Born Without The Empathy Gene

Born Without The Empathy Gene😔
 
Forests, buildings in all forms,
Serving every kind of need;
Pets and animals on farms,
Insects, birds of every breed,
Large four-legged wild things
Who can but walk and jump and spring:
Gone!
In heated breathing pain!
 
Then there’s one I shall not name
Who blames the what…. the very victim!
Too inadequate to chat about.
Too awful when the world’s in shock.
Impossible to justify but not take stock of:
A commander of the hour and all that,
Condemning policies
Intended to save ALL that breathes.
Impossible to comprehend
That one who, closeup, sees an end
Can send out messages of blame…
 
If there’s a gene for empathy’s ability
To share the feelings of another;
Feelings of and for misfortunes
Other than beloved mother,
Then the pathos em- and sym-pathy seem absent
In a president
Of of such a land that needs no mention,
The intention not to put a voodoo
On you probably know who.
 
For I, a mini- no one
Filled with an em- and sym-
Down to my colon
Cry with all the torment and affliction,
Trauma and despair of all the beings there
Where nothing can be done.
Last urgent line:
Pray for everyone!.🧘‍♀️
 
Born Without The Empathy Gene 11.11.2018 Out Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin
 
 

Storm Michael: One More Symbolic Sign

Easier to read than the first:
 
Storm Michael: One More Symbolic Sign🤔✍️🏝️🌋♨️
 
🌊
Worsening fires,
More dire censures
From poor mother Nature;
Storm winds and torrents
Since last tempest Florence
Hit North Carolinas;
Coastlines more flooded,
And still those who doubt it,
Like President Trump,
Dumping the evidence,
Still in denial.
Shunning the evidence…
What about Pence?
The climate thing vile.
 
Yesterday’s hurricanes,
Quickening winds and the rains with no drains…
Roofs blown off, trees blown down;
All of it happening all over town,
And all of it shown on TV.
 
We are living in times without equal.
With sequel statistical flooding next door.
Storms know no borders,
And people are urged to be hoarders –
For crises like this are but chains,
And the rains have no enemies.
(maybe the sun – but that’s only one,
And nature’s not done with us –
That is for sure.
 
I’d bet my Schwinn bike
That Michael is far
From ‘taking a hike’
And happy to hear
That there’s not been one like it
Since records began.
 
This entire ramble
Is merely a gamble:
A figure of speech
For the breach in the wall
Of political wailings
And also their failings.
 
Storm Michael: One More Symbolic Sign 10.12.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin
 
 

Storm Michael: One More Symbolic Sign

Storm Michael: One More Symbolic Sign

Worsening fires,

More dire censures

From poor mother Nature;

Storm winds and torrents

Since last tempest Florence 

Hit North Carolinas;

Coastlines more flooded,

And still those who doubt it.

Like President Trump,

Dumping evidence,

Still in denial.

Shunning the evidence…

What about Pence?

The climate thing vile.

 

Yesterday’s hurricanes,

Quickening winds and the rains with no drains…

Roofs blown off, trees blown down;

All of it happening all over town,

And all of it shown on TV.

 

We are living in times without equal.

With sequel statistical  flooding next door.

Storms know no borders,

And people are urged to be hoarders –

For crises like this are but chains,

And the rains have no enemies.

(maybe the sun – but that’s only one,

And nature’s not done with us –

That is for sure.

 

I’d bet my Schwinn bike

That Michael is far 

From ‘taking a hike’

And happy to hear 

That there’s not been one like it

Since records appeared.

 

This entire ramble

Is merely a gamble: 

A figure of speech

For the breach in the wall

Of political wailings

And also their failings.

Storm Michael: One More Symbolic Sign 10.12.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin

No Bees For The Trees

One of these sudden thoughts. 🤔✍️
No Bees For The Trees🐝
There’ve been no bees to please the apple trees.
And so we’ve no apple
To cull from their leaves.
Not one single apple
To mull winter’s wine.
It’s awful that no helpful insect can dine
Or is drawn to a bough and the branch
That grows by the tree’s bench
Encircling the tree,
Endowing the bee
With no reason for honey;
Nothing to pollinate,
No source of syrup –
Whatever the process in buttercup nature.
Trees please, please the bees!
Send an agreeable breeze to enhance what they need,
Giving us insight to nourish the hive
So they thrive in their swarm
Warm with harmless intention.
This, just to mention the plea of the season.
No Bees For The Trees 8.23.2018 Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin
🐝

That’s The Way The Cookie Crumbles

     That’s The Way The Cookie Crumbles

Sweden had a record hot summer.

Not only that, but record large fires.

Not only that, but record low rainfalls,

Recalling predictions of climates to come.

There are the deniers;

Deniers of fires, 

Of floods and volcanoes,

Of patterns and morrows, 

Heroes and sorrows…

The ones who see no such connections,

No need of reflection,

No need of correction.

 

Still, seas filled with plastics,

Typhoons, tsunamis,

The sceptic of skeptics,

The tycoons who shamelessly

Cast aside and deny,

Carry on in their abandoning  science…

 

What can one say?  

Zonally grumbling deep in its bowel, nature plays.

She rumbles, she tumbles…

One cannot solve it, except to say 

That is the way, when she feels misused

The cookie is bound to crumble.

That’s The Way The Cookie Crumbles 8.18.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin

I’d Like To Cut Down Summer Ferns

     Yesterday was, in Sweden, the day after Midsummer. A day when one is tired from having, almost certainly celebrated the summer solstice with partying and too much food and drink. We were no exception. We held our yearly neighbor pot luck in our beautifully decorated boathouse, its lawn all mowed, prepared for games, the accordion well tuned and lovingly played.
     In my next day fatigue, I sat in the sun, body exhausted but ideas flowingly showing, I wrote poetry from the sublime to the ridiculous: four in all. No mean feat. I’ll start with the ridiculous.
 
     I’d Like To Cut Down Summer Ferns✍️
 
I’d like to cut down summer ferns
Expanding in our garden.
Green ferns primeval,
Which ferns rival
All the flower beds surrounding.
Beautiful indeed, all feathery and willowy,
Silly me, I shouldn’t mind at all,
But they are growing taller by the hour.
They survived the dinosaur.
We don’t stand a chance, for that, my friends is power!
 
Hubby won’t allow it,
So I sit and wait,
The date of their demise in months,
While size
Increases up and sideways,
Sowing seeds for future summers.
 
Showing up in May, it’s June,
And they’re not going anywhere down under soon.
They’ve reached the rhododendron tree in height.
What I would do to earn the right
To cut the [gorgeous] ferns right down
To root and ground
And plant a plum tree there or near –
Something edible and useful,
Beddable, a flower bed and beautiful.
 
Oh well, and Sigh! And me oh my!
I guess I’ll learn
To love that fern
When it’s two stories high,
Shading out the blue of sky,
Or,
Cloning a new-fangled dinosaur.
 
I’d Like To Cut Down Summer Ferns 6.23.2018 Circling Round Nature II; A Sense of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Hot, Hot, Hot

               Hot, Hot, Hot

Whenever I have naught to say

I write about the weather.

It’s a good old English way

To say whatever’s

Easiest to pass the time,

The personal not being prime.

Yet here I sit, sunny comfy

Admiring the blue of sky,

The marvel of a lake whose look

Can take the breath away:

White, yellow water lily scattered willy-nilly

By some law of nature I will never fathom.

Row- and motorboats parked here and there

Far and near, on shores and little docks ad hoc.

Cirrus clouds are forming

Storming many hundred meters high.

And yet the sky, still blue looks still, yes, tranquil.

But I’ve moved from chair to capture

All in nature so enrapturing these eyes:

The butterflies, the dragonflies, the bees and flies,

Gnats, ants and ticks.

But I digress, for there are ducks to watch, nothing to fix –

(except, perhaps those nasty ticks).

This life as perfect as God made it,

Sun and cloud and shade quite perfect

Though the day is hot as hell.

I welcome every bit of it.

Hot, Hot, Hot 6.9.2018 Circling Round Nature II; Our Times, Our Culture II; Swedish Book;; Arlene Nover Corwin

Changing Nature: Yours

       Changing Nature: Yours

You can’t change your nature

There, the ground and groundwork

To build on as stature:

Genius to middling,

Great gifts or piddling…

The thread running through

Will always be you.

Save it, you-nique that it is,

And only your business –

Surely your only business

To hang onto self,

Lose the –ishness of self,

Make the –lessness come through

‘Cause the whole’s ever you

To accept and admire

In the mire of existence,

To filter and sanctify

Cleanse and unburden,

Build upon, clarion

Of creativity’s vision

Whatever your person.

 

What could be more hopeful,

Auspicious than that!

Don’t change your nature:

It could change the planet.

 Changing Nature: Yours 3.19.2018 Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Nature II; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Corwin

I Don’t Write Nature Poems

          I Don’t Write Nature Poems

I don’t write nature poems.
My husband is the nature guy,
While I, I sit around
Bound by philosophies and wond’rings why.
However, last night, ten or so fifteen
The crescent moon
Outside my window
Turned from white to orange.
No mirage, I, on the edge of sleep
Sat up amazed,
The deepest part of this un-phased, rather blasé Arlene
In bliss.
How does one explain it, share it, do it justice?
How does one make clear magnificence?

Orange caused a drunken binge
Whose hangover
I had to share
With you, dear reader, reader dear.

I Don’t Write Nature Poems 2.22.2018 Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Corwin

The Perfect Egg

                 The Perfect Egg

The perfect egg came to my room today –

As you’d expect, on breakfast tray.

Accompanied by perfect bread toasted just right,

Blue cheese topping with slight melting,

Coffee uber- lightly milky:

Every bit of breakfast silky.

 

Back egg:

White hardest ‘neath the shell,

As it approached the middle, well,

It turned to something creamier

Less firm, protein-ier,

Approaching yolk, a golden such

Still warm and loose (but not too much);

An egg where nothing jarred the senses;

White not phlegm-y, yolk not hard,

Each molecule a bard

That spoke of poetry and vitamins,

Lecithin – pure nourishment.

 

To s-egg-ue into finish:

Thank you rooster, thank you hen;

Thank you them again, again.

Thank you he who cooked and brought you;

Me, whose morning hunger sought you.

He, whose chemistry had wrought you;

Thanks to all those mental banks

Inside providing all these thanks

For nothing but a perfect little egg: the perfect egg.

The Perfect Egg 1.30.2018 Revelations Big & Small; Small Stories Book; Arlene Corwin

 

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