Knees

It isn’t often that a poem begins with K.

That’s okay.

Percentage wise, zero point

Seventy-two percent

Ain’t

Bad. *

It could have been a J, V, X,

Or piddling Z.

K stands for Knee.

When I was young my knees were perfect.

They could walk, stretch, bend

And…

Oh, how I ignored them.

They were beautiful!

Well-formed, patellae parallel;

Symmetry i.e.

Knees that please.

Who knew?

Knees 8.2.2015

Circling Round Vanities II; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Aging;

Arlene Corwin

*Letter Frequency Wikipedia

Z=The Most Ridiculous Of All (a sample page of A Sense Of The Ridiculous)

Below is a sample of my newest book A Sense Of The Ridiculous (out in a month).   Contact me or Xlibris for anything you want to say or know. I’m so happy to hear from you.

 

Z=The Most Ridiculous Of All

The most ridiculous of all –

Let’s see,

What can it be?

Death. Yes, death.

It’s farcical,

The disappearing

A distortion

Of the reason for

Our

Being here .

The Most Ridiculous Of All 6.28.2015

Birth, Death & In Between II; A Sense Of The Ridiculous;

Arlene Corwin

The Mental Institutions Of The Mind

This is a sample from my new book A Sense Of The Ridiculous (XLibris)

Walls we can split at a stroke.

We don’t. I don’t. You don’t.

Walls of attitudes and limitations

We go round inside their frame,

Using up a precious time.

All at once we say it isn’t fun this way –

In fact, it’s downright suffering.

“So, to hell with what I lost,

My ignorance, the mangled cost;

My big mistakes and jangled sleep,

Nights counting sheep;”

The replicas of outlived choices.

There’s big N Now, – memories and voices

From a new Now-know,

While past is working out and through,

Loss is just a thing to learn by,

Not to cry

For, everything acquired/lost

Is tossed into the pot of change.

Gone is gone

And holding on to “gone”s inane.

To not reflect on what we gain

Is to reject the medicine.

 

The Mental Institution Of The Mind 11.21.2002 (revised 6.27.2015)

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

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Before The Ego’s Fried

Before The Ego’s Fried

 

Before the ego’s fried in time,

In the death that I assume

Is silence in a silent world;

While ego mine

Still offers satisfaction

Of the sort that’s still attachment,

I would like to meet again

The world of once-relationships:

Lovers, friends,

Former all-the-ones who dropped away

Into the hole, where touching ends

And calling ends,

And Xmas cards and conversation

Are no more;

Before

The ego dies away

And I am spirited away

From an identity called me;

Before it’s fried and ties decay,

If one could bind up lost loose ends:

Fading lingerings of predilection.

 

Before The Ego’s Fried 7.17.2006

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Birth, Death & In Between;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Vulnerable

The Vulnerable

 

You read through fiction, verse,

The massive output worsening

Our worries: aging

Sickness, death –

And hit upon some principles

That ease.

One: none leaves

Mother earth alive;

Two: who

Does not lose vigor’s bloom

Once aging’s room is entered?

None whose telescopic zoom

Does not retract,

Contact with healthy everything

A blurring fuzz?

None of us.

We are the vulnerable everyone.

Who can say, “Why me?

Cry, ‘Child…mine…”why, always why.

Can one blame?

Curse heaven’s name when

It, the flaming absolute,

The same-for-all

Is same-for-all,

The game for all to play

With rules to learn, the critical.

 

The Vulnerable 2.26.2008

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Birth, Death & In Between;

Circling Round Reality; Nature Of & In Reality;

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

You,

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

 

 

 

.

 

 

How To Tell Character By The Way He Butters Bread 2.15.2015

How To Tell Character By The Way He Butters Bread

 

Well, he makes you toast –

A plus!

He puts it on a tray and carries it upstairs.

He stands there, tray in hand:

Hot coffee, napkin, buttered toast,

And you’re grateful. He’s the most!

He’s climbed twelve steps to do it!

Made a pot of coffee just for you.

Knows you like it strong au lait.

You are a princess and you know it!

Yet and but and nonetheless,

Despite the wish that you be pleased

His innermost programming as the man he is

Creeps in, seeps out:

He butters only in the center!

Always in the center, whether

It is melted cheese, peanut butter,

Honey, jam or egg –

Which topping when –

The spread is never spread.

Never quite spread on the bread.

Sitting rather, in the middle

Communicating with itself.

Forced to fiddle with the target

Without knife as aid

I finger it until it’s spread

Around the bread

In perfect distribution.

 

How To Tell Character By The Way He Butters Bread 2.25.2015

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Love Relationships II;

Arlene Corwin

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