Don’t Eat Anything That Can Run Away From You*

Do not eat a creature that can run away from you.

Is that too much a task to ask?

Chances are that if it can – if it can run,

And running’s not from simple fun,

It’s scared, has pain, a brain like yours.  It’s suffering.

So if it relays to legs four

To spring from harm and/or from killing,

My admonishment is this: be willing

To NOT eat this thinking, feeling, fleeing treat.

It is not mete to turn this flesh into a meal,

Make an object from a subject that can feel;

Act unmasks the cruel toxicity of villainry,

Defeats the heart of mercy,


Do not eat the thing that seeks to run away from you.

*I first heard George Osawa, the creator of macrobiotics say it in Chico, California 1963.

Don’t Eat Anything That Can Run Away From You 4.19.2018 Nature In & Of Reality; Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin

A Lovely Youtube

New Book: Birth, Death & In Between II out today!

Just Peachy

Sitting in the bath eating a peach,

Out of reach shampoo and things.

I use my fingers.

Conditioner smushed * into hair,

I wait for gunk to work.

Head dunked an inch below the water

And still chewing, crunch intensified a thousand fold.

Damp pad and all, I hold the pad in front of me and write.

That’s what I call exciting!


I get dafter by the day –


Hanging-from-the-rafters thing

I fling all trivia aside.

Riding time on high.

I’m ridin’ high** on time;

Strategies unplanned.


*smush; my own word, meaning a mixture of smash/knead/crush/massage/rub/knead

**See Cole Porter


Just Peachy 9.18.2017

A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Baths II;

Arlene Corwin



The Night Is Almost Over

The night is almost over,

During which I’ve been awake

Unquantifiable wee hours.

It’s been a challenge to placate

Unrest in bod’ and soul,

Think things to do without a wrestle with my all,

Discover parts to focus on,

Breathe out and in,

Shepherding bad thought away from sin.


A challenge to make time rewarding,

Night un-worrying with means

Intuitively gleaned.

By three or four,

Night nearly over,

One is sure

There have been dreams –

A second’s worth of night-worked themes.

(Perhaps two minutes, maybe three.

I’ve patently no memory

Unawake, unaware,

All simple cognizance not there)


I’ll be ok when morning comes,

Stomach craving nutriments.

There will be toast, cheese, milky coffee

Brought in by hubby

With me glad the light took over.


The Night Is Almost Over 9.2.2017

Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin







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

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