Four Hours A Day

     Four Hours A Day

Four hours a day:

A title to portray

What has become a way –

Of life, of being and transferring

Life’s impressions and opinions –

Most ignored or blurred.


All that happens has an impact.

In the body – though unnoticed.

In the mind – through the times,

And in the case of moi, the rhymes.


Four karmic hours,

Evidence of karma’s powers,

For I had no thought of ever being more than

Life’s beholder; passive, on the sideline,

Witness unescorted by reflection.

Now it’s done and I’ve become

Salted in the brine of verse,

Guided by an inner sunshine that’s a beeline

To the mental universe

Of poetry,

Its balladry.


Effortlessly here I sit,

Mac upon and in the lap

Of luxury;

Passivity has never left me.


Involved in passive ways dynamic

Without taking part in antics

Of the present day,

I spend two, three, four hours in play,

Feel contemporary, up-to-date,

Elated by the process as an inspiration.

Quelle elation!

Quelle sensation!

A gold spun

Of twenty six straightforward letters,

Mixed, homogenized and married,

Occupying hours a day.


Four Hours A Day 8.17.2017

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

Arlene Corwin



A/The/My Way (redone)

         A/The/My Way

 I never knew I had a ‘way’.

And still it shows up day by day

Laws but felt, themes unmeant;

Through sudden fountains of content;

Through many offshoots but one road,

No signposts to direct or goad.

Still it is:

A kiss of fate though non-insistent,


An accident and serendipitous.


And because, and just because it is a whisper

I’ve no choice

But to

Tune into

And obey,

Swaying to its hinted push,

The glint of pressure

Nothing but a pure, faint sureness

And a pleasure.    


Minutes past I ate three plastic plates of pasta.

Forgive this frilly, dilly of a joke.

I can be such a silly yokel

With punch/pun-ny lines that hit my funny bone(s).


Now I sit with pen in hand

On my verandah, in the wind,

Thankful for not understanding

Karma’s muted law un-grand,

Inscrutable but suitable

To me alone – one on her own

Within the actions and concerns.


A/The/My Way 8.6.2017

Pure Nakedness; Revelations Big & Small; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;

Arlene Corwin

Being Honest

             Being Honest

It’s hard.

Sounds simple, but it’s hard.

It’s brave. It’s subtle.

And you’re scarred and marred.

It is so many things

That dare I write them sans façade

My friends complain:

Too damned demanding,

Hard to deal with; so much

Nuance; synonyms abounding.

They wants simpleness: the easy way.


Simple, yes, but challenging.

You’ve got to be considerate,

Your character to deal with.

Why kill? Death comes to all.

An honest kill is still a murder.


Why press ideas?

You know that ideas change,

That phases are the germ of life.

It’s hard to stand against temptation,

Vengeance, easy money, vice.

Hard to be right-minded, truthful

Self-restrained, just being nice.


Funny, but

It’s easier to tell the truth

When you begin to show you’re age.

People show respect, in fact,

They think you’re sage.

They’re happy that they’re getting honesty

Straight from the shoulder:

Benefits of growing older.


Old or young or middle life,

We’ve all had problems, woes and strife.

There is an art to being honest

Without cruelty or exploitation,

Without character’s temptation.

Best we start.


Being Honest 4.5.4027

Definitely Didactic; Circling Round Reality;

Arlene Corwin

The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious (revised, revised, revised)

   The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious ( revised, revised, revised)

How to say this briefly:


Words that help convey the hidden.

They exist.

Here is the gist:

Churches, sects, cults, creeds, the claim

Of being chosen.

Tenets frozen,

Woven into scripture

Which professes knowing

What is best for all,

Where if you’re good you rise

And if you’re bad you fall.


Spirit’s -ality puts stress on union,

The approach to life


On oneness under all beliefs;

On peace and joy and getting these;

Transcendence over time and space

A sense of being face to face

With truths about reality, its indescribability –

Yet not impossible to give a voice to.


Fear that goes,

Love that grows.

Agape’s universal call,

Connecting to an All in all.


Practices to help along:

Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song,

Means to fit all shapes and sizes,

Geniuses as well as dunces,

Non-, theistic preferences

Which need to be demystified.


Not magic, pagan, or god-based,

Theo-physical, but meta-: deeply meaningful,

And mystical, the core of all.


The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017

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

Arlene Corwin



What Characterizes Life?


Bodies born & change & die.

They live and pass.

But what is life?

What marks it out?

In my assessment it is consciousness –

Simply being conscious.

If so, leaf must be…

Virus must be…

On one or many levels

All that ‘be’ must ‘have’ it, ‘be’ it

Till those bodies go.


I can’t think there are exceptions to the rule;

That is, if life is consequent, consistent;

Essence, a distillate

Underneath all things that do a something by themselves.


I don’t know yet.

Can’t find words, a name, an adjective, a verb,

A sound that does it justice.

I know now – only that.

And when I go inside myself

That’s all I meet

What Characterizes Life? 1.22.2017

Nature In & Of Reality;

Arlene Corwin


Who The Hell Is Reading Me? (Revised next day)

Who The Hell Is Reading Me?

       (a first draft, pre-sleep whimsy)

Who the hell is reading me?

On occasion I see one,

Occasionally, one, two, three –

It’s rough,

And certainly is not enough!

I usually do not complain,

But, fellow poets, you know it’s the damn-dest pain

To work for hours, – sometimes days

Refining, re- re- re-ing phrase

And syntax,

Checking idioms and facts

To get across idea and spirit.

Are you with it,

reader friend?

No trend, no agent/publicist to wave a wand,

No publisher to send you huge advances

Because he’s of the sole conviction of your chances.

[Do you], get my drift?

Shifting in your seats,

Because you recognize the whiney bleats

That you would like to scream out too?

Well, screw

the reading force,

That leading farce that forces us

To sit it out in silent grumble,

Mortifyingly discomfited and humble.

But know what mate?

I love it!

Never sated, secretly, I love it!

As my confidante, I tell you this.

I wouldn’t miss this silliness

For all the tea in China!

I don’t have to be a winner

Eating Nobel Prizes for my dinner,

Nah, I’m happy just to do

What you do – writing for the one or two,

(there used to be three – one has split)

Get the isolated compliment

From someone honored

– or not.

(Everyone’s got

their own way of seeing things).

Not trying in the least, to be convincing,

Cheerio, to you who may be just my opposite;

And good, good, good, good, good, good night!


Who The Hell Is Reading Me12.19.2016

A Sense of The Ridiculous; Defiant Doggerel;

Arlene Corwin




Joys Of Aging

A complement to Watching The Signs Of Aging


After the complaining

And the moaning groaning,

Crying, wailing

Compensating elements

Make up for the travail.


Appetite for [lots of] food and such

Is still alive, though wanting not

Nor needing,

Feeding much of much,

Replaced by something that arrives

Quite late:

Discipline that liberates

A weary palate, loss of taste

One has no explanation for.


Already written, prized surprisingly:

Loss of lust!

Lust condensed to love and empathy.

So much better, I assure you.

Balanced and secure,

Full of health and warmth.


Remind me reader

What you’re free from.

I would love to hear from

Any one

Of you.


Joys Of Aging 12.7.2016

Circling Round Aging;

Arlene Corwin




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