting, to be turned on

When I’m hot.

My keyboard and my laptop are not


But they’ve become my heart,

A part

Of art,

A channel for the good and true,

Reflecting phases in the ways-es

Human beings cannot do.

(Just so

That you know

You’re not forsaken.)


My Three Loves…7.15.2007

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Love Relationships; Circling Round Computers;

Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin







Detective Story Fix

Detective Story Fix


I’ve had my evening pre-bed read:

A page of Dhammapada,

Some Upanishad,

A chapter of the Gita.

It’s all neat; a

way to

Fire up, subdue.

Then, when I think it’s through

It comes: the subtle

Mediocre, two-thou- six

Addicted me.

(Two thousand seven,

But I can’t get six

To rhyme with seven).

Thriller time, murder time, conspiracy:

Crime that’s always solved –

Detective story fix:

I need it!

I will read it!

But there’s nothing on the shelf that fits.

Forced to turn the light off

And think deeply. It’s

The heroin of mediocrity;

And heroine I’m not. Oh rot,

I feel like Groucho Marx without

The grouchy wit that bit,

The grouchy bit of wit.


Detective Story Fix 8.14.2007

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

Arlene Corwin





Constituents Of Happiness

Constituents of Happiness


Interest, curiosity,

An easy joy,


To laugh or giggle, (if you’re young)

And smile (if mature and worldly).

Willingness to say

A yes instead of life-negating nay

Forced, influenced by no one;


That mothers



With lexicon inadequate

One ponders

(Nice, perhaps a wee un-penetrating)

Sits and thinks (not even that).


Let word suggest itself

(We’re getting there) for understanding

Happiness, its sundry bits; for its



And are the omens of success,




Constituents Of Happiness 8.30.2007

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Nature Of & In Reality; Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin


When You’re Not At Home 6.24.2014

When You’re Not At Home


When you’re not at home

I do my yoga, learn more tunes,

Play piano,

Listen to

The radio,

Write, edit, closing wounds

To grow,

Expressing sounds

That no one hears but birds and cat

And God knows what.


When you are at home

I fall into my housewife mode:

Planning meals, peeling onions,

Taking care to find your mood

Without intruding,

Asking what you’re feeling,

What you want, including

What you’d like to watch or eat.

I turn into good company.


I am impressed with I, myself and me.


When You’re Not At Home 5.3.2007/revised 6.24.2014

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Love Relationships II; Circling Round Yoga II;

Circling Round Woman;

Arlene Corwin

A Little Story Of Self Knowledge 2007

When I was little – very little

I sensed I behind the eye.

I knew there was an I Observing

What went on before me.

With my getting bigger,

Came the lessening of IBehind the eye,

The witness more and more


Even then, I sometimes felt my eye

Through intuition,

But let dying happen;

Traced the loss as if there were

An I that knew

That one must go

Through stages,

Without choosing where and which.

Where was free will?

And where control?

And to what end?

To understand my fellow man,

My fellow beings and myself,

Loving all, becoming one

With star and sun?

As long as thought remains,

It tells me that the play is still in action –

Not yet done.

© A Little Story Of Self Knowledge 12.16.2007
Small Stories Book; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

Bondage of Attachments 2007

07.7.2 The bondage of attachments: I read that in the Dhammpada this morning. After my morning coffee, always extra sharp and receptive, I thought, “I’m working on it, boy, (that’s my teenage self expressing it in the strongest known language) – boy, is it ever hard!)

This consumption thing, this morphine of pleasure, this burden of holding on in boredom, in anality, this heroin/amphetamine of wanting more to maintain the, the what? The time, I think. Time wants to be filled and it prefers easily accessible pleasure. The mindless kind.

I know a woman who goes to flea markets, otherwise known as flee markets, every weekend. The stairway up to the bedrooms is lined, crowded, a safety risk. The living room downstairs is tidily stuffed with ornaments, all in glass cabinets specially bought, on shelves specially built, on table tops meant for space. What comes in never goes out.

Her husband, dear man, is resigned, stoic. Accepting her ever provided layer cakes, he devotes himself to his choral group and keeps his eyes on the piano scores. “My wife likes to collect things. There’s more upstairs.”

She’s hooked. He’s drowning. He’s bone thin. She’s well rounded.

See poems:Our Times, Our Culture;Things; You Have To Be Focussed To Live In America;Things Get Dirty

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