A Dangerous Place #1&2

A poem to show how the mind and thought develops and broadens over time.  In this case, four short years.

           A Dangerous Place #1

 

Not new; the world

A risky place:

Too many schools of thought;

Their base defective.

Schools, which in themselves are seeking

Thought that knows thought’s ever-rules.

 

Kipling’s twain which never meet;

Krishna’s castes all separate;

Towers fall on Babel Street.

Not new.

 

Impossibility out there:

Worlds of danger everywhere;

Dangers that we can’t escape

Except by staying put

Content with parsnips.

 A Dangerous Place 5.9.2004 Our Times, Our Culture; Birth, Death & In Between; Arlene Corwin

         A Dangerous Place #2

 

Two thousand four come/gone.

Two eighteen still anonymous.

Am I apocalyptic?

World the warmest since…forever.

Messiurs Putin, Trump and every nuclear dictator,

Arsenals as big as ever.

 

What we were afraid of then

Is now in multiples.

Viruses that won’t give up,

Fighting each development.

Small to middling large eruptions

Under, over, on the surface.

Coverings and dryings up;

Methane gas, folk that pass

Leaving matches in the grass;

Flarings unintentional.

My old bones susceptible

To substances and circumstance they never knew.

Nature duping us.

Boo hoo? Or ballyhoo?

Is there something new awaiting?

Something generating happiness,

Content with standing-stillness? Wellness?

Who can tell,

Things being as they are:

Not fine, with every sign

An indication

That we’re going in the wrong direction.

Sorry!

 A Dangerous Place #2 2.1.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Lovely Youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQxOVrCRWk4&feature=youtu.be

The Perfect Egg

                 The Perfect Egg

The perfect egg came to my room today –

As you’d expect, on breakfast tray.

Accompanied by perfect bread toasted just right,

Blue cheese topping with slight melting,

Coffee uber- lightly milky:

Every bit of breakfast silky.

 

Back egg:

White hardest ‘neath the shell,

As it approached the middle, well,

It turned to something creamier

Less firm, protein-ier,

Approaching yolk, a golden such

Still warm and loose (but not too much);

An egg where nothing jarred the senses;

White not phlegm-y, yolk not hard,

Each molecule a bard

That spoke of poetry and vitamins,

Lecithin – pure nourishment.

 

To s-egg-ue into finish:

Thank you rooster, thank you hen;

Thank you them again, again.

Thank you he who cooked and brought you;

Me, whose morning hunger sought you.

He, whose chemistry had wrought you;

Thanks to all those mental banks

Inside providing all these thanks

For nothing but a perfect little egg: the perfect egg.

The Perfect Egg 1.30.2018 Revelations Big & Small; Small Stories Book; Arlene Corwin

 

The Great Lover

         The Great Lover

The great lover:

Quiet, yet beneath a furnace;

Passion without fuss.

The greatest plus!

How can one explain it?

Concentrated, in the moment,

Expectations nil, from self or other;

Blend of lover and of brother.

How can one describe it?

Mind not pushing, body rushing,

Or conversely,

Mind not rushing, body pushing.

Blend of observation and involvement;

Participation all the way,

One might say, creation;

Jazz improvisation, for,

What happens happens.

This great lover is creative,

Not dependent on a pattern,

Yet there is one –

Never monochrome but comfortable like home.

Reader, do you follow?

Do I reach you?

I’m not boasting out of vanity,

But out of joy.  Oh boy!

I’ve got him.

 The Great Lover 1.27.2018 Love Relationships II; Circling Round Eros II; Arlene Corwin

 

It Rules The Planet: Nature

         It Rules The Planet

It rules the planet, schools the planet,

Still we don’t take seriously

Storm and earthquake, flood and rain,

Temperature and ocean size,

Human death and insect death,

Animal and fauna death,

Heat waves, all the waves,

Attempting step by step

To step on it,

Then conquer it.

How idiotic!

Wars continue.

 

Thinking that the cyclones, floods,

The sweep of muds, the slides and thuds.

Containers, trucks,

The heaviest of objects turned,

And then the fires, people burned

And buried

Under forces too complex to list.

Category that and this,

Numbers measuring the forces.

Cars on roofs, numberless losses;

Categories three, four, five,

Searches for the people live, the few survived.

And still the wars.

 

Unpredictable the changes.

Some think they have a wealth of time.

Changes in intensity, they stick around through lava lime;

Stubbornly they stay and die.

Some say we’ve learned a lesson.

Experts say it will get worse.

It the curse of global warmings.

Non-believers like D. Trump play golf through stormings.

There will be repeated more to come.

Volcanic heat that lies below,

And some don’t seem to care or know,

Which (that) alone can blow the flow

As wars and hate

Accumulate.

 

It rules the planet.

Still we do not seriously

Change our path.

* 1.23.2018 Horrifying coincidence; day after this is written there is a 7.9 earthquake in the Alaskan Gulf.

It Rules The Planet 1.22.2018 Circling Round Nature II; Our Times, Our Culture II; War Book II; Arlene Corwin

 

Pain of Place

        Pain Of Place

We were happy or we weren’t.

Blended feelings formed the most;

College, restaurant, bookshop, church,

Street, park, architecture host

To chunks and bits of searching,

Forming eyes of yesterday.

Covered market, cups of tea,

Open market on a Wednesday,

Stalls of veggies, jewelry;

Child to school and child picked up,

The walking to, the walking back,

The elder tree we plucked, hands cupped,

While counted blocks betrayed a lack

Of some fulfillment. What the target?

Surely not the streets and market.

Not the people either, nor

The daily passing through home’s door.

Gone. But pictures still remain.

And with the pictures tints of pain.

Of place that’s not the face,

Not company.

The place acts independently,

Its energy “the spirit of…”

Its colors move.

Algos: pain.

Nostos: going home again.

Sweet nostalgia’s pull is ‘bull’.

Place may frame the pre-ordained;

Memory’s the game pre-pained.

Twists and lists: a dream.

Place and act, smell and sound:

Mind boundaries.

Mostly, we were happy or we weren’t.

 

 

Tansformong A Bad Poem Into A Good Poem

Transforming A Bad Poem Into A Good Poem

       (tinkering & fooling ‘round)

It may take days, months, years:

You tinker.

That’s the key.

To definitely not linger,

But go ‘way, come back, go on

To see with psychic opticons

(my own construct-ee-on) a vision

Of’ creative options,

Freedom new,

A fooling ‘round that’s new for you –

And you are new and changed a little;

Flexible, unbrittle-ized,

(another word vocabul-ized)

A new-sized you

Wherein you see the tool in all,

And all’s a tool.

You’ve fooled around

Just as I’ve done

With word and sound,

And lo, a sound and solid poem transformed

From

Bad to good.

 

PS

With eyes revitalized

You’ve seen creative possibilities that revolutionize…

You are one might say, well revised

Wherein you see life as a tool

To take the mundane to the blissful.

Transforming A Bad Poem To A Good Poem 7.6.2016/8.19.2016 Revised 1.18.2018 Definitely Didactic; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Corwin

  

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