Inventions Always Supersede Inventions

 

It’s no wonder the planet overflows,

New designs replacing old;

Exponential as the population grows,

It whispers or it bellows,

Throwing out what it considers

Excess this and excess that

Piled up as scrap that once had use.

 

More scrap

Will pile up as filthy, fatty crap

That has no use.

We can’t go back in time.

Framed in other kinds of filth,

Enjoying what is bad for health,

The cloth of new inventions is inevitable.

 

Inventions Always Replace Inventions 3.23.2015

Circling Round Science II; Our Times, Our Culture II;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No Background Music (revised) 2013

            No Background Music

 

There’ll be no background music then;

Valleys that refuse to sing,

Glens that ring out nothing –

Dales too. 

Only

Quiet.

How to get used to the mute

Unqualified;

No angel choir,

No Gabriel to tootie toot.

There being so much music

In the background –

Does that frighten you?               

 

There’ll be no background music then:

Just silence.  Then

Get used to it;

The drop of nothingness.

The stop, there being

So much tuneful noise?

Silence.  No soft speaking, singing.

Worlds sound-free, mute. quiet. 

How to get used to the silence,

I’m not sure,                 

(There being so much music in the background.)

 

No Background Music 2.11.2012/revised 6.3.2013

Vaguely About Music II; Birth Death & In Between II; Our Times, Our Culture II;

Arlene Corwin

 

No Background Music 2012

            No Background Music

 

There’ll be no background music then;

Valleys that refuse to sing,

Glens that ring out nothing –

Dales too. 

Only

Quiet.

How to get used to the mute

Unqualified;

No angel choir,

No Gabriel to tootie toot.

There being so much music

In the background –

Does that frighten you?

 

No Background Music 2.11.2012

Vaguely About Music II; Birth Death & In Between II; Our Times, Our Culture II;

Arlene Corwin

Four Airplane Two Train Crashes Later (b) 2008

Four Airplane Two Train Crashes Later

Four airplane/ two train crashes later

– All within some days –

One says,

“Oh God,

Dear God,

My God,”

And other

Ways to utter

Doomsday fears

Which utterances

Point to, lead to

Searchings of and for a soul

That’s you.

And still,

The people fumble, stumble, mumble,

While the people ought to watch themselves,

But don’t.

 

© Four Airplane Two Train Crashes Later 9.16.2008

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Birth, Death & In Between; Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Four Airplane Two Train Crashes Later (a) 2008

Four Airplane Two Train Crashes Later

Four airplane

Two train

Crashes

Later

– All within some days –

One says,

“Oh God,

Dear God,

My God,

An other

Doomsday ways to utter,

Which [ said utterances]

Point to, lead to

Visualizing

Steps ahead

And searchings of

The soul

That’s you.

 

© Four Airplane Two Train Crashes Later 9.14.2008

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Birth, Death & In Between; Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

War Book 2009

             War Book

Can you think,

Can you fantasize

A war that breeds and feeds itself,

Never ending, vengeful, inventive;

Vengeance, counter…

Counter…

Counter.

You can’t, I’ll bet –

Unless you’ve been there.

© War Book 1.21.2009

War Book; Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin

Thank You But…1998

    Thank You, But…

I write this for a friend.

In fact, I’m not that cynical.

He says, “They say they like you, but…

They don’t!

Cause what you’ve got to sell,

If truth could tell,

Is not their cup of tea.

There is no pact,

No contract,

Nothing offered, only pleasantry:

A drink, a wink

And “Thank you, but…

We’re booked until the year two million.”

How he’d like to kill the one

Who lacks the candor to be frank. You

You have no chance – You feel a fool,

A tool of management

And all those men

Who rule the jobs:

The bosses, nobs.

He vows, if he were ever one of them

To never play with words. He’d say,

“You’re just not good enough today,

But practice leads to readiness.

Go home and practice.” It’s less

Cruel than the uncaring, unresponsive, all-unfair

“We thank you, but…”

You never find out why.

©Thank You, But… 98.9.13

Our Times, Our Culture; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Talent Helps 2004

    Talent Helps

All the virtues

To make envious

A world around:

Persistent,

Strong, kind,

Disciplined.

(There virtues stop)

Popular

And very, very,

Very rich.

The glitch

Is talent –

Does he know

He hasn’t got it?

That a scale of one to ten

Shows that he weighs in low,

And cannot fight it?

Does his staying power count?

Should he be out there, a playing clown?

Should he cower while I grunt?

Or does he steal an era

From the standard that he sets,

Send a generation walking

In the wrong direction?

Or, is he its mirror that selection

Just reflects?

Oh, if only he had talent!

© Talent Helps 04.7.13

Our Times, Our Culture; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

Jazz Without Whiskey 1995

 

      Jazz Without Whiskey

Jazz without whiskey, jazz without smoke

Would sound to the masses like some kind of joke.

Jazz without whiskey might bring in more folk

But somehow or other, it’s got itself yoked

To bourbon and rye, and the need to get high.

Players of jazz are usually broke,

(There’s just no respect, and neglect is the problem.)

Playing in pokey, cheap holes-in-the-wall

Where the upright’s un-tuned (if there is one at all),

Prices are high, people are drunk,

And most of the listeners think jazz is bunk;

Strange situation this! Something’s gone wrong.

The wonder is that it continues to change – in the song

And the structure – and never goes under.

But whiskey’s okay if the drinker stays calm –

Receptive and quiet while player plays on.

And if there’s applause at the end it’s a balm.

But smoke! There’s an enemy hell bent on slaying

The public, the player. In short, life aborted

By one cigarette times a hundred,

Times three hundred sixty-five unnumbered darts.

The issue is, where does the yearning

Young jazzer finds outlet, sand for the grit

In his oyster that strives for its pearl,

Bosses who care, who have taste and right wit.

(Not the churlish and burly who’ll screw any girl,

Whose aim is the buck sans the need to take part

In the needs of the player to foster his art.)?

Players rise up and open your bidding!

Break off the shackles! Well, whom am I kidding?

I’m timid, and not an example

To take you the distance to getting your due;

But I have ideals; experience too.

Maybe they’d blend to produce the right end

If there were one loner to start a new trend.

It takes balls.

©

 

Jazz Without Whiskey 95.5.10Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Nobody Wins In A War

Banal, self-clear, cliché
And tautological to say:
To right a wrong
It cannot pay to kill the young.
A Mozart or Copernicus
To never impart genius
To put more light our way
Because he’s decimated at age six.
No one wins when cities burn;
Limbless people can’t earn
Livings begging
minus leg.
The stomach churns at all the loss:
Planet beings turned to dross.
Any nincompoop can see
That one less creature
Dead too soon,
Changes flows. The sun and moon
And angels cry,
And so do I.

Nobody Wins In A War. 00.11.16
Our Times, Our Culture; War Book;
Arlene Corwin

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