From Stan Getz Is Dead (Take Two) 1991 2006

                    From Stan Getz Is Dead (Take Two)

As it comes bar by bar

Until one year

It’s time;

Without fear and with calm,

To fall nicely asleep,

Having sensed from your dreams

And the use of I Ching

That the song that you sing

Is about to be sung,

With no qualms

Since you’ve sensed something sweet

That’s about to delete

The hard won daily wheat

By the hints of completion

That come through somehow,

And the circle shows signs that the end is just right

And you peacefully bow to-and-out of the Now

With no fear of the bed that you’ll lie on that night.

©From Stan Getz Is Dead (Take Two) 91.9.26/06.7.21

Birth, Death & In Between; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

You Can’t Escape Yourself 1989 2005 2006 2007

 

               You Can’t Escape Yourself

You’re getting bald. You say “Damn!

Why was I born to a family

Where the men lose their hair,

And the women get thin on the top?”

Desperate to make it stop

You change shampoo,

Taking hormones, selenium. You

Are too scared. It’s those genes.

You read health magazines, trying means

That cost dearly.

You’re fifty-three;

Time clock and family tree,

Dastardly, bastardly, lasting past ancestry

Quietly share in your hair and declare

That you’re called to be bald.

Bow, yield, accept! It is strong to accept.

Type those poems! Edit works!

Write without fits and jerks!

Send those letters! Stay fit!

Stop that coffee… “Oh, shit!

Where is the energy so sorely needed,

With sleep and rest coming out best?

Why is the good that I would…and etcetera too,

Just exactly the bad that I do?

But I’ve strayed, lost the meter. The poem is delayed.

It’s free form and discipline’s pros-e-try bent;

A poem ex-patriot: eye-form with content.

Content with that we can come back in a while,

Selves and the moment are never escapable.

Cause and effect the creators, create.

It’s never too late. We can wait,

Drape our fates in the work,

And be glad for our lot.

©

 

You Can’t Escape Yourself 89.8.6/05.9.30/06.12.31/07.2.24I Is Always You Is We; Pure Nakedness; Nature In & Of Reality;

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

You Can’t Escape Yourself

 

You Can’t Escape Yourself

You’re getting bald. You say “Damn!

Why was I born to a family

Where the men lose their hair,

And the women get thin on the top?”

Desperate to make it stop

You change shampoo,

Taking hormones, selenium. You

Are too scared. It’s those genes.

You read health magazines, trying means

That cost dearly.

You’re fifty-three;

Time clock and family tree,

Dastardly, bastardly, lasting past ancestry

Quietly share in your hair and declare

That you’re called to be bald.

Bow, yield, accept! It is strong to accept.

Type those poems! Edit works!

Write without fits and jerks!

Send those letters! Stay fit!

Stop that coffee… “Oh, shit!

Where is the energy so sorely needed,

With sleep and rest coming out best?

Why is the good that I would…and etcetera too,

Just exactly the bad that I do?

But I’ve strayed, lost the meter. The poem is delayed.

It’s free form and discipline’s pros-e-try bent;

A poem ex-patriot: eye-form with content.

Content with that we can come back in a while,

Selves and the moment are never escapable.

Cause and effect the creators, create.

It’s never too late. We can wait,

Drape our fates in the work,

And be glad for our lot.

©

You Can’t Escape Yourself 89.8.6/05.9.30/06.12.31/07.2.24I Is Always You Is We; Pure Nakedness; Nature Of & In Reality;

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

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Everything An Opportunity 2006

     Everything An Opportunity

When I drink a cup of coffee,

Everything becomes an opportunity –

One activity uniting

With the next: An organism.

Coffee is the Soma of the Gita;

Insight woken up in busyness.

To be with others, drink with others

Turns to chat – lots of talk:

Airborne flights of fantasy and fields of view

Probably

Never to be

Acted on –

Evaporating energies

Out into the universes of becoming.

When I drink a cup of coffee,

Everything

Becomes an opportunity.

©Everything An Opportunity 06.9.26

Coffee Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

The Metaphysic Of Coffee 2006

     A Metaphysic Of Coffee

Real energy or false:

Does the spirit know the difference

When you drink a cup of coffee

Or you eat a wholesome meal?

Does the body know the difference?

Feel adrenal motivation

As a yin thing or a yang?

Does it thank you

Cause you think clear thoughts,

Mop up a room that’s stood for months,

The moths collecting, so to speak?

Or, if body/spirit work together –

Or if all’s been pre-determined,

Does it matter if you peak, flame high,

And die

A little sooner, caffeine’s energy

The source of wonderwork

Creative,

Little you

Could never do?

©The Metaphysics of Coffee 06.3.15

Nature In & Of Reality; Coffee Book; Circling Round Energy;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

Tinker, Tinker 2006

      Tinker, Tinker

Looking for the perfect,

Knowing nothing’s perfect.

Having to express a quest

Over-exposed,

A question over posed:

Restore, renew, resuscitate;

Repair, redo, reanimate.

Tinker with and out the wrinkle

With no inkling of result.

Tinker, tinker life’s a stinker.

Bankers conquer, thinkers tinker,

All the while a happy blend of:

Scarecrow, peepshow, agro, dodo,

Desperado, macho, ego,

Antihero, so-so, ‘dunno’,

Virtuoso, auto-veto on her tiptoe

Going on sans knowing.

Still, it must be done

Unless you’re Wolfgang Amadeus

Who could do it all in one.

Tinker, tinker looking

For the perfect, knowing

No one, no thing perfect,

Though you

Know you

Have to

Leave it sometime, hopefully at rest.

©Tinker, Tinker 06.12.9

Definitely Didactic; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Circling Round Wrinkles;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Think On Death 1969 1995 2006

      I Think On Death

I think on death,

And as I think, my breath

Goes in and out and in

Without a pause. By twos

The time we have to win

Dwindles away as we choose

Paths, aware, like now,

That we will die, the how,

Where to, and when a secret

Between fate and God.

Sweet bodies, sweeter faces, get

Out of my eyes! The heat

Of all your breaths will stop,

New crops

Of finite races’ beauteous creations rise.

Clinging: bodies, faces – all the ties –

Is, in itself the ill.

With drones of doubt,

Until then, living out the doubt

Is reaching out – uphill.

©I Think On Death 69.5./95.9.11/06.10.7

Birth, Death & In Between; To The Child Mystic;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

The Courage To Say This Is The Way My Soul Sounds 2006

The Courage To Say This Is The Way My Soul Sounds

Now you start,

Discarding all neurosis

Grounded in the fears of failure,

Certain in your heart

“I am creating as I speak”

Avrah kedabra!” – Aramaic.

I will lose the seven deadly sins

Or use the seven deadly sins,

Converting them to sharp discernment,

Wit and wisdom, common sense,

Clear thinking and refinement.

And singing out, and when you pen,

And when the music of your days marooned

Is opened,

These will spring from courage that says

This, my prize, my non-disguise,

My jazz, my phrase – these are the ways

In which my soul sounds

And has sounded in its silence

Since its cause.

©The Courage To Say This Is The Way My Soul Sounds 06.7.28

I Is Always You Is We; Vaguely About Music; Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Skeleton Of Change 2006

       Skeleton Of Change

I heard an old friend sing her style.

She’s sung her style since ‘fifty-three.

I smile.

Identifiable,

She sounds as good as ever –

Red line running through,

The red line true,

Nuances never better,

Fresh, refined down to the letter.

Style pale yet never stale.

People queue.

Songs are new –

Different but the same.

There was a guy I used to see.

A heartthrob, prancing up and down

The stage and singing, dancing;

All the rage when he was thirty.

Thirty later TV years

He’s there – the same arrangements –

Stepping, pepping up the footlights.

Sixty-year-old fans adore him.

Me, I was so sad and bored for him,

But who am I to say?

The only constant – so they say – is change.

The mystery is what is behind its

Skeleton, that doesn’t change

But seems to change in aspects.

©Skeleton Of Change 06.8.30

Vaguely About Music; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Singer’s Lament 2006

     Singer’s Lament

It suddenly occurred to me:

No one wants to hear my voice.

They never ask; they never call.

And when I force myself on people

(As one may when one plays host)

They mostly sit and listen;

No one thrusts himself on me

With “You’re fantastic!” and most definitely,

I’m not asked.

If I were bad or even mediocre

I would understand.

Are they shy? Am I too old?

Put people off, my gold imaginary,

My illusion?

Maybe I associate with all the wrong…

My song not theirs.

It is a sign I can’t interpret.

Karma, God or destiny

Keeps me at home and writing.

©Singer’s Lament 06.6.20

Vaguely About Music; Circling Round Wrinkles;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

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