Observation In The February Swedish Sun 2009

          Observation In The February Swedish Sun


In the sun,

Vitamin D


I feel walk-ier already.

Two thousand nine,

Twelve, February:

Six new months of sun-high sky.

July and then,

Less ‘D’ for me,

My brittling bones to own

And tighten:

Just an observation.

© In The February Swedish Sun 2.12.2009

Circling Round Nature; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin

Interpreting Signs 2009

               Interpreting Signs

The pluckéd eyebrows still grow back;

A secret symptom only we,

The caged in age, perceive.

We watch and sometimes grieve.

We know our bodies

Singular- collectively;

We see what’s stopped,

What’s slowed, what’s new;

We know what we inhabit but,

We feel what we have always been.

We know how to interpret.

© Interpreting Signs 1.15.2009

Circling Round Wrinkles; Circling Round Vanities; Circling Round Nature;Circling Round Woman;

Arlene Corwin


Days Of Energy 2008

Days Of Energy

Days of energy, received

By rhythms never visible;

Days to share, to give,

To storm the brain

For forms to rain down,

Bursting forth –


Of light

That wake to spring,

That spring to strength

Regardless of the phase of moon;

A marathon

Of all the billion lengths

Of synapsed nerves,

The track, each curve

Approached olympically.

Days predicting what could be

If this was how eternity



© Days Of Energy 5.20.2008

Circling Round Nature; The Processes:Creative,Thinking, Meditative;

Arlene Corwin



Changing Hairs 2008

Changing Hairs

The hairs are changing.

Something that you notice

When you’re aging.

Gauge that keeps us posted;

Barometric dynamo: hair all over

Disappearing, changing color,

Showing up and changing texture,

Thinning out or exiting entire.

Brows from east to west now growing, going

North or deeply south.

My husband’s arm hairs

Blonde, sparse, silky –

Have by inches, reached the armchairs

In a logic all their own.

As for my hairs – chin, lip, pubic,

While conforming to some mad directive

Have re-formed, deformed

Without informing me –

Hairs where they should not be.

And not, of course, where they should…

How unfair that there exists

Such devious diversity.

Distorted in their programmed lives,

The crazy long-lived hair that thrives

On being tweezed and waxed and shaven.

There’s a mystery in there – in hair.

The answer lies in heaven.

© Changing Hairs 7.8.2008

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Circling Round Nature;

Arlene Corwin


Beauty Gone 2008

        Beauty Gone

It isn’t that I was a beauty,

But the mirrors and the date remind me:

Youth has beauty.


Grounded in the supple,

“You’re the apple of my eye”, says Nature.


Ageing’s mystery,

The muscle mass,

Proportions nose to lips,


The elasticity replaced…

Cheekbone, with its hostile lines

That droops a jaw, chin through to neck.


Oh, heck, maybe the wick

Of beauty really comes

When youthful beauty goes.

© Beauty Gone 10.29.2008


Circling Round Nature; Circling Round Woman;

Circling Round Wrinkles; I Is Always You Is We;

Circling Round Vanities;

Arlene Corwin

After The Bunion 2008

     After The Bunion
I’m tired of this body.
Pamper,  feed and vitamin it,

Beauty top priority.

But when chips are down,

Three days a-bed,

Papers read, 

Radio a-listenéd,

Computer sites computeréd,

Still sick and sickened,

I can sympathize with those who let it pass away

Voluntarily.  Yet,

Every glass is half-full,

Backs have  fronts,

Effects make causes new,

And you –

You’re not a body with a soul,

But soul with body.

Since you never know what waits,

The sick and tired body

Has a vanity-less duty

To hold out, push on the fates

And live.

© After The Bunion 11.16.2008
A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Birth, Death & In Between;
Circling Round Nature; Circling Round Vanities; Definitely Didactic;

Arlene Corwin



It Happens Suddenly 1998

       It Happens Suddenly

It happens suddenly. The stage:

A day, two days, a week – not more;

One hopes not more than seven days

Of listless lying in this cage –

Lying lion, padlocked door.

Dull and purposeless the phase,

A dozy wad of forceless ‘bod’;

The live physique, the moving form,

The very force that slows you up

Lets you down

And stops you in your tracks.

Which the servant, which the master?

Microbe, hormone, enzyme, gene?

Within their root harangue disaster

Stagnates, corpse-like,

“Health, ill health” the daisy game.

Inertia in its very static feels like bliss –

Even in its aimlessness:

This mystery and curse.

Sky keeps alternating.

Swedish clouds belie a sun

Which, in a fifteen minute spell,

Warms chin, the room I’m in,

A hazy dell and then I’m well.

Well enough to sense the sage

Behind the hidden goings on,

Despite this cage;

Sense the causes, look at seasons,

Guess at reasons

Spring gets sprung, the lung of nature

Gets its leaves,

Old gets young again and summer

Takes its place with grace. Sheaves

Of projects still to do:

I will spring to life anew.

It happens suddenly.

©It Happens Suddenly 98.5.7

Circling Round Nature;

Arlene Corwin






Going, Going, Gone 1998


        Going, Going, Gone

You’ll think that I’m a wimp,

This, lamentation.

This is not a whine or ‘wingeing’ –

This is for the women

Just to show we are one breed.

Besides which, I am scientific:

Deep inside I need to measure.


I succeed in looking good with color from the pot,

The dew is definitely gone.

Pose, clothes achieve a lot,

But lines above the lip define

What hairs betray with deadly aim –

That estrogen has passed away:

Estrogen has stayed its time.

Cropping up and popping out on eyebrow, chin

Where corners of the mouth cave in,

Unpredictable as blight.

Fifty-six was nifty-six.

Flaws would go back overnight.

Now muscle, ligaments within

Need more protein:

Wrinkly, crinkly

Thigh king-post twinkly.

Sanity or vanity –one’s more and one’s reduced,

This warp insidious

Yet nothing-ness.

Perhaps we’re really walking minds;

Organisms old as now,

Young as a nineteen thirty-four,

Youth-eating time, the omnivore

Where body’s going, going, gone.

If one is not to give a fig,

But keep on digging

Out of scientific interest,

Dressing up until the interest dies away,

That’s quite okay.

It’s just a game. I’ll play.



Going, Going, Gone 98.10.26Circling Round Woman; Birth, Death & In Between; Circling Round Wrinkles;

Circling Round Vanities; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Circling Round Nature;

Arlene Corwin




Body Talk 1998

      Body Talk

Have you learned to recognize fear

In the stomach?

Washing a dish: quiet act, it would seem;

And there it is:


Right in the stream

Of intestinal movement;

Maybe the need to evacuate, go –

So you do.

It’s still near,

Stomach’s mobility coming from nowhere.


And no obvious pattern to bring it:

Worry or hurry,

Or eminent figure expected to lunch.

Call it a hunch

But it’s fear from somewhere –


Like a problem you see but can’t solve,

A bunch of invisible knots that evolved

From the blots left by childhood;

Memory-hints that blighted the schooldays:

Tests and comparisons,

Raising of hands and the ever-permissions

Spotting expression and lightness and will

Dampened to stillness.

Back to the now,

The fear in bowel-

Body talk.



Body Talk 98.1.4

Waiting For Spring#1 1997

             Waiting For Spring #1

Will spring never come?

It’s April and it’s snowing.

Extraordinary that!

The snow is thick and growing,

And my husband says, “It’s only rain.

A little white – but going.

He’s just changed to summer tires.

Wind is blowing.

Shame, if on his way to work

His auto needed towing.

These are funny times, I think,

With nothing to rely on.

Weather-wise, they really stink.

The planet’s gone awry, on

Top of which the baddies

Are increasing all the time,

Diverting scientific steam

To search for groups to spy on.

Dear, oh dear, while lying here

The snow continues piling:

Up and up and up and up

While I continue smiling.

Snow has charm. One could

Describe it as beguiling,

That despite the forecast.

It’s an occupation in itself,

This waiting for the buds.

Proof will be a game of golf

And features about floods;

Flowers on the forest floor,

Fledglings for the cat;

Preferences for milky fare

And victual without fat,

And everything

That comes with spring –

I’m waiting for all that.

Still, it’s April twenty-third.

Rising snow is right outside.

The wood stove is prop-full of birch,

The golf clubs stand untried.

I had hot porridge as a snack.

I needed something warm.

Spring, why are you holding back

Your green and floral charm?



Waiting For Spring #1 97.4.23Circling Round Nature; Our Times, Our Culture; Small Stories Book; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin







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