A-bed,

A-morning

Going through

The cortex,

Hemispheres,

Up and down the spine

To limits mine,

To fortify

This imperceptibility:

Not imaginary

Yet concealed

As yet

This morning –

Not for always.

Locating God 1.19.2012

God Book; The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

To The Child Mystic II;

Arlene Corwin

Unbelievable!

With no idea

If one should praise

The weather

Or shed tears in January,

Snowdrops showing in the cemetery.

Lars is to be buried here,

The service not an hour ago.

Light but mystical

To those who ‘heard’,

Sensible to all the others.

Fueling all in one or other way,

It fueled the whole.

Coffee, anecdotes and cake

Laughter, memories and talk

And afterwards the walk

Through graveyard to the car

And on the way the snowdrops growing

In a month

Entirely

Wrong.

Snowdrops In The Cemetery 1.13.2012

Nature Of & In Reality; Birth, Death & In Between II;

Circling Round Nature;

Arlene Corwin

What’s the thing you think of

Waking,

Coming to

All cloudy, trying

To hold on

To dream?

Images interpreted

Or failed to be…

Abandoned, fruitless

I do something

In my nature

Since a child. I

Go to brain,

Climb in

And feel out

Left, right, center/back, front, under,

Thinking, sensing

That I’m feeling.

Feeling really.

Really feeling.

What’s the difference?

Best aide to the waking.

First Aide 1.11.2012

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

Ruled by fear, he sits at home.

Not out in years

Nor in a dentist’s chair,

Teeth rotting, missing,

Dread of falling down the stairs

(Three or four at his front door)

He sits at home, the TV going

While assuring those he phones

That he’s not really watching.

In an armchair he calls throne

He sits alone,

The throne not king’s –

More beggar/clown.

His drinking’s slowed,

His ‘pot’s expanding;

Cigarettes smell up his pants

And everything else in the house.

The legs go like an old, old man’s -

Weakened by disuse.

A man who once had perfect pitch,

Once in demand by groups and bands,

Perfect ‘time’, his bass sublime;

Those gifted hands

Have stopped, a clock unwound.

He’ll never wind it up again

Unless a wonder intercedes.

He needs

a miracle.

Because Of Fear 1.10.2012

Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

My husband showers,

I take baths,

Luxuriating in the tub,

Sitting submarined,

My scrub-a-dub-dub duck around.

My character shows: sybaritic.

Showerer shows his: ascetic,

Doing all his stuff outdoors,

I train on floors.

He takes his walks,

I, talk in my computer talk.

Who’ll live the longer?

I in my enameled bubble,

He in his one day of stubble.

We are happy;

Probably

Both doubly good and bad

In more than one reality.

Access To Another Reality 1.17.2012

Circling Round Baths;

Arlene Corwin

]]> http://arlenecorwin.wordpress.com/2012/01/18/access-to-another-reality-2012/feed/ 0 arlenecorwin http://arlenecorwin.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/no-secrets-other-thoughts-2012/ http://arlenecorwin.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/no-secrets-other-thoughts-2012/#comments Sun, 15 Jan 2012 20:03:04 +0000 arlenecorwin http://arlenecorwin.wordpress.com/?p=3912 ]]>        No Secrets (and Other Thoughts)

As paranoiac as the next;

It is society –

The cameras watching me.

Not exactly,

But you get my gist,

For there is nothing on my laptop

You can’t see.

I have no secrets.

Simple with veracity,

I haven’t got a hundred passwords

That would make me crazy,

Bending over backwards

To compromise

With fear.

Overlaps:

Modern life, expansion, fullness,

Plethora to taking from

And no way to be rid of it.

Somewhere In the pile

Lies a good’un.

Well, It must.

Friends dying:

Feeling:

Nothing.

Thinking,

The immediate.

Response glib, searching,

Saying yes to being, breathing

Torso, limbs and senses

Animated,

Here.

No Secrets (and Other Thoughts) 1.8.2012

Our Times, Our Culture II; The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin

Died yesterday.

Peacefully.

Away from

Dopamine-less,

Speechless shaking.

Waking

To the feel of light,

Serenity,

And energy.

Unoriginal, banal:

This thing of death;

Too soon.

We mourn

An Eie gone but clothed

In strength again.

Eie rhymes with play-a.

A Friend 12.22.2011/12

Birth, Death & In Between II; Special People, Special Occasions;

Arlene Corwin

Zope is at the end

Because

It is the last thought sent

From in the range

Of our resources.

Zope is hope

For something good;

Faith-filled optimism

Wanting, nay, expecting.

And it does not measure time:

It’s open.

In our times, our culture

Lies the worst of rhymes: a vulture

Waiting…

Which itself may be no longer…

Carrion that’s it, she, he

May be no longer.

But there’s zope

Which clings to possibility.

The last poem on the list. 

Zope 1.15.2012

Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin

Spiritually oriented, integrative, pragmatic, concrete actively participating in the world around according to my limitations and boundaries, I see without having to look.

It is impossible to avoid watching the world as it acts.  Not that there are those who don’t try, numbing themselves with drugs and entertainment while Rome burns.

Living is painful, I admit.

A ship sinks, the stock market falls, an extraordinary storm, a quake, a tsunami, a flood, terrorist acts on holy days in places marked for holy visits, simultaneous revolutions, wars, corruption high and low, a nuclear catastrophe.

Everywhere.

And in the list mood, species wiped out daily, starvation, oil spills, amazons eroded, cut down, the human sperm rate weaker, foods, boobs, faces, bottoms, calves and chins not real, technologic speed, postponing and producing death.

Expansion/contraction.  The names no longer do.  Adjectives like cruel, greedy, vain and foolish: inadequate.  In fact, the words for our times and culture cannot describe our time, our culture.  Reality is so much more.

Yes here I am, words the weapon and personal savior; senses, mind and words, groping as they do.

In the negative sits the positive.  Every force has an equal and opposite energy.

Suffering hurts.  Observing it fosters compassion.  Anger is uncomfortable.  One can’t stay angry forever – not without longing and reaching for balance and calm.  Resentment is unsustainable.  There is hope.

In one of those moods,

Understanding soothes the brain,

Everything has purpose:

Strangers, meetings, conversations

All by chance;

Enlightening,

Enhancing,

Dancing to the tune

Of experience.

In One Of Those Moods 9.13.2011

The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II:

Arlene Corwin