The Thinning Skin

  The Thinning Skin Or, I Never Stopped To Think


I never stopped to think,

The skin gets thin.

Then looking down, I saw my leg,

And there it was: the winter

Of my life in action: reneging;

Processing past youth – and losing.

Not amusing!

Definitely not!

Fragility, a new reality;

Oils, creams and salves to save

A youth no longer tangible.

Every syllable a wail of decline.

Not fine,

Definitively not, not fine!


And yet, I saw the possi-probablity

That by design God is benign,

And if the wine goes sour

Some divine sweet guarantee

Will make it fine –

Despite the programmed skin of youth’s denial.

The Thinning Skin Or, I Never Stopped To Think; 2.5.2018 Circling Round Aging; Circling Round Wrinkles; Birth, Death & In Between III;




An End To Everything

An End To Everything #1📆
Driving in the car,
Looking at the trees,
Sparser leaves, October colors,
Tree trunks near the one, the other;
Well defined, the birch and pine
The thing divine, and yet, and yet
One sees an end,
Witness to the mute sensation
That we know leads to
Regeneration, restoration,
Transitory incarnation.
Gloom, a little sense of doom,
But only in my world of thought.
The trees, the birds, the bees brought back
To meet the day
In some sweet way
As in the year before.
An end may be a mere changeover;
Trees and bees and glad pink clover
Clearer, nearer
Than appearance.
Hence a choice that is no choice
But ‘must’
Based on a trust
That is unseeable:
A viewpoint more agreeable.
There is an end to everything.
Yet yearly eyes send hope
That winter springs to life,
Brings life and energy and animation
To every atom of creation.
End an end: the oxymoron* of all time.
oxymoron | ˌɒksɪˈmɔːrɒn | noun
a figure of speech in which apparently contradictory terms appear in conjunction (e.g. faith unfaithful kept him falsely true).
An End To Everything #2 next day📆
I had forgotten that I’d written a #1. Who knows, perhaps it’s better.
Driving in the car again,
Passing, looking at the trees,
Thinking ‘temporaries’.
Autumn colors, sparser leaves,
Profiles of the tree trunks clearer,
Nearer, further from each another
Than they looked when seen before.
Now defined the birch and pine,
The sight divine to me.
Then comes philosophy:
Suddenly, reflectively one sees an end.
A little gloom, a little doom
(but only in my world of thought).
My mental room sees all those trees
As coming to an end. Then mind
Sends out a message
To the other mind Arlene:
They will revive.
Simple as that!
Spring will bring tree and green leaf back.
Hope springs eternal,
And the kernel of both gloom and doom
Recedes to come another day.
In the meantime mind doth play
The living game,
Acting, thinking all the same
As when before
it/I was in the car
Going for a drive.
An End to Everything10.22.2018/10.23.2018 Birth, Death & In Between III; Circling Round Time III; Arlene Nover Corwin

Approaching Eighty-Four

Approaching Eighty-Four🌈🧘‍♀️🎹🎙

I’ve done this before:
Approached an age ending in -four,
Each ode not odious, just curious.
We try again, thinking a-fresh,
Looking back perhaps, or not at all,
Each day too precious to make small
By wasting time
Or spending energy so prime
One can’t afford to lose a moment.

So, the four shall represent a forward;
Optimistic, filled with power
For and in the precious hour;
Looking pretty
For each meeting –
Why the devil not? One’s got
A draw full of cosmetics –
Why not use them up,
Take priorities inborn,
Sworn in by gene-filled gifts and such,
And stay in touch.
“Know yourself” says Socrates.
“Please yourself”, says Corwin.
Integrating both, the tightest squeeze
Can be a breeze, can save your skin,
Transform a sin to virtue.

So, this eighty-four
Will use the talents and affections,
Making use of recollections and reflections
For a future
Filled with skilled and skilful, single-minded concentrations.

Approaching Eighty-Four 8.28.2018 Birthday Book; Birth, Death & In Between III; Pure Nakedness II; Circling Round Aging; Circling Round Energy; Circling Round Time II; I Is Always You Is We; Lessons To Be Learned; Nature Of & In Reality, Arlene Nover Corwin

Found On Scraps

                              Found On Scraps

Found this on a piece of lined paper written in pencil, dated June 6, 2003.  It is now October 2, 2018

You can be alone and not know your aloneness.

You can be alone, not knowing what aloneness means.

When that state exists, it’s wandering. 


(I wonder what I meant by that?  A good word though: wandering)


We are alone.

A mono-tone inside ourselves

From day one to day’s numbered last:

A you-ly true and truly you.

The few who know this are not lonely.

Call it peace, joy, blessedness.


The difference between action and activity:

Action: what you take to move.

Activity: the hubbub of our restless groove. 

Both seed, indeed.

Both good and bad.


You are yourself. 

You cannot always ‘get there’ –

’There’ a place made out of grace.

When you miss it (as in ‘feel the need for’)

Know that you are somewhere near.

When missing’s missing

You’re awake but you are not aware.


On the move, the syntax of your life is mixed,

Not knowing your aloneness,


On the toilet, in the shower,

Every second, every hour.

Born and dying is a solo act,

A truly you.

But don’t be blue.

It is not loneliness or friendlessness,

But just a simple fact of nature

To be used as you mature

To give fulfilment of the innate dream

That is life’s inborn aim.

Found On Scraps 10.2.2018 Birth, Death & In Between III; Nature In & Of Reality; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin



Ageing is the strangest damned phenomenon.

It’s sneaky, going ‘long

With universe’s basic law of change.

We hate it cause we cannot change the change

With choice, with voice in matters

Dealing with each atom looming over time.

You watch a documentary of a famous person you once loved.

What you see is change or interchange.

Voice now gravely, hairs now straggly,

Mind not gaga (maybe),

But the teeth, fat, skin itself deranged.

It’s all so strange.

Invisible the first half century,

(If you’ve been so lucky)

Then they come: the boom of bombs begun in womb.

The stealthy hum of failing health a-zooming in,

The forms of  everything you took for granted

Changed from light to odium

Enchanted idioms of youth now faint or quaint.

And the damnedest twist of all

Besides what’s going on outside,

Visible and tactile, 

Is that life has lied.

You thought it stretched ahead forever,

That it never stopped

And then you’re bopped on your old head:

You’re dead.

One’s left to speculate and ponder

Where does life go on from here?

Where and if…

Ageing 9.11.2018 Birth, Death & In Between III; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

I’m often asked by readers whose native language is not English.  Here are a few words of which they might like to know the meaning:

odium;  general or widespread hatred or disgust incurred by someone as a result of their actions:

tactile;  of or connected with the sense of touch: vocal and visual signals 

bop;  verb (bops, bopping, bopped) [with object] hit or punch quickly: Rex bopped him on the head

Don’t You Ever Wonder What Life Really Is?

          Don’t You Ever Wonder What Life Really Is?

Don’t you ever wonder what life really is?

Why beings from the smallest ant,

Perhaps the even ‘smaller’ can’t

Resist the urge to stay alive,

All loving living more than anything.

Not just ‘living but a thriving 

And adapting in a hundred different,

Differing approaches,

Forging systems and inventing

Skills and all kinds of modus operandi.

Don’t you ever wonder that life is

Much more than cellular?

That consciousness seems to exist

In one form or another, 

And that wise, developed souls perceive

Each other forms as brother?

Don’t you ever speculate

That we’re more than biology?

That each inhaling thing has

Need to interface with other’s company

To be ‘in touch’?

It’s such

A many-sided matter –

That we’re matter and we love to live.

Don’t You Ever Wonder What Life Really Is? 8.22.2018 Birth, Death & In Between III; Arlene Nover Corwin


We Die When We’re Supposed To

On my way to teaching my lovely yoga class this paradoxical poem:✍️🤔🧘‍♀️
       We Die When We’re Supposed To
We die when we’re supposed to,
Karma chained in cause/effect.
One eve I lay there,
Sorry, sad and full of fear
When of a sudden, shocked, aware,
The snare of truth, as clear as day,
Told me that we pass away
From causes self-created
From our characters, our choices,
Gene pushed, situation fated…
You know, when you get these flashes,
(call them insights, revelations, mind disclosures)
You can sense veracity’s exposures crashing in
And you’ve no choice
But to believe
What mind and thought receive,
In this case this:
Death comes when it will,
And it is up
To us to give this hidden ‘reasoning’ a whirl
And take the pill
However bad the taste.
We Die When We’re Supposed To 9.18.2012/8.16.2018 Birth, Death & In Between II/III; Arlene Nover Corwin

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