I Love The Discipline…

               I Love The Discipline…

 

I love the discipline of form and meters.

Crummy, yummy twitterings

To turn a base, base/superficial

Into something interstitially aesthetic, helpful.

What it is that gives this gift I’ll never know,

But there it is – a discipline addictive;

A dictation from below;

Not just adding to an increase in IQ,

Nor the storehouse of expressing,

Nor of word when crossword puzzling;

No, a serendipity with aspects heavenly.

A guzzling from an endless well of secret knowledge,

Sacred knowledge for the few.

But earthy too.

 

Anyway, as we of poet’s tree like saying,

When you find an impulse that you can’t resist,

Don’t, you hear, anti-resist,

But kissed by It

Continue till the whole caboodle* springs your noodle**

And the lights go out.

I Love The Discipline…4.13.2018 The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative III, Arlene Corwin

*caboodle |kəˈboōdl| (also kaboodle)

noun (in phrase the whole caboodle or the whole kit and caboodle) informal

the whole number or quantity of people or things in question.

ORIGIN mid 19th cent. (originally U.S.): perhaps from the phrase kit and boodle, in the same sense (see kit 1 , boodle ).

** noodle 2

noun informal

a stupid or silly person.

  • a person’s head.

New Oxford American Dictionary

 

 

Talking To My Brain

           Talking To My Brain

 Brain, do the righteous thing today –

Health-wise, peace-wise,

Be wise and obey.

Be creative. Be at peace.

Make life easy.

Be a brick*

Choose the moral and the ethic,

Thought spontaneous without cliché.

Make this day

A blend of deep and, let us say,

The funny,

Seeing humor, beauty and delight

In every action, every minute.

It’s not difficult for you – you’re clever,

Taking knowledge out of everything,

Making knowledge out of everything –

Memory dug in.

Brain, I’m talking to you.

Listen!

Talking To My Brain 4.12.2018 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Corwin

*(English slang for ‘be a good fellow’’ or ‘be a good guy’.)

 

 

 

 

 

You Never Can Tell What Stage You’re At

You Never Can Tell What Stage You’re At

You cannot tell what stage you’re at.
You simply cannot see it.
Oh, you can compare,
Sometimes aware of highs and lows,
The glows in others and yourself,
But deep inside, where knowledge grows
In secret, by accumulation – there
Where flaws are balanced out,
Leaps are made and hurdles cleared
Through secret routes, unknown
To even he who owns the lot –
There, where they’re first set and graded,
Met then faded out –
It’s there to which there’s no access
And it’s of little use to guess
What’s going on, while what is going on goes on. Oh yes,
You think you know yourself;
You see results and where you’ve failed or sailed through:
That’s you alright: partial you;
A hidden, most potential you.
You never know your stage.
But if you’re very good and kind – a little sage,
You get a glimpse of things to come;
Hints that you’ve removed the scum;
A tiny slice no longer slum,
And just enough to keep you crowing,
The best is to keep on going,
Concentrating on a something
You don’t even know is there;
So elusive that you’d swear
It never was, except for books: saints,
Men and women: claimants –
Just like you – who won.

You Never Can Tell What Stage You’re At 3.23.1995/reworked 4.11.2018 Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin

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Pushed Around by Fate #1&2

Written this morning, I had an inkling that the title sounded familiar, so I looked it up (bless the computer) and lo! there is was – a poem, not at all the same, written in 1998, twenty years ago, even published under the misprinted title Pushed Around by Fat. Anyway, here they are: Pushed Around By Fate#1 &
#2.
Pushed Around By Fate #2* 
I’ve always let myself
Be pushed around by fate.
It’s seemed to work.
Despite the look of life’s mistake,
For even with, [the look] it’s all turned out just right.
 
‘Decisioned’ choices all the time,
In actuality, each minute primed
By some unknown, because
You choose,
And you are what you are
Just then, and almost have no choice
Despite the voice that says you do.
And so, by following each instinct,
Settling on and coming into –
Sometimes leaving things and people,
Circumstance, all slings that push,
Though backward-seeming,
All’s been a non-rushing forward toward development:
Mistakes the school, awards illusion;
Both mixture of life’s institute of higher education.
 
I have let myself be pushed around
And probably will all ways:
Flexibility –
In teamwork with my destiny;
Sense accrued through wisdom to distinguish:
In plain English,
Differentiate the true from false:
Big and useless, small but faultless
Things that last or run and flee.
 
To let yourself be pushed around by fate
Means that you learn to wait
In confidence that things work out eventually.
 
Pushed Around By Fate 4.9.2018 Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Corwin
 
Pushed Around By Fate #1
 
Wed at twenty. Thirteen later months a bairn
To care and think and learn about, and very little brain
Prepared to form a life my very own.
Unprepared, reaching out,
Guessing, tripping, dipped in doubt,
Not grown, without a cicerone.
Stupid right down to the bone,
But glad to leave a family home unreal as foam.
Yet now all’s right and all is fixed,
The complex simply un-complex.
What seemed like chaos back then when . . .
Was inner order bordering on
Grace.
Pushed Around By Fate 8.23.1998/2.7.2007/revised and rewritten 4.9.2018 Birth, Death & In Between; Circling Round Woman; Pure Nakedness; Time; Arlene Corwin
 
*Known today as going with the flow or living in the now

You Never Know The Clout You Have

I’m editing my next book “Definitely Didactic”  and in coming across this one, I decided – this must go out long before the book. Listening to and about other’s woes,  I just fell in love with it.

        You Never Know The Clout You Have

 

You never know the clout you have,

Clout a blow or target;

Most of all effect or power

You exert by being you.

 

Take care! Be careful, scared! Be wary!

Everything you say, you do –

Each word, each vow, an influence.

In circumstance an ambience

You pray will be benevolent.

 

You, you, you in all you do;

And you have impact.

Make a pact with mental you

To be a kind and gentle you,

Giving out rewarding vibes,

Enriching, beneficial, fruitful.

You, yourself a scribe imbibing

Influences from abroad,

From world untoward – in discord!

 

Take some in and turn them ‘round.

You abound in power.

You can be man* of the hour

Just by being who you are.

You can be the lucky star

Of every person you encounter.

So remember!

You ne’er know the clout you have

To save what ever may occur.

* of course woman too!

You Never Know The Clout You Have 4.29.2017 Definitely Didactic; Coffee Book II; Arlene Corwin

 

A Career From Bed

         A Career From Bed

It’s luxury.

To lie in bed, thinking thoughts;

Pillowed head, notepad and whatnots;

Lifting laptop at my side

(my writing bride –

or husband, as the case may be)

And write my poetry.

 

Uncomplicated, ‘easy peasy’

(English jargon) child’s play

To type some fragments,

Work them through,

Sending them away

To you.

 

In come the comments.

Not a penny changes hands.

No long-term contracts –

Only contacts,

“Like you”come-backs

Unseen as a daytime star:

With sweet, smart followers galore.

 

This passive bed of roses

Lap of splendor and much more…

Career from bed

Conducted solely from my head,

Solely in unsaid creation.

What in heavens could be bed-der?

(Sorry for the awful pun;

An un-withstandable temptation).

A Career From Bed 4.4.2018 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

Knocking On The Doorway Of Eternity

To those who are/feel the same, and those who just enjoy a good poem.

               Knocking On The Doorway To Eternity

 I’m a mystic out and out.

I never shout it out,

But I’m a little ‘high’ right now

(the morning coffee works – and how!)

Simple prayers, requests and hope,

A little child-like – a puppy.

Yet coming by small feedbacks in small ways;

Minutes, hours or days –

It can’t be just coincidence.

It could be basic innocence.

In any case,

Face flushed with happiness –

Muted or giggly.

No great gesture,

Just a cherished jest

‘Tween the divine and me.

A mystic always knocking on the entrance

To eternity.

 Knocking On The Doorway To Eternity 4.2.2018 To The Child Mystic II; Arlene Corwin

 

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