Day After #1 2009

             Day After #1

Day after New Year is

Continuation ordinaire:

Nothing changed except the number.

I‘m a yin/yang, pro-con person

Celebrating time that’s done.

Why the fireworks?

© Day After 1.2.2009

Time; A Sense Of The Ridiculous; Our Times, Our Culture;

Special People, Special Occasions;

Arlene Corwin




Drinking Wine At Eva’s 2008

       Drinking Wine At Eva’s

You honored me

By sharing wine

I knew was rare.

I honored you

By drinking it –

I, who refuse the most.

We made a toast.

It was exquisite, as you said;

The taste, the look, the tint, the scent,

Went to the senses (and my head).

I relished it, aware

That you were sharing

Wine intended for a few

(Possibly just you)

And I, I was included.


© Drinking Wine Eva’s 5.31.2008

Love Relationships; Special People, Special Occasions;(eva)

Arlene Corwin


Day Of The Party 2008


      Day Of The Party

It’s over

You’re tired.

You’ve been fired up all day.

Oh, oh, Barbro,

This verse

Is getting worse each passing day;

I’ve bitten off more than is chewable,

Because though birthdays are renewable,

Seventy may

Never come again

Unless reincarnation

Is a fact, when

You will have to go through seventy,

The party, preparation,

Wine, food, friends

In worlds that have no ends.

Is that not something to look forward to?

This is your week.


© Day Of The Party 6.28.2008Birthday Book; Special People, Special Occasions; (barbro1 of 3)

Arlene Corwin













Continuing The Birthday Dance 2008

      Continuing The Birthday Dance

The one and only June

When you were seven-



Celebrated for a week,

Not only duty bound

But more because you are our friend,

And we have found

That seventy is special.

Flying on your birthday wings

The real deal

Lies somewhere where the music swings,

The wine is perfect,

And the things

That stamp us old

Turn into gold,

Continuing the birthday dance.

© Continuing The Birthday Dance 6.27.2008

Birthday Book; Special People, Special Occasions; (Barbro)

Arlene Corwin




Christmas Morning Hand-Knit Socks 2008

      Christmas Morning Hand-Knit Socks

We made love this morning

Listening to the radio.

Two things going on,

Both giving pleasure, neither one

Distracting from the other.

Passion, sensitivity;

Sometimes coming, sometimes not.

This Christmas morning in your pair

Of rainbow-colored, hand-knit socks:

Radio and hand-knit socks

And sex

That rocks.

© Christmas Morning Hand-Knit Socks 12.26.2008

Circling Round Eros; Love Relationships; Special People, Special Occasions*

Arlene Corwin

*Anna, who made them


How Not To Save Money 1998

      How Not To Save Money

A good job:

You’ve got it!

No snob,

And yet you eat out

Quite a lot;

All over town,

This restaurant, that café,

This talked about museum, that play,

This club,

This pub –

Why not?

You’re earning pounds, so use them.

A good flat, clothes,

Of course!

No clothes horse,

But what’s ‘in’ is key –

Not consciously,

But in the stream.

Friends, trips –

One needs the new,

To come to grips

With life. One’s young,


One doesn’t smoke,

And one or two good trips a year

Do well to stoke

The fires.

Still no risk of getting old,

Growing bald,

Losing out to someone younger

On the job or in the home.

The time’s to find out

Who you are, and what to do

About the days and nights you roam

The streets with gobs

Of energy, a heart that throbs.

Philately, a cup of tea,

Reflecting on the death of days,

The endless, certain, fickle ways

Of change –

Now’s not the time to pan the range,

Examine change.

It’s all so strange,

It’s all so new:

Now is the time to do.©


How Not To Save Money 98.7.2

But Now You’re Seventy 1998


      But Now You’re Seventy

But now you’re seventy,

And fifty-six seems young.

At eighty, seven decades will seem juvenile,

And you, the wee marsupial,

A worm in mommy’s pung.

For such are our perceptions:

Relative and without substance.

Now you’re seventy.

Repeat it!

See the troll for what is:

Foolish, impish chimera

Whose scornful aim it is

To move the goalpost back and forth,

East to west, south to north –

Making you a little you:

What rot! What poppycock!

A crock of shit!

With each new decade you are it!

More refined.

It’s all a trade-off:

Seeing time and what it’s made of:

Pain’s long trip from breath to breath

Where something ‘fab’ awaits.



But Now You’re Seventy 98.2.16Circling Round Woman; I Is Always You Is We; Birth, Death & In Between;

Time; Special People, Special Occasions; Circling Round Vanities; Circling Round Wrinkles;

Arlene Corwin

You Can’t Fool Your Friends 1997

                You Can’t Fool Your Friends

You can’t fool your friends.

You write a poem.

You write a ‘we’ instead of ‘I’.

It smacks of insincerity

Your friends are sharp and sensitive;

They know a compromise

On palette or in word:

The visual, the heard;

Straightforwardness and honesty,

Too little or too much. –

They’ll give you all the feedback

That’s required to re-touch.

But if, in your travail and sweat

You’ve made your peace with what you met

During conception and inception,


To a conclusion that convinces you,Then stick to it now matter what –

And thankful for the friends you’ve got,

To thine own self be true.

Allowed to bash at faulty views,

And at your pace

(Which can take years, for after all,

It’s not a race).

You cannot fool your friends, but still,

They’re not inside your soul

Seeing the whole,

As you perceive it.

They have their ways to receive it –

And that’s lovely.

But an artist’s life’s reflective, lonely.

Seen from that perspective,

Friends are not the folk you pool

Your art’s results with, but a tool

For transformation,

Further change, modification.

Cruel they may be,

Fuel they are

Gruel for future art.

And jewel –

For the friend you cannot fool

And ought not to resist –

The catalyst –

Is your most loyal propagandist

And reminder.

©You Can’t Fool Your Friends 97.10.14Special People, Special Occasions; I Is Always You Is We; Love Relationships;
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Definitely Didactic;  Arlene Corwin




When Guest Is Gone 1997


      When Guest Is Gone

When guest is gone

And you’ve been a good hostess,

And been, as they say,

The host with the ‘mostess’;

Done all you can for the sake of

The fun and the best for the guest,

Cooking and chatting and eating with zest,

Osmosing the beauty connected with duty;

Voiced every boast that can come from a host

With good will and good cheer

And your very best beer,

In the strain to provide entertainment;

Guest gone and all’s been done;

You’re glad to go back, change the clocks;

A tad sad –it’s natural

A paradox.

When guest is here, the atmosphere,

Is prejudicial to deep peace:


The wish to fill the bill kills stillness.

Even conversations true

Must tire the guest and tire you.

You’ve done your best;

And he’s gone home again to rest,

Happy to return.

And even though he’s learned and earned

On this ten day vacation week –

Skin now brown where it was bleak,

A new found language, so to speak –

He’s been away from the old clique,

And glad to travel back to Hackney

Where the journey first excited:

Coming back’s the thing,

The yearning to be on the wing

Replaced by ‘Happy to be home!’

When week has gone,

Both guest and host hone normalcy:

Remembering the sun, the rain,

Mosquito pain, the false champagne,

The Nordic sun that didn’t wane,

The foal’s white mane

Looking to a next again.

These days refrain a memory.



When Guest Is Gone (Rod) 97.8.13I Is Always You Is We; Special People, Special Occasions; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin








The Songbird 1997


     The Songbird

I heard a singer and was moved,

Which proves not much.

We’re touched by mediocrity,

The second-rate,

The bait of glamour.

Hers was honesty,

Simplicity dug deep in skill.

Talent and ability.

Oh, so good, voice many-hued.

Interpretation, even the

Pronunciation, woven in

The loveliness.

A jazz parfait: a marmalade,

Jade luminesence

Honesty, simplicity,

Substance in each nicety;


Who wouldn’t want to sing so well,

That those who heard would feel compelled

To tell the world what you exude

Though under-known and undervalued?

(such a gift might give me hubris where, too satisfied,

I’d have to watch for sins of pride.)

For now, there’s happiness-near-bliss,

Aesthetic saturation

Having heard this songbird sing.*



The Songbird 97.10.4Special People, Special Occasions; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

* Sue Raney



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