Bending Over The Bathtub Thinking 2012

Bending Over The Bathtub Thinking

Brain, I am in touch with you,

And you’re in touch with You-niverse,


Which knows you back:

Front, sideways too.

First I’m staring,

Nothing going on ‘upstairs’.

Slowly I become aware I’m staring;

Nothing going on ‘upstairs’ where

It all counts.

I change within a second

In, inside the mind

And bind myself to it.

It’s beckoned.

Then, experiencing It flashing

In a nano-minute

I stand up, go out,

And picking up the book I’m reading

Carry on the day.

Bending Over The Bathtub Thinking 6.19.2012

Circling Round Baths; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

Arlene Corwin

I Asked And No One Said Yes 2005

   I Asked And No One Said Yes

I asked and no one said yes.

I knocked on doors –

It wasn’t my time.

I waited and worked,

And waiting, work.

That time may not come.

Still writing tome,

Waiting at home,

I’ve finished with asking:

Philosophy wrong.

I simply hold to my song.

©I Asked And No One Said Yes 05.1.13

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin


All Beginnings Have An End 1995/2005

All Beginnings Have An End

Haydn wrote his last, lived on for six more years.
‘Papa’ Hayd-, prolific Hayd-, productive Haydn
Never stopped;
A last quartet, then he was through.
Maybe Papa Haydn popped,
Cropped his life and turned into
A gardener!
Had he lost his ‘papa’ clout?
It seems he opted out.
Had he broken through illusion?
Found his still point? Lost his will?
More to the point,
When gift’s become full-blown,
More feels like less and crown noblesse
Invites a pause and settling down –
Ambition’s push a wish expired.
Time comes, you’ve given all,
Inventiveness may pall,
The old exciting games a faulty
Use of time. You’re tired!

Endless twists, flicks of the wrist;
Never tamed and open framed raw energy
All have an end.
Pretending otherwise is madness.

©All Beginnings Have An End 95.3.9/05.4.28
The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Vaguely About Music;
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


Withdrawing ego-hand control,

Finding substance in a song

That never reaches critic’s blows,

But senses something there that knows



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


Arlene Corwin

%d bloggers like this: