Detective Poem 2008

31 Jan 2009 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2008, a sense of the ridiculous, defiant doggerel, doggerel, small stories book Tags: , , ,

       Detective Poem

Possible I’ll reason through

To something in the genre, to

A form more suitable,

More aptitudinal,

An under-plot

That’s got to do

With After and Before life.

Something’s Missing From the Corpse

, or“Where’s The Life The Was?”

Let’s see:

Face down; mud brown in water;

Strangled, mangled, tangled,

Bangles dangling. In the matter

Of the motive:

Money, lawyers, jealousy,

Contracts of dishonesty:

Lots of lies and lots of clues;

Inevitably Chapter Two:

Numbers, records: threads are sewn.

The unknown turns into the known.

Gun in drawers (the ones she wore)

Stolen money from the lawyers.

(Also, she was screwing one.)

Hence the murder, hence the gun.

Lies, sex, money: Chapter three.

No crime expert, but one sees.

The secretary had to go:

She knew. He knew she knew, and so,

The murderer was CEO.

Killer nabbed,

(There is a person on that slab)

Killer booked.

(I force a look).

Where is the life that used to be?

The real mystery

Unsolved by Dirty Harry, cops,

Something’s missing from the corpse.

Where is it?

© Detective Poem 5.21.2008

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Defiant Doggerel; Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Animal Friend 2008

29 Jan 2009 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2008, cat book, small stories book, swedish book Tags: , , ,

     Animal Friend

My sister in-law says that

She’s become a better matte,(Matte* as in patt-er)

“I am ninety percent better!”

Sixty-six, and got a kitten

Which she handles as if it

Were human.

Standards lower –

(“I allow her to destroy the flowers”)

Tolerant;

Perfectionism once demanded

Compromised and compromising.

Chair torn, a little scratched,

It is that cat has hatched some fun.

House-proud

, house-proud no more,My sister in-law now detached,

The ironed shirt, the polished floor

A laid-back effort,

Ninety percent better than before.

*a female pet owner, husse being the male equivalent i.e. the mommy and daddy

© Animal Friend 3.24.2008

Cat Book; Small Stories Book; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin

Djur Vän

Svägerskan säger

“Har blivit bättre matte:”

Nittio procent bättre.

Nu sextio sex med katt unge,

Som behandlas som manniska.

Sänkt standard, blommor förstörs,

Perfektionism en gång funnits:

Nu kompromisser.

Skrapade stolar, sönder rivet –

Har katten haft roligt!

Hemstolt, hemstolt, inte mer!

Svägerskan nu likgiltig – nästan.

Strukna skjortan, bonat golv –

Vem bry sig?

Nittio procent bättre an förr.

Translated by Kent Anderson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting For Spring#1 1997

11 Jan 2009 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1997, circling round nature, our times our culture, small stories book, swedish book Tags: , , , ,

             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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting For Spring 1997

11 Jan 2009 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1997, circling round nature, our times our culture, small stories book, swedish book Tags: , , , ,

      Waiting For Spring

Will spring never come? It’s April and it’s snowing.

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 diverting steam

To search for groups to spy on.

Dear oh dear, while lying here

The snow continues piling:

Up and up and up. 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 victuals without fat;

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’s full of birch and the golf clubs stand untried;

I had porridge as a snack. I needed something warm.

Spring, why are you holding back your lime-y green and floral charm?

©Waiting For Spring 97.4.23

Circling Round Nature; Our Times, Our Culture; Small Stories Book; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

The Long, Long Sundays Facing Time 1997

11 Jan 2009 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1997, our times our culture, small stories book, special people special occasions, swedish book, Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

                The Long, Long Sundays Facing Time

“Sundays are so long!”

It’s time again.

It’s Time again.

My mother in-law loathes that time;

Unsolvable and cloudy time;

Time shrouded in ennui so deep

She weeps; a stagnant dynamo.

Helplessness so stamped upon

Her soul that all the day is drab,

And that, no matter what the sun.

What is this time if not translation,

Reason’s weak interpretation

Straight from cell to day, the stab

At self-enjoyment and employment

Dulled to waking,

Cooking, eating, sitting making

Number one and number two;

Viewing, phoning: things to do.

The Sundays are so long,

Street that stands outside the house

Stands for six days in the week.

Families, drunks are sights that that dose

Existence bleak

With meaning that eludes her.

Mother in-law, eighty three

Could be me.

To hide from time-which-lies outside,

Which-lies-inside, not baring breast

To morning, joining ripples in the stream,

Where standing still you never feel

The river’s ripple twice the same,

Infinity within that frame,

Makes automizing the Lord’s Prayer

Bare, pale,

A jail of long, long Sundays doing time.

©The Long, Long Sundays Facing Time 97.8.24/03.11.23

Our Times, Our Culture; Special People, Special Occasions; Swedish Book;

Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

A Memory I’d Almost Forgotten 1992

06 Jan 2009 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 1992, circling round nature, small stories book, to the child mystic Tags: , , ,

                 A Memory I’d Almost Forgotten
Out cycling when it starts to rain;

The day is warm and so is it.

You know how ideas light the brain –

I cycle hard and then it’s ‘lit’:

The me’s inside – I can’t get wet!

I am distinctly warm and high.

The key thought is: I feel all-dry!

I felt the dryness. I was tucked up

Deep within, my guide completely

Conscious of the rain I bucked;

Protective skin that, like a sheet, let nothing in:

An oilcloth but oodles thinner.

If I’d been awash at sea,

There’s nothing could have wet that me.

Nothing could have threatened either.

At that hour security

Was mine.

 

©A Memory I’d Almost Forgotten 92.4.9

Circling Round Nature; To The Child Mystic; Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

Mind Never Forgets 2007

24 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2007, a sense of the ridiculous, circling round energy, circling round nature, circling round reality, small stories book, the processes creative thinking meditative Tags: , , , , , ,

              Mind Never Forgets

I saw a hypnotist who knew the case,

Create upon a body place

That had been iron-burned at three,

A scorch mark long time vanished.

Re-create a scorch mark new

On someone now a sixty-two.

When act was through

The mark was too.

Mind never forgets.

©Mind Never Forgets 07.1.9

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

Circling Round Energy; Circling Round Reality; Circling Round Nature;

Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

Elk Apples 2004 2007

18 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2004, 2007, circling round nature, small stories book Tags: , , ,

               Elk Apples
All year long the secret seed –
Built up upon its secret feed,
It’s apple-y need, sleeps,
Doing all its apple-y things
To end up drink or salad, pie –
Something surely heavenly.
Summer long my husband and I
Wait. We watch,
Share swelling potluck,
Offering bits of bites or three,
To birds that catch
The worms that hatch in soil
For fructifying tree,
The whole gang sharing nicely.
Then one night,
With the birds, worms, husband tucked up tight,
Elks take the apples!
One more gosh darned time it’s happeled!
Fruitlessly we stomp around, rebuking chance,
Our idiocy not to fence.
How they have relished in the dance –
The cider scent that charms and pulls,
Pervading firmament and mouthfuls,
Broken branches, stringy leaves:
Evidence of feast and thieves.
Once again we bide our time
Waiting on an output.
Will there be a yield or crime?
Winter, spring and summer waits.
Kitchen stove and oven waits.
Cinnamon and whipped cream wait,
Contemplating basketsful of fruit
Untouched.
 ©Elk Apples 02.9.17 / 04.9.17/07.1.11
Circling Round Nature; Small Stories Book;
Arlene Corwin
 

 

 

 

Eating For The Niceness 2007

18 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2007, a sense of the ridiculous, circling round nature, small stories book Tags: , , ,

               Eating For The Niceness

It’s June, and Kent’s put up the hammock.

Oral to my fingertips I’ve got my book,

Pads, pencils and,

A casserole at hand:

Spiced tofu, vegetables, rice, soy.

Oh, joy!

Wok fried, grassy ground beside,

I lie, a Roman god

Spoon-crooning to the food. So good!

Three spoons at once,

A bon viveur, an epicure

To chew the textured taste,

Not waste a grain

Which, if it falls, I pop

Into my mouth again.

(The tiniest of spiders

Has just crossed my thumb

And disappeared into my palm)

Such sensual experience

Deserves the paper, pads and pens,

Legitimizing eating

For sensation.

Yes, Jeremy, it’s my vacation.

©Eating For The Niceness 07.6.8

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Circling Round Nature; Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

Duck In The Chimney 2007

18 Dec 2008 Leave a comment

by arlenecorwin in 2007, birth death & in between, circling round nature, life, small stories book Tags: , , ,

          Duck In The Chimney

It happened last year.

This morning it’s here in my head,

In my bed, and it ought to be told

Before I get too old to remember:

 

We’d started a fire that smoked up the house.

We poked. We choked.

Stubbornly, blackening.

Opening doors, lest we die in the night,

We gave up the fight.

 

Later, much later we puttered around.

A sound from the fireplace –

Rustling, silence, rustling again.

“Listen!” I said,

We approached it with dread.

(Mysterious sounds just don’t come from a fireplace)

There, in the ash and the soot

Was a duck, black as muck,

But alive and exhausted – and little and cute.

We carefully lifted him out to the lawn,

But springing to life he escaped us and ran

To the barn – but we got him;

Carried him down to the lake, where we dropped him

Right in. From the window we watched him.

Cleaning and preening. He dove half the day.

His efforts looked playful,

But up to this moment we’ve no idea if

He de-sooted, swam off or survived.

Each duck looks the same.

I can’t make him out for the ducks swans or geese.

I woke up this morning

Reminded of something that won’t happen twice.

© Duck In the Chimney 07.7. 21

Birth, Death & In Between; Circling Round Nature; Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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