All Kinds Of Celibates

I do hope you, the reader gets the spirit of it.  It’s a holy one, I assure you.

               All Kinds Of Celibates

When a celibate wakes up each morn

Morning hard-on,

Morn’s erection,

What’s his action?

Question that one stumbles on

Which no one seems to answer.


She, a nun with husband;

Neither Jesus kind,

Nor Buddhist nor

Whichever kind is self-denying,

Disciplining mind

She thinks of One – this nun.

She cooks, she cleans,

Has lovely sex within her means.

Still, stilling brain,

Directing it in one direction.

Works it through without tradition.



Have you thought about,

Thought out or fathomed what

This non-tradition shackled nun is?

She’s a mystic without habit.


Sleuth work, mystery;

Point of issue seldom met,

What is it to be pure and chaste?

What is it to be celibate?


All Kinds Of Celibates 6.30.2014

Circling Round Eros II; Definitely Didactic; Defiantly Doggerel; Arlene Corwin



I’ll Never Be A Virtuoso

           I’ll Never Be A Virtuoso

(Notes from a Piano Playing/Singer/Poet)

I’ll never be a virtuoso.

Sure as I’m an expert on

My name, my palm – I know it.

So I ponder as I listen to

Michel Petrucciani on piano,

Joe Pass on guitar,

Wayne Shorter on the tenor –

Am I any less an artist sans finesse

If runs, uneven, coarse run out into the sand?

Of course not.

Never to become a virtuoso is my lot.


But I’ve a lot that’s going for me:

Tempos, energy,

Out-coming spontaneity,

Ongoing creativity, ingoing spirit,

And an awfully cheerful personality;

Gifts and graces I don’t even know about,

Waiting to come out – or out.


Noel Coward wrote: ‘the talent to amuse’….

Perhaps I use that talent,

And there’s nothing wrong with that.


My notes are high while not the highest,

Vocabulary not extensive,

Not the most imaginative;

IQ slightly more superior than Pooh’s:

Who cares?

(That’s not a question but an exclamation).

Never virtuoso, I shall be the one

Who wears her brain upon her sleeve,

Her heart her slave.


Somewhat below, above so-so,

I know I’ll never be a virtuoso.

I can live with that.

I’ll Never Be A Virtuoso 5.21.2014 Vaguely About Music II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Pure Nakedness; Arlene Corwin


One’s had friends in bed and foes in bed.

How do you tell the difference?

A friend can wait, showing no heat,

No urgency.

The friend acts with simplicity,

Intuitively taking in each movement:

Packing it away as knowledge.


Enemies may never learn.

Don’t know the game.

Full of sexuality,

But kinky if encouraged.

Something’s missing in this bedfellow,

This fellow is a foe.

Soft, rough,

His bit of fluff will never feel enough.

In some way he’s the enemy.


The friend will stop when he intuits.

Never grouchy, even-tempered, ever civil,

Showing love in darling ways, –

Almost asking for permission,

Sex not the priority –

Except when it is, really.

It is sweet and turns one on.


Friends in bed, and foes in bed –

The difference subtle.

Friends produce a long-term trust,

Long-term acceptance;

Enmity defined by just

Its opposite:

Relation that starts out with love

And loses it.


Bedfellows 11.6.2012/ discovered on a scrap 6.4.2014 and re-worked.

Love Relationships II; Circling Round Eros II;

Arlene Corwin


What Is A Kiss?


Married thirty years; she wants divorce.

She will not kiss him when he asks:

And he must ask.

She might as well say, “Kiss my ass”,

But she doesn’t.

Doesn’t love him anymore.

Doesn’t even like him, it would seem.

A kiss.

That best-loved symbol:

Lips that touch.

It isn’t much.

A rite, a pooling of two hearts;

A politeness carried on in foreign parts.

Passionate, brotherly or sisterly;

A chance to sniff out enmity.

As primitive as monkeys,

A kiss is just, is still a kiss.


Will always be.

What Is A Kiss? 8.21.2014

Love Relationships II; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin

Dreams Of Bubble Baths

Dreams Of Bubble Baths


A child swathed in dreams

Of bubbles: -baths and –pipes,

No longer charmed

But harmed, alarmed by life’s

Bared crises; news that frightens.

Dreams of Blake and innocence forsaken,

Given up for knowledge wakened,

Can we die a ‘happy fella’

Without yelling out “Run for your lives”?

Or, fearless and experience-free,

Like Candide and Quixote, think

“It’s heaven’s gift – all of it!

Trust in fact and act and wait.

Watch and see. It’s heavenly – all of it!”


The baths were fun; a season’s present every Yule;

The bubble-pipes more so when running after

Iridescence after school.

One read no headlines, everything a

Coming up in roses world.

I found detachment’s observations,

Wisdom thrown in for luck.

A lead-me-not-into-temptation

Bucking buck incessantly.

Stuck with what I am and what I’m not,

I’d not go back to dreams of bubbles, rather

Think, sink, drink in that:

I’ve got a tub, a tap and water.


Bubbles notwithstanding.


Dreams Of Bubble Baths 2.23.2014

Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Reality;

Arlene Corwin


My I Is Always You


I have no secrets,

Every here revealed in each under-text

For you to find, identify

And see yourself in.

They are signals – call them semaphores.

Your world may not be mine,

Yet all the same, my mine is you

Though your existence is your own.


My I Is Always You (started) 11.26.2014(finished 10.31.2015)

I Is Always You Is We;

Arlene Corwin

Mr Absolute 12.1.2014

Mister Absolute


Whether you want it,

Whether you don’t,

Always within,

Always without –

Mister Absolute.


Ignore it,

Abhor it,

It doesn’t care,

Always there, everywhere,

Belief or not,

It’s got you by the short and curly

Merely by existing.


Irrelevant, He/She/It,

Unseeable and mute, yet

Ready and accessible

To idiot, the destitute,

Crackpot, worry wart,

Self-taught, untaught

By reason of completeness.


Mister Absolute 12.1.2014

To The Child Mystic II; Circling Round Reality;

Arlene Corwin



It’s Coming 12.31.2014 (three hours left)

It’s Coming


It’s coming.

Three more hours –

One year gone.

Three more hours

And it’s done.



Three more hours.

New directions –

Some unquestionably fun,

Some not.

Some fraught

With I-don’t-know:

A glow,

A show or two

A high, a low,

You know, the usual;

A who-knows-what and-where-am-I

And all the rest of terra firma heading?

To those sad, bad, glad, alive and dead,

Kindest regards and

Happy New Year!


It’s Coming 12.31.2014

Special People, Special Occasions;

Arlene Corwin

Getting Rid Of Aphasia 12.28.2014

Getting Rid Of Aphasia


There’s no romance in being mute involuntarily.

Loss of words, lost for words,

I cannot speak. But

Write and channels open.

Sluggish thoughts flow from a tap so clogged

That nine times out of ten

It’s plugged.

I wait and cogitate and suddenly, writingly

Crews of rhymes, an inborn beat,

Slews of words replete with eloquence,

Done with ‘dumb’ and saying things I don’t quite mean.

Script finds truth I never can.

Minutes turn invisibly and comfortably.

If struck dumb there’s the dictionary or thesaurus

To be reached. Just stretch and fetch!

What may have been an inward looking chorus

Expanded, plumbed, steering understanding toward

A definitely unclogged drain.

I guess

I’m just

A slow, slow thinker who needs time.


Getting Rid Of Aphasia 12.23.2014

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin



Can’t Screw Anymore 12.11.2014

Can’t Screw Anymore



Warm, affectionate, tactile –

That ‘take for granted’ thing, that energy –

It’s lost accessibility,

Willingness and push-drive notwithstanding.


Of course can’t isn’t always can’t.

Can’t can mean sometimes,


Or intensive yes.


You know what?

Doesn’t matter –

Not a bit.


Is a synonym

Just as exciting.


Can’t Screw Anymore 12.12.2014

Definitely Didactic; Circling Round Eros II;

Arlene Corwin




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