My Unconventional Life

      My Unconventional Life

     (to be continued, surely)

 

Awake with something wholly different on my mind:

That darned poetic drive

With its machinery and striving taking over,

Skin-deep first, reasoned second, (wisdom in),

Rhyme and meter; fun as fun,

Scholar sage replacing age.

 

I’ve become a Pavlov’ dog.

Wake up,

A  milky coffee cup,

Some vitamins ingested.

Nightgown dressed, pillow still pressed,

My Siamese twin, a pen and pad;

Ideas suggested

By a phrase I’ve read in bed

Or see on TV right before me:

Put together by a brain that’s mine

And that strange force one can’t define;

Force I cannot find and do not try to –

There, I know through 

Ageing’s power of maturation.

 

A conglomeration.

One more daily benediction.

An endorsement of support;

A go-aead, thumbs up, a sign of admiration

Coming from a no place in particular.

 

Day launched, there’ll be some potpourri,

Some medley, miscellany

Gathering as day goes on,

The hours showing what to do;

The ‘whats’ a multitude, the ‘whats’ a few.

 

So like a Schwarzenegger, 

“I’ll be back” to speak to you

Through word or song or what I’m equal to

That day, that time, that juncture.

 

My Unconventional Life 11.22.2018 Pure Nakedness II; Birth, Death & In Between III; Arlene Nover Corwin

Coney Island

I was surprised when this poem showed up this morning, chosen as ‘front page picks’ on AllPoetry.com, (most popular poetry site in the world? the universe? – I don’t know, but who cares). I’d even forgotten I’d written it. But reading it over, it’s good! Good and even informative. Have a read. ✍️
“Who ever thought of it as the peninsula it is. Inhabited by native Americans and called Narrioch, a ” land without shadows”, “always in the light”, its beaches facing south and ‘always in the light; a “point” or “corner of the land”. Come 1600’s and it’s Dutch bought for a gun, a blanket and a kettle. Also called Coninen Island, then Coney Hook, then maybe Conyn Eylandt. Maybe even Konah, even Colman after John Coleman, slain by the natives 1609.”
Wikipedia

CONEY ISLAND🏺🌟😁

So I write about my Coney, phony,
And for me my lonely island.
Land of rides and fun’s placations,
First such park for work vacations.
Frankfurters with kraut and mustard,
Frozen custard, chocolate syrup on the top.
Brooklyniters, Jackson Heighters…New York City’s pop…ulation
Come by subway all that way.
(Who had a car? Everything and place was far,
Every stranger from a land they landed from –
At least their dads or moms or grand or great-grand dads and moms:
Generation and the nation of the 20’s 30’s, 40’s).
Cotton candy, candied apples sweet outside, sour within.
Who thought of sugar then?
Who thought of staying thin?
Miles and miles of sand – all gray.
Cold Atlantic blocks away.
Parachute ride, new and daring.
Arlene Nover, longing, raring.
Merry-go-round wan and childish,
She, wildishly shy, tongue-tied,
Watched by grownups there not sharing any wooden horse beside
Which could have turned the ride
To fun
No parent un-derstood.
Clear and queer these memories.
Showing up spontaneously.
Sequences squeezed out of fate
Some seventy years later – late.

Coney Island 5.1.2017Pure Nakedness; Arlene Nover Corwin

Deciphering Meanings

Deciphering Meanings
 
Who to aim at, more – commune with?
I read my stuff
And wonder if
I’m writing ‘down’ or writing ‘up’,
Supposing all the time
I’m being clear, cupping my ears
And listening to the depth inside:
I, a string of nuances,
We, limbs of the human race,
Often needing to be decoded;
Every now and then we feel understood.
It feels good.
Nuance and communication.
.
Who I am – this heart, this art,
Part smart, part daft,
Beyond decrypting, hoping, trusting
That you will at least, enjoy the craft.
 
Deciphering Meanings 8.23.2014The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Pure Nakedness II; Definitely Didactic; revised 5.12.2018Arlene Corwin
 
 
 

If They Ask: What Do You Want?

         If They Ask: What Do You Want?
 
I do not want.
I work and let the aim flow through me.
It is art and all its implications:
Polish, depth, finesse, processing –
Whatsoever makes good art.
So,
Through re-thinkings, tinkerings, eliminations;
Many hours of flowering thoughts,
Produce is produced; wrought
Through humor, reference, experience,
And always aiming at the genuine,
Discovering that one is not as complex
As one thought one was;
More half-done and many-leveled:
Always a surprise.
Discovering that simple going on
Connects synapses of intelligence
And observation: powers unknown.
Unsuspected gifts and lacks.
Stacks and stacks of new disclosures
Brought on by the writing.
 
If they ask, “What do you want today?” (and everyday)
Just say, “I do not want a thing”,
And let the bell of creativity ring
Through me.
 
If They Ask: What Do You Want 4.29.2018 Pure Nakedness II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Corwin
🤔

If They Ask

If They Ask: What Do You Want?

I do not want. 
I work and let the aim flow through me.
It is art and all its implications:
Polish, depth, finesse, processing –
Whatsoever makes good art.
So, 
Through re-thinkings, tinkerings, eliminations;
Many hours of flowering thoughts,
Produce is produced; wrought
Through humor, reference, experience,
And always aiming at the genuine,
Discovering that one is not as complex
As one thought one was;
More half-done and many-leveled:
Always a surprise.
Discovering that simple going on
Connects synapses of intelligence
And observation: powers unknown.
Unsuspected gifts and lacks.
Stacks and stacks of new disclosures
Brought on by the writing.

If they ask, “What do you want today?” (and everyday)
Just say, “I do not want a thing”,
And let the bell of creativity ring
Through me.

If They Ask: What Do You Want 4.29.2018 Pure Nakedness II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Corwin

Pushed Around by Fate #1&2

Written this morning, I had an inkling that the title sounded familiar, so I looked it up (bless the computer) and lo! there is was – a poem, not at all the same, written in 1998, twenty years ago, even published under the misprinted title Pushed Around by Fat. Anyway, here they are: Pushed Around By Fate#1 &
#2.
Pushed Around By Fate #2* 
I’ve always let myself
Be pushed around by fate.
It’s seemed to work.
Despite the look of life’s mistake,
For even with, [the look] it’s all turned out just right.
 
‘Decisioned’ choices all the time,
In actuality, each minute primed
By some unknown, because
You choose,
And you are what you are
Just then, and almost have no choice
Despite the voice that says you do.
And so, by following each instinct,
Settling on and coming into –
Sometimes leaving things and people,
Circumstance, all slings that push,
Though backward-seeming,
All’s been a non-rushing forward toward development:
Mistakes the school, awards illusion;
Both mixture of life’s institute of higher education.
 
I have let myself be pushed around
And probably will all ways:
Flexibility –
In teamwork with my destiny;
Sense accrued through wisdom to distinguish:
In plain English,
Differentiate the true from false:
Big and useless, small but faultless
Things that last or run and flee.
 
To let yourself be pushed around by fate
Means that you learn to wait
In confidence that things work out eventually.
 
Pushed Around By Fate 4.9.2018 Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Corwin
 
Pushed Around By Fate #1
 
Wed at twenty. Thirteen later months a bairn
To care and think and learn about, and very little brain
Prepared to form a life my very own.
Unprepared, reaching out,
Guessing, tripping, dipped in doubt,
Not grown, without a cicerone.
Stupid right down to the bone,
But glad to leave a family home unreal as foam.
Yet now all’s right and all is fixed,
The complex simply un-complex.
What seemed like chaos back then when . . .
Was inner order bordering on
Grace.
Pushed Around By Fate 8.23.1998/2.7.2007/revised and rewritten 4.9.2018 Birth, Death & In Between; Circling Round Woman; Pure Nakedness; Time; Arlene Corwin
 
*Known today as going with the flow or living in the now

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