Who Wouldn’t Want To Be Remembered?

Who wouldn’t mind being remembered?

It’s not the same as wanting fame –

Naiveté’s vanity its other name.

 

Who wouldn’t mind some impact?

An itch to reach out

Maybe teach, knowing one knows so little –

Naught at all – We are so small.

 

But art is there,

And impulse wants from within wants out,

Shouts quietly with word

When you yourself have disappeared.

 

Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Remembered? 8.16.2017

Birth, Death & In Between II;

Arlene Corwin

 

Sitting In My Own Light (one more funeral)

Sitting In My Own Light

  (one more funeral)

 

Sitting in my own light,

Senses alert.

Eyes see, ears hear –

Most of all, the brain is clear,

Emotions still.

Still one more funeral –

Or three or four,

Waiting for those bells to toll.

 

Sitting In My Own Light 7.27.2017

Birth, Death & In Between II;

Arlene Corwin

Once I Was Young

A cliché maybe,

For the multitudes have said it,

Yet,

One thinks it now and then,

In one way or another.

Situation, circumstance transport it to

The frontal lobe.

One probes the wardrobe of the brain

Where dreams have lain

And lie there still, so very still and quiet.

 

But today I chanced to see

A photograph of me

And chanced to say,

“Once I was young”.

It did not feel like cliché,

But fresh, revivifying

Memories I had not thought about,

Affections that now brought about

Sensations not particularly rosy –

But not jarring either.

More a nosy statement not opposing fact;

In fact, prosaic,

Dry.

 

I

Once

Was young

Not to

Be that again.

Do you

Experience that also?

Once I Was Young 7.23.2017

Birth, Death & In Between II; Circling Round Aging;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

This Body

Pesky, troublesome, capricious;

Efforts to control a wild-goose chase,

Farcical: a waste.

A strain in vain; hurts when it hurts;

Longings and desires, when and where it will,

Its underskirts.

 

It goes its way, in the way

And sometimes, thank the Lord, not…

One is forced to say,

“This is my lot.

I’ll do what I can do to help it stay

As long as possible;

Comfortable, perhaps good-looking, but

God knows, that part is least.”

This body is a beast

With some kind of intelligence that lies in destiny.

 

Goodbye old vanity,

Old friend one used to think so highly of,

Be steered by and obey.

Goodbye old energies one understood so little too.

Goodbye old you –

With arms, legs, trunk,

All of its useful junk inside;

The ride, the slide,

The destination thought its own,

Just bone,

If that.

 

You notice I don’t call it ‘my’,

Belonging as it does to nature.

‘It’ an it and ‘this’ a this; this body a bo-die.

 

This Body 7.15.2017

Circling Round Vanities II; Birth, Death & In Between II; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Alice Is In Wonderland

   Alice Is In Wonderland

Alice got sick.

A dulling fur – a cancer here and there.

Don’t know how, don’t know why,

(We never know how, why we’ll die).

Bad and sad for doggies

And for those who hold them dear.

The vet urged she be put to sleep –

It had gone far.

It went in seconds. Not a peep

From Alice, just one beat, a bleep

And she was gone;

A little soul taken in hand

By doggy heaven land, a wondrous land.

Alice is in Wonderland.

 

Alice Is In Wonderland 3.24.2017

Birth, Death & In Between II; Love Relationships II;

Arlene Corwin

Outside A Day In May

         Sitting Outside A Day In May 

      

I find myself not only wondering [but]

Thirsting, needing to know when and how they died, [but]

Thoughts or suffering or not: in short,

The state before and during…

 

I observe a skin that’s wrinkling,

Drying out and shrinking,

Hear and spy a bird in tree,

See the freshness, spring’s new growth,

The only thing I really see is death, a passing.

 

I allow myself my breaths,

The moods, desires –

All that goes along,

Forgetting for the most part.

 

Deep down I see the buds of parting

And an emptiness because

I have no answers.

All that I can do is wait and act and meditate

As if life equaled all time-in-the-world.

 

Every year in spring

I find I’m writing,

Charting age unconsciously,

Literally marking time.

 

Not sad, not glad but emptier

Than years before,

(or maybe more).

Noticing, acknowledging a substance;

The substantial underlying all the grandeur.

 

Sitting Outside A Day In May 5.21.2016

Birth, Death & In Between II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Nature Takes Its Toll

        Nature Takes Its Toll

        (A Wisdom In The Nuances)

The funniest – not ‘ha’ – of all is toll.

A charge, a payment, tax, a levy.

Then it’s said,

“The toll of injured and the dead”…

Tollfor number, count, list, tally,

Finally,

“The toll on the environment… was high”

Toll: harm, or damage, loss, cost, penalty.

 

Toll résumé of all life’s businesses,

The processes of is-ing;

Summary encapsulating

The inevitable, unavoidable,

Fixed, fated, destined

And uncertain.

 

Nature Takes Its Toll 3.6.2017

Birth, Death & In Between II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

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