The Whole Of Sweden’s Wearing Beards

The Whole of Sweden’s Wearing Beards

The whole of Sweden wears a beard.
Dare I say weird?
To go around all day un-sheared!
That, combined with bods tattooed:
Chest, breast, throat
And not a centimeter nude
(As made in God’s good world).
I am confused.
A new prosthetic? Possibly.
Aesthetic? Frequently.
A thing to lean upon,
Confirm an ego and/or vanity
That ought to go,
But no, it can’t,
The tattoo being permanent!
Beards! What are they there for?
To hide the origin of doubled chin – one just beginning?
Arctic winter?
Saving shaving?
What’s it for?
Why would one want one hair more!

I wouldn’t want to kiss a beard:
Whirly, curly,
Itchy, scratchy…
None a match for girlie me.
They’re dominating TV;
Interviewers, program leaders.
All I want are clean-cut readers.

One day someone just appeared
And pioneered a new grown beard.
A new veneer
Had filled the sphere: a fad was born;
The bearded fashion was in action.

I am waiting till it passes,
And the fashion turns to glasses
Or an emphases on ar___s.
Who can say?
The Whole Of Sweden’s Wearing Beards 6.17.2018 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Our Times, Our Culture II; Swedish Book; Arlene Nover Corwin

There Is A You Within The You

There Is A You Within The You 🎇

There s a you within the you.
Does it sound strange?
The you outside that’s full of change –
A constant you inside with range inclusive
Filled with living life suffused with
Consciousness: Unalterable, constant,
Entering each physical and mental portal,
Immaterial, immortal:
With a motive /free of motive.
Made of nothing that we know of.

How do you define a spirit
Sitting there and doing nothing?
How do you define an essence,
An awareness,
Always there, this always-thereness?
Of course there is the no-thing air-ness
To compare with –
Never felt but all around, no sound, unbounded;
Wound around your each and every bone,
Its function all its own.

There is a you within
That’s free of sin
That has a memory
Of an eternity
For it has always been.

There Is A You Within The You 1.6.2019 To The Child Mystic II; Arlene Nover Corwin

I Knew Her (revised)

 I Knew Her

I knew her
With her ups and downs,
When she was productive, positive,
Knitting socks, potholders, sweaters,
Not for self but for we others,
Starting projects, energetic and a mother..

Knew her
With her yearly birthday cake
To celebrate Pernilla, Patrick;
Knew her with her pretty legs, nice clothes, good taste,
Devotion to her Laila, Olga, birds and nature.
Yes, I knew her nature: happy, well, and not.

Yet, you never know that whole entire;
Soul entire;
How she searched the Biblical,
For faith we all are searching for.
I knew her parts, her mind her heart,
Good and uneven.

If there is a heaven
“…for the Father’s house has many mansions…’
And a place for everyone,
New life begun,
There she is in happiness,
Good health and peace.

I Knew Her 12.16,2018 Birth, Death & In Between III;

*Pia Johannson

Year’s End Poetry

Year’s End Poetry


It’s always you,
And all you do
Consists of moments:
Breathing, eating, acting and deciding –
Moments, nothing more;
The moment’s store
Become the whole of you
And yet continue.
Think about it and take care,
Aware of every undertaking.
Brush each tooth for life and death.
Save the earth with each decision.
Leave derision
And to,
And of
The mockers and the Trumps at home.
Each moment is your own.

Moments 12.30.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Nature In & Of Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin


Have you ever noticed
How abstract and hard it is
To recognise a laziness;
So sneaky is the quality.
You’re fetching something from the pantry.
Purged a shelf from unused cans,
Pushed a dozen tins aside
When you decide,
“Well, I’ll leave this and that and t’other.
Too much bother!”
So the custard powder stays as is:
Is front just where you didn’t want it.
This means that the new baked beans
Which bought en masse, the price reduced
Are shrouded and obscured – again.
The daily looked-for, hard discerned and
Doubly hard to lay one’s hands on.
Laziness has won.

Lazinesses 12.30.2018 Nature In & Of Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

I Am A Housewife

It’s simply amazing what phrases pop into one’s head and stick – and as they stay there they develop, and as they develop the inner life takes over and what started out a superficial bit of twaddle turns into poetry of some substance, proving anything can become anything with a little bit of reflection.

I Am A Housewife

I am a housewife.
Organize and deputize,
Buy and cook,
See that everything’s delicious,
Making dishes at my best,
Matching wish of man and guest.
Preserving and conserving, I economize,
Hunting down the clever buys
So there’s savings at year’s end.
Mix and blend creatively,
And when I shop
I stop and hesitate; contemplate
And seldom buy on impulse.
That said, I occasionally fall and do.

But mostly, shopping for our food’s
A yoga. So’s the
Washing, cooking, dusting…more;
The most and best health giving chore:
Hands cleaner in the water,
Waistline smaller, reaching up and for…

No breadwinner,
But a winner baking bread.
Cakes and cookies all included.
For, of course, the friends and husband
Whom I feed,
Try to supply each need
Not because it is ‘the done thing’
But because it is the fun thing.

Then there’s me. Filled with creativity.
Actually, a private soul
With my own needs to feel whole.
I do not underplay the housewife role
As many in society
Who downplay tractability and duty.
For to me it stands for beauty,
Not for slavery.

I am a being who serves house,
Deserves the house, My house! Our house!
No mouse by any means
But combination heroine
And superstar,
Dishing out the wonder
Of existence
With insistence and persistence
For a comfy coexistence
Dishing out the dishes
And a family’s wishes.

I Am A Housewife 12.23.2018 Circling Around Woman II; Arlene over Woman II; Arlene Nover Corwin


Mourning Song To A Face

Sometimes one just has to ‘take the piss out of…’ and laugh at oneself! Philosophically, of course!

Mourning Song To A Face😁
Ooh, ooh, I’m vain!
Looked at ye old looking glass again
And there were lines up, down, diagonal
Some long, some short, some horizontal;
More today than yesterday
That tell no lies – “no way!”
(As kids are fond of saying).
(I use) hydrogen peroxide to erase
This beastly ageing of the face
That’s waging war on my, MY face!
How dare you nature, to disgrace
This face like some decaying carcass!
As I bathe and scrub and rub
Diagonally and up and down…
Well, at least I’m spotlessly soaped cleaner now.
It nearing Christmas, a new year.
‘New year’ just one advanced age more;
Not benefaction or a gift,
Just one more mourning try to sift
Through shifting cells ‘broke down’,
And trying mainly, vainly not to frown,
Hide through a mask of clown-like makeup
But take up
The day with an unuttered no opinion.

Mourning Song To A Face 12.20.2018 Nature Of & In Reality; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Wrinkles; Circling Round Ageig; Arlene Nover Corwin

You Can’t Beat A Book (best draft)

You Can’t Beat A Book✍️📚📖📕📗📘📙

All kinds of new and fangled means –
The latest bangle; trendy,
Industry’s technology
Will never meet the human need to touch and fondle.

Who can touch a digit?
You can fidget with devices,
Till the cows come home.
Nothing can replace a tome.

What woman in a bookclub
Would prefer to dub
An ebook as the next weeks title?
Scrolls and parchment are immortal,
Reproducible for centuries.
Digit language zero/one can only chortle
As each zero/one ceases to be
In cyberspace vacuity.

Throughout all time
Books have been memorised,
Their novelists immortalised.
Would you feel wise, have won a prize
By memorising words you’ve seen
On screens backed by machines
You can’t depend on?
I am sure you’d rather
Smell the leather
Etched by some expert engraver
With a genius and a love for covers.

You cannot beat a book
For reading, touching, smell and look
With not a cell that needs rebooting.
It is in man’s genetic cast
To hit upon ideas; the race is curious.
But progress is a crook that hooks,
Invites yet blights for just that reason:
Both a blessing and a prison.

Books have content, naturally.
Bad, good, middling for they
Represent the sweep of thought
In all its magnanimity,
Eventual polarity.
I write about the book as object,
And maintain you cannot beat
A book for ‘tweeting’
And completing thought as art.
You Can’t Beat A Book 11.28.2018 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

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