OnceI Write ‘Em

 

Once I write ‘em,

I don’t read ‘em.

If you’ve had a feast,

You don’t go back to feast again –

At least not feast selfsame.

Eaten’s eaten,

Drunk is drunk.

The yester- feast a kind of bunk

When looked at and reflected.

Looked at un-corrected.

 

Nothing’s wrong

With bettering that song,

Polishing and honing,

Yes, fine-tuning.

 

Last night’s feast had too much salt.

You won’t do that again,

Fix the fault

But write some more.

More’s the door

To consummation.

Less salt to improved digestion.

 

Break the silence, the taboos.

Make the ‘boo boos’.

Keep on going

In the imperceptibility of growing.

Cook the feast.

Release the moment’s best

And once you write ‘em,

Leave ‘em.

Once I Write ‘Em 9.13.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Vaguely About Music II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

You & I Are Meditating

 

I go into my brain,

Imagining that I and Father my

Are one the same:

One and the same.

 

Today it’s fun

To think

That You and I are meditating:

Two in one.

 

Aim always the same:

Restoration of a state of mind

Of kindness,

Peacefulness

And focus.

 

I’m going now

Back to my TV show,

With minutes spent seconds ago,

Productive.

 

You & I Are Meditating 9.1.2017

To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

Brain, Give Me The Answers

Does this sound too much like prayer?

A little red-faced,

Weakness in my psyche.

Embarrassed ‘cause it’s not like me,

One feels the hypocrite:

I, who stake

My life on ‘God, who makes not one mistake’,

And here I sit,

Baby-ish,

Asking to change destiny –

At least push it my way.

Shame, shame on me!

 

I’ve got to wait –

Just like all others.

Meditate,

Reject my druthers,

Concentrate.

(I’m poor at that).

Be grateful for the goods I’ve got

(and that includes MyQ

and its capacities))

 

Nonetheless, addressing you,

Dear self so true,

We have a pact

(And that’s a fact)

So if you will cooperate,

I’ll wait

Until who knows, the whimsicality of fate

Is ripe: propitious, and/or generous

And brain-wise,

Advantageous.

 

Brain, Give Me The Answers 8.24.2017

Pure Nakedness; I Is Always You Is We; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

You Never Know

You never know

What phrase will take you

To a place – what shall we call it:

Your mentality,

The frontal lobe,

The hippocampus,

Heart or soul?

It’s hard to say in words & sentences

Conventionally milked, been said,

And you don’t want to be a part of it:

The hackneyed, trite, cliché, banal –

Repeating news old hat and stale.

You have the need to speak anew,

Speak up in ways that freshen,

And you never know what sparks a notion,

Crumb, soupçon, a healing potion

(oxymoron opportune).

 

What matters is that it,

It comforts by the letting out,

The routing out

Concealed crypts of knowledge.

 

You Never Know 8.20.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Revelations Big & Small;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Bemoaning Similes & Metaphors

Bemoaning Similes & Metaphors

(the lack thereof )

I cannot think in similes or metaphors.

I can, but it’s

An artifice.

A gift

I’ve not been left with.

Of course,

I’ve got Thesaurus –

My old pal –

To push me

In the simile

Direction.

Those

Whose

Aptitude’s

To see,

Their inner eye

Comparing parallels unconsciously –

A gift of gene and DNA –

Overwhelm me.

While I moan about my lack,

They sit with throne and luck

Expressing with an ease,

Anything they damned well please

In metaphors and similes

I lie in bed,

This running through my head.

That’s why it’s here.

Bemoaning Smiles & Metaphors 1.13.2010/8.17.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

 

Who Would’a Thunk It?

Who Would’a Thunk It? *

Who would’a thunk it?

Fifteen books

Sliding piecemeal into six…

Other’s bibliographies

Whose credit lists go on and on

In pages worn

By use unceasing.

Here sit I

Noon sun high,

Ablaze with phrase

That turns into (most likely will)

Ideas instilled

With rhyme and substance,

Probing, pressing cortex’ lobe

Gushing, pushing out the job.

Who would’a thunk, in any case,

That it would form the base of hours

Spent each day as child’s play?

(Except that I’m grown up!)

Who would’a thunk it?

Who’da Thunk It? 8.16.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

*Thunk; informal or humorous past and past participle of think.

It Has Been A Lifetime Of…

It has been a lifetime of, well, meditation:

Meditation/prayer, prayer weaker

(more appeal and supplication

Than an offering without a question).

 

Not really lifetime, I admit, but,

Years and years of seeking It,

Approaching It, trying to find, bind Arlene

With hope that she’ll become more than a hopeless dope;

Hope and that arcane, otherworldly word

That rhymes with earth and mirth and forth and wraith:

 

“What can it be?”(said she inscrutably).

Of course, it’s faith!

The hardest of the hard.

(Don’t let them kid you what they say they’ve got it)

Faith both gift and hard, hard practice.

Owning, losing day to day.

 

It’s been a lifetime – that’s for sure.

But life continues now to now:

Day to day, year to year

And meditation and the prayer

(Each in its place) continue too.

The real me

Still uncompleted

As of our poetic meet

This very heartbeat.

 

It’s Been A Lifetime Of…7.13.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

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