Tansformong A Bad Poem Into A Good Poem

Transforming A Bad Poem Into A Good Poem

       (tinkering & fooling ‘round)

It may take days, months, years:

You tinker.

That’s the key.

To definitely not linger,

But go ‘way, come back, go on

To see with psychic opticons

(my own construct-ee-on) a vision

Of’ creative options,

Freedom new,

A fooling ‘round that’s new for you –

And you are new and changed a little;

Flexible, unbrittle-ized,

(another word vocabul-ized)

A new-sized you

Wherein you see the tool in all,

And all’s a tool.

You’ve fooled around

Just as I’ve done

With word and sound,

And lo, a sound and solid poem transformed

From

Bad to good.

 

PS

With eyes revitalized

You’ve seen creative possibilities that revolutionize…

You are one might say, well revised

Wherein you see life as a tool

To take the mundane to the blissful.

Transforming A Bad Poem To A Good Poem 7.6.2016/8.19.2016 Revised 1.18.2018 Definitely Didactic; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Corwin

  

A Wrinkle’s Stream Of Consciousness

This is a nonsense poem – (with serious underwear, er,-tones)!
WRINKLE’S STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS
A Wrinkle’s Stream Of Consciousness😥

Wrinkles
Used to be but sprinkles –
Shallow,
Noticed not at all.
Now they tackle like white spackle.
Twiddling unequivocally,
Fiddling ‘round with body,
Coddling infernal, venal phases;
Years erasing days by days:
Dismal these abysmal fates.

Sniveling drivels what’s I calls it.
Aging’s evil too: a cru-
elty
Of nature to confer on one
This rotting, drying up
When beauty used to be a buttercup
And one was used to “Whoopee, what a gorgeous pup!”

This, a consciousness in stream,
Dreaming’s hiccup,
Real world’s misshapen sidestep, kidnap, mishap,
Final deathtrap.

A Wrinkle’s Stream Of Consciousness 12.20.2017 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Corwin

Flawed

It may be right to be ‘a little mad’.  

         Flawed

Listening to Thelonius Monk.

(Give him a try –

If you haven’t already)

I myself am sunk

In heaven.

(or is it ‘raised’)

Anything for a rhyme

Anytime.)

Ouch!

Anyway, there’s genius

In being flawed:

In honesty, in bravery –

Wrong notes,

Strong, short, long notes;

Flatted fifths, half-tones the chord;

Finger placement – absurd.

Who can be bored!

Who cares?

He dares.

Stares into space,

Jumps up and down,

No smile, no frown –

He plays his junk,

Always a Monk – Thelonius..

And so I sit in pillowed bed,

Caffeinated (to my toes and head),

Cogitating.

Letting, simply letting…

Waiting, writing

With an honesty and spunk (see Monk, sunk, junk)

Flawed to the gills.

Hmm, sills, bills, chills, kills…hmm.

 Flawed 11.19.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Vaguely About Music II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Need That Drug (silly, aging me)

           I Need That Drug 

It’s 4am and I’m awake,

And so I take up Mac

Who sits beside,

And grope for pen to start the ride

Into a poem,

For phrase and rhyme of the most nebulous formation

Have installed themselves into my equally

Unclear and foggy brain train station.

 

Left to need a drug to write,

This sluggish mind awake this night

And cloudy when it’s morning light,

Won’t think, won’t write,

Cannot create

Until that cup of coffee.

 

So, until the sun comes up

And hubby brings that morning cup

With warmed milk and a pancake.

I remain unwillingly awake

Mac’s screen the only source of luminescence,

Pen and paper of the essence

Funny ponderings, mental wanderings,

Scrawling like a daft bedbug

Waiting for the morning gulp

To bring my muse to shape and type

The rest.

I Need That Drug 11.5.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Coffee Book II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Peoplephobia

             Peoplephobia

You’ve heard about them all,

The misanthropes, misogynists,…

But have you heard of peoplephobes?

Detestation of a group,

Fear and loathing

Women, men, trade deals, the globe:

You-know-who – I think he’s got it.

Actions show it,

Does he know it?

Groundless, baseless,

Senseless

To the point

Of being foolish.

One who has it

Doesn’t know it,

Has not conquered anger, temper and self-interest.

All those traits of vice that simply aren’t nice!

Traits that ultimately cause destruction

Of the self and those who follow.

Hollow traits that scoff the poor,

Prizing, praising the well-off.

Leaving Latin, leaving Greek

And colloquially stated,

New created,

Peoplephobia’s the thing

For understanding would-be kings

And you-know-who,

Thanking God that it’s not you

Or me.

Which would be woeful, sorrowful and lousy.

 

Peoplephobia 10.17.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Our Times, Our Culture II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

Pull The Plastic From The Sea

     Pull The Plastic From The Sea

 Un-political, no single placard,

Expressing view through rhyme and meter,

This appeal in un-bombastic, modest ways,

It says:

We have to save the planet.

 

All and you have heard this

Twenty thousand – at the very least –

Repeated so that

You’ve put cotton in your ears,

Forgotten all those many years

Cliché-d, near inappropriate.

 

And here I sit,

The shit increasing day by day –

This final phase,

Little me in what feels pointless.

 

Trifling, trivial, inconsequent small

Plastic forks and plastic bags –

They can’t mean much compared to wars.

Why get excited over bags, while cars

Of aging metal fill the holes,

Oils and chemicals kill corals;

Toxins all the rest.

 

Barring fishing fish for shekels,

Killing off the planet’s whales,

Slaughtering live things with scales,

Things with tails and entrails

I implore you not to put

                                     more plastic

In the growing, unavailable and sickly sea.

 

Pull The Plastic From The Sea 9.22.2017

Our Times, Our Culture II; Nature Of & In Reality; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Nature II;

Arlene Corwin

OnceI Write ‘Em

 

Once I write ‘em,

I don’t read ‘em.

If you’ve had a feast,

You don’t go back to feast again –

At least not feast selfsame.

Eaten’s eaten,

Drunk is drunk.

The yester- feast a kind of bunk

When looked at and reflected.

Looked at un-corrected.

 

Nothing’s wrong

With bettering that song,

Polishing and honing,

Yes, fine-tuning.

 

Last night’s feast had too much salt.

You won’t do that again,

Fix the fault

But write some more.

More’s the door

To consummation.

Less salt to improved digestion.

 

Break the silence, the taboos.

Make the ‘boo boos’.

Keep on going

In the imperceptibility of growing.

Cook the feast.

Release the moment’s best

And once you write ‘em,

Leave ‘em.

Once I Write ‘Em 9.13.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Vaguely About Music II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

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