Your Money’s Worth 1992

         Your Money’s Worth

You all deserve your money’s worth –

You who pay to read this book;

Who even take a look;

And you with crooked eyes

Who say the stuff is filled with lies –

You too, deserve the most.

And so it’s up to us, the hosts

To give you all the thought we’ve got,

With every sort of metered wart,

Well-crafted plot;

For when we’re dead

You’ve years ahead

To scan (or skim) a work or two;

It’s there for you –

A printed thought:

A product wrought

To teach or just amuse your selves,

In print forever; on the shelves

One long-drawn work:

Different titles – but one work.

No stream of thought,

But waves, or foam

Or bubbles, caught

In essence, wrought

Of nonsense, ego, choice.

You get the gist: art is a voice

In time, a chiming catalogue;

Both truth and sleuth.

What pleasure/treasure you amass

From nothing more exhausting than

The opening and breathing in

Of essence from another man!

©Your Money’s Worth 00.6.29 (92.6.16)

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 89.8.6/05.9.30/06.12.31/07.2.24
I Is Always You Is We; Pure Nakedness; Nature In & Of Reality;
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Coffee Book;
Arlene Corwin

The Noble Prize

The Noble Prize

Somewhere exists a noble prize,

An all-eternal prize

A special type without the hype,

Tripped from mind to fingertip,

From pencil scratch and paperclip,

To bind an un-read whole.

A prize

For those

Who never published.

Open-piped, sagacious fools

Who, tools, keep at one thing

By rolling out the scroll to lengths

Lifelong,

Withdrawing ego-hand control,

Finding substance in a song

That never reaches critic’s blows,

But senses something there that knows

Eternity.

 

©The Noble Prize 01.12 10 rev’08
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Our Times, Our Culture;

 

Arlene Corwin

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