Our Tractor Man

Our tractor man is doing

What he really likes to do:

Clearing snow.

He suits my mental man-with-plow.

Trading pig and cow

For gear he likes to sit inside;

The tractor hut;

Tranquil woods to clear and saw,

Chop and cut;

Tractor wheel, forest smell,

Alone deciding what to fell.

Muddy potholes in the spring,

Flood and crud his tractor´s thing.

Nicely chubby,

Slightly tubby;

Sixty odd,

His tractor and the woods his God.

 

I esteem this earthy man

Dharma bound to seasoned stars

That fix the farmer life and plan

Unchangeable and stable.

Our Tractor Man passed away 2016.


Our Tractor Man 3.4.2003 (revised 11.19.2016)

Circling Round Nature; Circling Round Time; Special People, Special Occasions; Birth. Death & In Between II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

                                                     

 

The Cold

A prophet’s never known

Among her own –

Especially by one she’s wed to.

He’s abed.

He’s got a cold.

She’s got hold of techniques potent:

Pressure on those points oblique,

Baths and steam,

And as I speak,

Gone phlegmy pangs

And reams of snot

From sinuses and nose and throat.

Alas,

Alack,

He’s stuck

On sofa prone,

He and his cold,

Alone.

 

Words in the air

Don’t reach his ear

Or mind, and certainly not intellect.

He doesn’t want neglect

But can’t accept

The profit of the prophet.

So he coughs and sputters,

Spews and suffers.

She, not known

Among her own

No matter how ‘spot on’ the common

Sense

 

The Cold 11.15.2016

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Love Relationships II;

Arlene Corwin

For Those Who Can’t Believe

For those who can’t believe

I leave you with: God is just word

To gird up life and lessen pain;

Intended to encompass unexplainables

That science or psychology can’t clarify:

The ecstasy of insights

Helplessness of death,

Mystery philosophies

Of paths that lead to happiness;

With logic all their own to laud,

Reality reduced to primal cause

That some call God.

 

Problems of belief lie in

The gene or flair; the character

Or IQ that x factors cannot cover.

 

There, in entity invisible, in force likewise,

Books, systems aim to clarify

In symbol, parable and story;

Threads for some, nonsense for others

Who prefer to live by ethics; other codes

To take a hold of.

 

“God” is odd,

And hard;

A word,

A shortcut, like the Sanskrit Om –

To something real, a waterwheel

To rain down onto neuron’s brain.

 

That’s almost all that I can say

Leaving those who can’t believe

Until some other insight comes its way

Some Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

Friday, Saturday or Sunday.

 

For Those Who Can’t Believe 11.13.2016

To The Child Mystic II; God Book II;

Arlene Corwin

 

The Day Trump Tr-i-ump-hed

         The Day Trump Tr-i-ump-hed

Trumpeting, he trumped and triumphed…

Did he, has he?

Thumping his way forward,

Jumping through the hoops of word and phrase,

Razing those that blocked his ways,

He dazed the lot.

Crazed, ablaze – or not. But hot,

He took a stand,

But didn’t seem to understand (and may not still)

That energy attracts a gangland:

Thinking not that crowds could form,

Become a throbbing, clobbering or bombing mob:

A swarming army.

 

Young we heard,

You can’t take back the caustic word

Once in the air it’s there!

So rather than lie down

Crowds gather,

Drawing to themselves an anger,

War uncivil,

Civil war

once more,

And monies that he’s vowed to earn

Will burn in costs for crowd control, police patrol.

 

The day that Trump was voted in

May not, in fact become a win –

For reasons manifold and sundry.

 

The Day Trump Tr-i-ump-hed 11.11.2016

Our Times, Our Culture II: Special People, Special Occasions,

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Symptoms Of Development: After An Election

One would hope that thoughts,

Their hiddenness, their essence

Are transformed into behavioral

And verbal evidence.

Take the this day, two thousand sixteen;

Candidates with different pasts,

Different posts,

Different paths and values:

What they chose

And what they choose.

Flawed by dint of being human,

‘Being human’, having reason, character

That makes them what they are,

The symptoms gradual, invisible, but there,

And one so hopes that they, you, I,

All turn towards openness, transparency;

Truthfulness to one and every. i.e.

Growth through an infinity

Of ways,

Symptoms Of Development: After An Election 11.9.2016

Our Times, Our Culture II;

Arlene Corwin

 

Mister Red Shift

Sitting here watching a science program about the next biggest telescope ever built.  To come out in 2018, it’s called the James Webb telescope.  Reminded about a poem I wrote in 2001 called Mister Red Shift, when I was captivated by by the most distant light then available: the red shift.
And now we’re planning to see even further.

Mister Red Shift

The core relationship I have
Is with you, Mister Shift –
Mister Red beyond the skies
At heaven’s end,
Beyond the stars and galaxies,
The disembodied substances
Whose silence is a dearest friend,
And furthest, cosmic-nearest friend
Whose essence never shifts.

Mister Red Shift 6.5.2001
Circling Round Nature; Nature In & Of Reality; To The Child Mystic; Revelations Big & Small; Circling Round Science;
Arlene Corwin

Through poetry I try.

I try through poe-try

To throw some light,

Unscrambling actuality

Through beauty, teaching/

Beauty, reaching for reality –

Though trying not to sound banal,

Repeating thought through channeling

Words, phrases canned.

Traditions show themselves, of course.

I’ve no excuse,

No one to blame if you see through me, for

My passion is to waken focus, senses, balance,

Tolerance and breadth, aware

That all’s projection and interpretation;

Codes there to be broken through

To kernel truth

Long couched in years from youth

And long before.

Through poetry I try.

I try through poetry.

 

Through Poetry I Try 11.6.2016

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Circling Round Reality;

Arlene Corwin

 

The Most Subtle Of All: Intention

The start of neurological connection

And the start of action is: intention.

To add a word and subtle too, is motivation.

 

Brain knows all.

Its protocol, a transfer at the speed of light,

A puzzle, riddle chased by all, and oh, a miracle

We take for granted all the while

We’re living: doing, with no thought as to intention,

How it comes about as action,

Never thinking that

We ought to, need to meditate –

Not change, but meditate,

Ask, state, repeat and watch.

Not speculate,

But be. And do.

And find out who

You are, may be,

And hopefully,

What your intentions are.

 

The Most Subtle Of All: Intention 11.2.2016

Circling Round Reality;’ Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

What Is Faith, Really?


The Pope is coming here today, ‘here’ being Sweden.

Sweden has around a hundred fifty thousand Catholics;

Loyal bricks

In a religion with its world mystique;

Jesus the pivot, One-theistic.

Kind of him. Kind and broad-minded.

Plans to meet with not just Catholic,

But Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, Lutheran –

A sojourn

Ecumenical.

So what is faith?

It’s expectation, trust, conviction, hopefulness and confidence

In something that can only just be sensed,

For instance,

If you’ve faith in money, you can touch the money,

But the green can never guarantee the thing,

The happiness that it will bring,

And for how long.

Imperceptible, invisible, an energy

With wish inbuilt;

A wish and hope.

I understand the atheist.

To him the whole unjust-ifiable and –fied;

Unwarranted:

He can’t believe in God.

But what he doesn’t understand

Is that he too has faith –

Perhaps in love, his father, mother, one

Or other institution:

Faith in something –

All of it a veiled or unnoticed hint;

A blended tint linking the man to one thing

Or another.*

*of course when I say man, I mean both, all and every gender.

What Is Faith, Really? 10.31.2016

Our Times, Our Culture II; To The Child Mystic II; God Book II; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

A Day Of Thinking or This Is The Way My Brain May Work On Any Given Day

                   Breakfast In Bed

No one in this world

Makes thinner toast,

Better toast, winner toast.

You do not boast.

How have you learned to slice

This near-transparent, indisputably crunchy piece of bliss!

What skill! And modest too!

No one can make such toast as you.

 

               Going In To Thank

Going into different segments of the brain

I thank for life in any of the synapses.

Is there a gratitude partition

Or a separate, section – special one?

An all-inclusive?

I don’t always feel it – just today.

It probably will go away.

I hope it leaves a record.

 

         Late Afternoon

Deep, deep inside

I’m feeling tired of society.

It’s like, what I imagine to be

What they call depression.

It’s connected to reality; civilization.

There’s the problem –

It’s not me, it’s them!

I ought to put away the TV (I’ve no phone)

Things electronic, dailies, monthlies,

All things histrionic;

The destructive, scandalous and shocking;

All things not-to-be: illusory.

Noel Coward wrote “World Weary” –

A light, song for something serious.

Perhaps that’s it!

There still exist fall hues phantasmagorical:

Food tastes, sweet music, friends amusing, loyal,

Beauty, animals…and still I feel

Despite the goodness,

Deep, deep sadness at the mess.

 

A Day Of Thinking 10.28.2016

Circling Round Reality;

Arlene Corwin

 

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