And Tracks Of Deer Are On The Grass 1994 2004

08 Jan 2009 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1994, 2004, birth death & in between, our times our culture Tags: , , ,

     And Tracks Of Deer Are In The Grass
Last night a ferry sank.

I couldn’t sleep, and drank in

All the waters of the deep,

With, now nine hundred two and seven,

Called in minutes back to heaven,

Shamed and hesitant to write the question,

How long did it take to die?

Tortured by a string of pictures.

In the end, what’s left is I.

Always, only, left, the same old

I-in-the-shape-of me-oh-my,

For even while the world goes under,

I-in-me is what is left.

Through someone’s blunder,

Stunned, bereft, yet left to be,

I owe it to the passengers

To not think sentimentally;

Feelings squelched, brain observed,

Grateful, yes, and still unnerved

I see no other answer

Than to carry on the I and Thou

Till all gets answered

Through some tao,

Some mystic sweet know-how.

Half-guilty as the hours pass,

The light of day comes through the glass

And tracks of deer are in the grass.

 

 

©And Tracks of Deer Are In The Grass 94.9.29/2004

Birth, Death & In Between; Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

*Estonia sank September 28,1994 At the time I had no idea the impactit would make. The death toll being ‘only’ six hundred something.

2004. 10th anniversary of its sinking.

 

 

 

 

Integrity: The Doped Olympics 2004 2007

22 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2004, 2007, I Was Thinking..., our times our culture Tags: , , ,

 

07.10.5. I was thinking about integrity and what constitutes it. If a law is responsible, or if the burden of integrity is always on my/our shoulders.

What would I do if a cup of strong coffee helped me perform to my utmost, but was illegal. Would I sneak in that cup? Could I resist the temptation? I really can’t say. And that uncertainty makes me say it must be my weakness, my undeveloped morality and love for my fellow man.

In light of the news that a certain Olympic champion will probably be stripped of five medals, having admitted now to using steroids makes me question my own social responsibilities even more. What to do? What to do?

Perhaps this is an answer:

The Doped OlympicsWhy don’t they simply

Create a new branch

And call it the Doped Olympics?

By the laws of semantics

It soon would come into the language,

Legitimized. Youth forgets past.

Soon the word would lose shame

While the name of the game

Would be guilt-free and blame-free

And those who would qualify

Could have drug freedom,

Build muscle defined and have bodies divine.

If they dropped dead at forty

At least they’d have entertained millions,

Fulfilled their ambitions,

Made lots of folk rich and set records untold.

Let those athletes select spend year-hours in training;

Let chemists develop concoctions so new

That the pole-vaulter flies,

And the sprinter’s a jaguar,

The shot put is sent into orbits of space,

The long jumper jumps twenty meters

While men become fierce

And the women grow beards,

Which gives all of the chemists new projects to work on.

A yes to the dopey Doped Games!

©The Doped Olympics

 

04.12.2

Our Times, Our Culture; A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Defiant Doggerel;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elk Apples 2004 2007

18 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2004, 2007, circling round nature, small stories book Tags: , , ,

               Elk Apples
All year long the secret seed –
Built up upon its secret feed,
It’s apple-y need, sleeps,
Doing all its apple-y things
To end up drink or salad, pie –
Something surely heavenly.
Summer long my husband and I
Wait. We watch,
Share swelling potluck,
Offering bits of bites or three,
To birds that catch
The worms that hatch in soil
For fructifying tree,
The whole gang sharing nicely.
Then one night,
With the birds, worms, husband tucked up tight,
Elks take the apples!
One more gosh darned time it’s happeled!
Fruitlessly we stomp around, rebuking chance,
Our idiocy not to fence.
How they have relished in the dance –
The cider scent that charms and pulls,
Pervading firmament and mouthfuls,
Broken branches, stringy leaves:
Evidence of feast and thieves.
Once again we bide our time
Waiting on an output.
Will there be a yield or crime?
Winter, spring and summer waits.
Kitchen stove and oven waits.
Cinnamon and whipped cream wait,
Contemplating basketsful of fruit
Untouched.
 ©Elk Apples 02.9.17 / 04.9.17/07.1.11
Circling Round Nature; Small Stories Book;
Arlene Corwin
 

 

 

 

A la Jane Austin 2005

03 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2005, our times our culture, the processes creative thinking meditative Tags: , , , ,

 

 

 

 

À La Jane AustinI understand the modern man.

I understand

 

à la Jane Austin.I know his concentration

Needs more snippets than long episodes,

His mental station gone awry.

I know the reason why, and I

Take heed,

Belonging to this restless breed.

I have a sense of when to stop.

Not stooping to the popular,

Since instincts tell me ‘when’,

And by the time the pen

Has filled A4,

I’d better not have one word more;

The mind-throat must be stilled.

The one-page reader won’t turn over.

Paradoxically, he’s buying longer books than ever.

The novella’s gone to hell, as well as

Rhyme and metered time.

Did I say that I understood it,

This phenomenon modern?

I’m part of it. I know that much.

I am in touch with modern mind,

The search to find a higher truth,

Ponce de Leon’s search for youth,

The need for speed as well as silence.

I am there to understand the head and tail,

The ego frail, its longing for a holy grail.

I understand the hand that writes

To finish when A4 runs out,

A discipline from doubt or drought

That comes from having modern man’s eternal heart.

©À la Jane Austin 02.8/04.3.16/05.11.4/2006

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

Birthday Song: Palpably Impalpable 2004

01 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2004, birth death & in between, birthday book, life, special people special occasions Tags: , , ,

 

     Birthday Song: Palpably Impalpable

Numbers!

Numbers as related to…

Ages!

One of my friends: fifty-two;

One of my friends: forty.

One of my friends: sixty-six,

United by the function of a February week.

Numbers on the sneaky climb,

Incapable of leaving time

Or tumbling backwards.

Digits designating phase

And numbered days,

No inkling something’s wrong.

A celebration birthday throng

Of friends whose fate it is

To add themselves right

Out of sight and Time,

Which puzzles me.

Is it a wonder we

Like presents

When we’re creeping

Towards a Past?

©

Birthday Song: Palpably Impalpable 04.2.3Birth, Death & In Between; Time; Special People Special Occasions; Birthday Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

Shining Together (b) 1996 2004

01 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1996, 2004, love relationships Tags: , ,

 

     Shining Together

They read to each other:

The weather cues; music reviews;

They talk about distorted news,

Corruption, power;

Hour by hour ‘together’:

Birds will flock if they’re one feather.

 

That said, when there is bias,

Sounding pious,

Stores of stories,

Youth-days’ glories,

Traffic fury, potpourri

Of family fetes

Where the same member dominates,

Starts fights or cries –

Then rubbing feet watching TV,

Each at one end of the settee

Mollifies

The day that’s been a long one.

©

Shining Together 96.10.11 re-written 04.12.11Love Relationships;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Love Hologram 1996 2004

27 Nov 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1996, 2004, I Is Always You is We, love relationships Tags: , , ,

     Love Hologram

Superimposed, drive on drive,

The outer drive erotic,

Inner drive the search for love:

Blue-flamed, lasting love-in-common;

Adultery they call it with its nasty smell,

Making holes in family life –

Society’s as well.

And yet,

There are the few

Who need the one bedfellow-

Friend-companion-cum-coquette.

You?

Perhaps not. You may be content with someone

Chosen by your parents – proper background, job –

Content to love hob-nobbing ‘right’.

The others, searching blindly,

Often fail, but often find

The thing they seek,

Reaching the goal through no-control

(Or so it seems).

Hologram.

Illusion all.

©

Love Hologram 96.10.22/04.12.11I Is Always You Is We; Love Relationships;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In The World, Dear God 1996 2003 2004

27 Nov 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1996, 2003, 2004, a sense of the ridiculous, to the child mystic Tags: , , , ,

     In The World, Dear God

Let me partake in,

Without being touched,

Bad TV and scrap mail

As much as I wish;

Newspapers, gossip

Without being bothered

Or tethered, or crutched –

A kitsch kind of worship,

A fun-God, female;

Flourishing, nourished

Enmeshed in the world,

Dear God.

©In The World, Dear God (found on the back of an old envelope dated 96.3.13)

re-worked 03.1.6/03.8.27.04.5.4

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

And Tracks Of Deer Are On The Grass 1994/2004

24 Nov 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1994, birth death & in between, our times our culture Tags: , , ,

And Tracks Of Deer Are In The Grass

Last night a ferry sank.
I couldn’t sleep, and drank in
All the waters of the deep,
With, now nine hundred two and seven,
Called in minutes back to heaven,
Shamed and hesitant to write the question,
How long did it take to die?
Tortured by a string of pictures.
In the end, what’s left is I.
Always, only, left, the same old
I-in-the-shape-of me-oh-my,
For even while the world goes under,
I-in-me is what is left.
Through someone’s blunder,
Stunned, bereft, yet left to be,
I owe it to the passengers
To not think sentimentally;
Feelings squelched, brain observed,
Grateful, yes, and still unnerved
I see no other answer
Than to carry on the I and Thou
Till all gets answered
Through some tao,
Some mystic sweet know-how.
Half-guilty as the hours pass,
The light of day comes through the glass
And tracks of deer are in the grass.

©And Tracks of Deer Are In The Grass 94.9.29/2004
Birth, Death & In Between; Our Times, Our Culture;
Arlene Corwin

*Estonia sank September 28,1994 At the time I had no idea the impact
it would make.  The death toll being ‘only’ six hundred something.
2004. 10th anniversary of its sinking.

To Make The Most Of 2004

23 Nov 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2004, coffee book, the processes creative thinking meditative Tags: , ,

To Make The Most Of…

To make the most of one cup coffee,

Write it out!

The energy, the fired brain:

As long as kidneys, other parts

Are being drained

Of vital juice to feed the pyre,

And your cup of choice has use,

(Enjoyment, muse)

Make up the most of what you lose

By putting pen to paper.

©To Make The Most Of 04.1.12

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Coffee Book;

Arlene Corwin

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