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





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

The Books I Write & Thoughts At Night

It’s 2am and I awaken.

Thoughts break in

And I begin:


I write the books.

Charming, informative.

They do not sell.


Carefully worked on and out until they gel,

Spontaneous but ne’er pell-mell,

Tight, concise, the format small;

Life’s storms,

Its call to arms,

A bawling at our time’s alarms,

Wailing ‘gainst life’s wailing wall,

Admiring the beauty of it all…


What e’er it is I have to tell:

They do not sell.

So what the hell!


But what is hell?

The poet’s railing wall?

Perhaps the tiresome need to sell.


The Books I Write & Thoughts At Night 7.12.2017

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

Arlene Corwin


The Books I Write & Thoughts At Night




Thinking Clearly


I’m simply trying

To think clearly,

Times and destiny against me.


Not alone, it is we all.

A world of digits and addictions,

New temptations:

‘Lead me not into temptation…’.


Tiny hippocampus shrinking even more than ever,

It’s an effort,

I admit.

A part of words, a part of worlds

Inside a frame that gilds the lily,

Curls around reality

Like smoke from chimney.


Headlines chronically bad,

Chronicles of planetary sadness –

World of digits,

World on fire,

World that cultivates desire,

It is all the harder to think clearly

And sincerely:

Ergo, I

Am trying as a consequence,

To change the sequence

And think plainly, deeply,

Patently, indubitably


Thinking Clearly 6.18.2017

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

Arlene Corwin


No One Person

No one dancer moves like another,

No one singer like another –

So unique are we.

Movement, voice, technique and timbre

All unique and at their best lyric

(pronounced lyreek).

How I adore

To see the store

Of talent and capacity,

Technique and flair,

Dexterity and artistry

In all from dress designer

To the finer forms from

Sculptor, painter,

To the lesser forms – whatever

They may have as name,

The nomenclature all the same to me.

Movement, sound,

The world goes round

In every creature’s singularity.

That’s all. Take care.

No One Person 5.20.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin




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