Arlene Corwin Poetry

                 Everybody’s Writing Books

Have I anything to say

That isn’t being said and published

Over-information-wise?

What have I to add

To worlds already saturated,

Drowned in truths?

Bequeath my truths

While waiting,

While distinguishing

Ambition, vanity and charity,

One from t’other?

It’s not easy,

Each a spoiled child

Demanding time to chase up/after;

Time one’d rather not waste chasing;

Shadows.

So one waits, gone through the usual

Befuddled channels,

Searches after agents, publishers, publicity,

The proper avenues –

For

What?

To be a part

Of everybodyswritingbooks?

Until God speaks through destiny,

Person –ally,

To me alone,

Through implements as yet unknown,

My books, both written and to come

Clicked out while mystifying inspiration

Strikes – until He speaks

One sits and writes,

An open carton box cartoon

With notes therein of many paradoxes:

Eggs and lox and hens and cocks,

And all our clocks (whose time is running out)

And glockenspiels

And peels of laughter

And, the Everafter after all,

In there, also.

© Everybody’s Writing Books 6.10.2008

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

Arlene Corwin