Lasting Creativity 2008

           Lasting Creativity

In self-rejecting moments

It becomes my nature

To stop thinking that there are, out there,

A group who’d read, who’d need

The things I have to write in forms I write.

But going on the premise

That there is a cover for each pot,

I must have faith that somewhere out there

Is the bunch

Who wants the subject and approach

Precisely as I tell it.

I carry on creating

In the art of forming new the limited

Adapted to the infinite.

To take what is, expressing new

For those like me, like you:

You can’t say anything

That’s not been said. And so,

I carry on.

© Lasting Creativity 7.8.2008

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

Arlene Corwin




Making Space 2007

                   Making Space

 It’s a doggerel day,

And ooh, I must be anal,


My energies entirely wrong.

I cannot seem to rid myself of surplus:

Multi eyeglasses

In drawers

From when I was a lass’

Five decades past;

Pencil, journals of a life;

An arsenal;

A bacchanal of personal

Irrationally held.

In the closet there is clothing,

Shoes that have no use –

Emotion-bound, tradition-bound;

Emotions bound, traditions bound:

Entirely ‘out’; unequal

To the times.

Utensils overflowing:

Dishware, silverware,

(You have no way of knowing –

It’s a lot!)

(Confessional allows an outlet for the venal)

Making space may sound banal

And fundamental

To the ordered conscientious.

But for me it’s fatal – total

Discipline and challenge

For my space in immortality.

Scribble, scribble, scribble, scribble,

Scribble, scribble, scribble, save.

© Making Space 07.10.2.

I Is Always You Is We; A Sense Of The Ridiculous;

Arlene Corwin



Small Lies 2003

    Small Lies

Too much pedal,

Run redundant;

Hackneyed chord-


Hazy thought;

Lazy will.

Lies so small

They wall you in

In need of praise.

©Small Lies 03 9.4

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

Convincing Myself 1997



     Convincing Myself

Trying to regain the innocence,

Tired of peer caused fears,

The jargonized ideas.

I want to be

A limited, courageous me

Dependent only on the muse;

Reviews, the news

The chasing, bruising crews a gnat.

I’ve got the right to pick and choose


Oh God, did I say that?

Okay, I can’t escape the past,

The couplet form, the easy rhyme,

The melody in four/four time,

The simple cadence, key of C;

Ham and eggs or corned beef hash,

If standing on my legs or feet

Means using just the simplest beat,

Not taking jobs just for the cash,

Splashing song/poems cross- the-sky,

Not letting a timidity

Dispose and keep me un-exposed,

But, like my niece of three

Who shouts her piece,

Stands back and waits for the applause –

No wisdom’s it, just giggly grit –

Who doesn’t criticize herself or pause,

But gives the world the critic’s role

Singing artless, baby troll.

No sweat, no threat, no frets. Not yet.

I’m trying to regain the youth

That had no pre-concepted truth.

My mind’s eye sees a rainbow sky;

The swing, the arch,

Colors constant – climbing, sliding.

At each end a cache of gold:

All that me, when young, when old:

Soul pastel;

In between the stages all:

Rise, peak, fall primordial.

What’s there to be convinced of?


Convincing Myself 97.4.30I Is Always You Is We; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

*unconsciously borrowed from Johnny Mercer’s

“I’ve Got A Right To Sing The Blues”





%d bloggers like this: