Turning Eighty 8.31.2014

Turning Eighty

Unaccustomed to the use of eight,
Unpracticed, I await the change,
Seven gone forever.
Bewildered by this new arrangement
And digit new;
A metaphor,
The dying closer.

No one will be as interested as I –
Why should they? It’s my day,
The only day I ever will turn eighty.
Decades on a planet that’s
Had wars, near meltdowns,
Walls, floods, typhoons,
Fortune for a few,
Misfortune for the many.

Numbers hide the soul inside,
But eighty’s pretty high,
So I’ve a plan.
I’ll celebrate all year
Then wait – a patient one –
For eight to turn to nine
And write about it then.

Turning Eighty 8.31.2014
Birthday Book; Birth, Death & In Between II; Nature Of & In Reality;Circling Round Time II;
Arlene Corwin

Seventy & Eight


Seventy and eight:

You’ve definitely

Set aside some vanity.

What is it but priority?

And some priorities have changed.

It’s called acceptance.

Skin that’s re-arranged itself

Without permission.

When you’re nearing birthdays

Each and every

Twelvth damned month,

You shun

The cant if you’re observant.

This has that… and that’s a pain,

Marriages have come and gone,

You’ve eaten everything on offer.

Gone the need to entertain

The suffering’s more neutralized;

So many friends and kin have died.

You’ve channeled drives

That used to thrive on pleasure.

With a birthday coming up

You’re going down each second’s unit

So immeasurably tiny you can’t count it.

Here is where it gets didactic:

Birthdays coning up – don’t hope but have it.

As for vanity, retract it.

That’s it.


Seventy & Eight 10.28.2012

Birthday Book; Circling Round Vanities II; Birth, Death & InBetween II;

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


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