nefarious nested newfound
minds gather in dim-lit bedroom
shining with love.
taking seconds from an
extended time frame.

what eludes to harm done
comes from adultration
of a vision - friendship.
it's been said, no loyalty with
dope fiend drugdrugsdrug addicts.

when under the greensmoke
light of a cracked window
and wheezing-- OH the wheezing--
of youth taking
extra time to become
tomorrow's electronic future.

it's gonna be different
than yester-year, dear.
20% of our feeble country
engages indulges
in this ancient sacredity

&as; for you, my dear ones,
sitting in the dark,
jeopardy, saw IV, daft's
harderbetterfasterstronger
--"i've never seen so many colours!"
my heart calls as yours does,
for a future we're waking up to.

we're not violent vicious vile
backstabbing cold-mongers.
if anything,
laughing at them.
quoting movies, queueing memories.
preparing for world dissolution.


i hate the bane too, kids, but we
know who we are.

You never taught me how to love
Amongst the tangled laces
In between picking me up
You never told me how to feel
Lost in the laundry
Innocent and carefree
You never taught me how to be needed
Amongst the wandering souls of adulthood
In between falling apart
You never told me how to heal
Lost in the stations
Queueing without patience
You never taught me how to mend
Amongst the pieces of broken hearts
In between pretending to love
You never told me what it was
Lost in the clichés
Waiting for the right day

There's more if you want - an unending supply,
love, from the heart as big as the sky,
you're equipped to deal with stars and diamonds,
look too hard and you will find no reasons

My mother always wished for generous arms,
brothers and sisters queueing to take turns,
I did not wish because I already had -
my surroundings, my castle, my very own dad

There were outings, love and ice-cream,
an aura like nothing that you've ever seen;
now it's not enough - who is in denial?
perhaps after all we were only on trial

You can take over your soul if you dare,
where is it written that anything is fair?

The Brits are good at queueing
the Yanks are good at sueing
Italians are good at wooing
and I don't know what I'm doing  

If no one tells me while I'm waiting
time waits for no man only destiny
the French are good at rugby
enthusiastic, they might even hug me

The Australians are good at everything
didn't they used to be English - sickening
the Indians are very good at curry
but now we can get it in Surrey

Terrorists are no good to man nor beast
now just tell me what you like least.

Today is the first day of Spring,
a significant moment when we shift into
a different rhythm of sleep and wakefulness.
When the dark turns back on itself
like thick rind peeled from a fruit
to reveal its golden glow.

That warm feeling returns,
not just superficially - much deeper.
Time has chance to saunter - people do too.
They find a moment to talk with each other-
too hot to rush off to wherever it is they're going.

**

Queueing in the supermarket requires patience.
People casually chat at the checkout
exchanging snippets of gossip as though
they've not spoken to a soul all winter.

Patiently I wait in line at the rapid-serve
with my punnet of strawberries,
their tempting fragrance filling my nostrils.

For a moment I am elsewhere-
in a sunlit field, hovering over row on row
of undulating furrows, where shy fruit
hides under spread leaves-
the ones that got away you might say.

Abruptly, my distant view's obscured
by an unfamiliar voice:

You are English-yes?

I had been studying his back,
muffled in a woolly facade of Tweed.
For him, it was still Winter.

Ah - An English rose - yes!

He tells me how I resemble his wife
and how she adored strawberries.

(simultaneously he waves over his shoulder
to somewhere in the past)

He says he will never forget her,
that once you stop remembering,
eighty years of life becomes meaningless.

A warmness spreads between us
like the weight of a cello concerto.
A kind of sad happiness.

Later in the day, under the almond tree,
I **** on season's first fruit.
My tongue curls around a mouthful of
forgotten language.
I am not disappointed.
It is impossible to believe how good it tastes-
like life sometimes,
when strangers offer a few kind words,
filling the days with sweetness-
the Summer coming.

Humans have long trespassed and
destroyed animal territories.
Humans have poached
And selfishly encroached
upon animal habitats,
felling trees to build human habitations.
Now the tables were turned
Humans quarantined in house arrest,
while some lie sick in bedrest
So animals not usually seen had a fields day roaming upon roads, crossing the streets. Reclaiming the once jungle lands
turned into concrete urban jungles.

It's better that busy humans now become photoholic
than forever queueing in lines of heavy traffic.
Without human pollution, nature is all the more photogenic
Mother nature all a creation of God
has now had many of us grounded
as she gives us a hiding
while we go into hiding.
Extraordinary turn of events indeed!!
In several countries round the world:
Discos and casinos vacated
Pubs and nightclubs evacuated
Bars shutdown for lockdown
People are behind bars
instead of guzzling beer in bars
and instead of animals behind bars.

Humans compelled to hibernate
so animals busted their cell gate
Priorly animals were in an enclosure
Now they are getting free exposure
Self-centred humans cared mostly about themselves
but now the animal kingdom is the cynosure.
Animals were shut in cages
while now human activity is under similar closure.
Ah, this corona crisis!
Is all this mercenary stasis
for humans a roasting nemesis?
A heavy price to pay
for rapacious carelessness and arrogance
where humans acted like they are in control,
like they are controllers of this planet
and they could do anything they wish with it.
It's ignorance to think all this is mere coincidence.
Im relieved our Islamic prayers can be said any place, anywhere
to kneel and bow to the one true real sustainer of the universe.

We need to invoke and supplicate to the creator who is still in control...
as prayer can really truly prevent fear and anxiety in such scary times.

Here is the hotspot:

a meander of people --


queueing for a shot.

-------------------------------------------

The Welcome signposts

lead me deep into the maze --


At Shot I am out.

She's queueing up for a drink

Warm hands hug her from behind
Diagonally across her front
They feel safe
They feel like home

She grasps the arms
Turns her head
Ever
So
Slightly

Stares into his eyes
They smirk as they move
Closer till their breaths mix
And's light, smooth, nothing
Like she had ever imagined

Oh, it's so much better

Synapses

A scien’terrific, spiri’tool
To fool around with; a reality
The best of microscopes can see
And measure.
Pure arithme-ticking over,
Showering the brain with light;
Sparks queueing up in scans,
A cue to IQ variations, and
The more the better.
Riches of all human wishes lying there
Waiting to be bared then shared:
Nature in infinitude.

One good turn deserves another;
One good synapse serves another.
“Wakey, wakey” here comes knowledge!
Insights new, fresh out of college!
Insights causing you to grow;
Daring you to dare to go;
Blowing horns you dared not blow.
Synapse and invention new;
By definition a new you.

I’m signing off with love (or luff),
This synapse stuff the glove
That warms,
Synapses’ arms
The magic charm.

Synapses 12.9.2017 Circling Round Science II; To The Child Mystic II; Arlene Corwin

Buying, vying for space in the crush.
Queueing, rueing the race to spend.
Sighing, desiring a place to sit,
a vacant seat another target.
But this time shaded and discrete.
A place of grace to contemplate
what pleases and how it teases,
leaving the blight of appetite.

Eligible for an upgrade...or an upchuck, or something...


Good comrades once were forced to stand in  lines
To register submission to The Cause
And beg for life while starving in the cold
Applauding all the while their misery

Good comrades still fall in obediently
To register submission to the ‘phone
And fight for selfie-space – oooh, look at me!
Applauding bars of connectivity

The irony of queueing before false shrines-
Good comrades once were forced to stand in lines

The old lady queueing at the store. Do you see.
What's on TV tonight.
I remember the faces of the all the people I've met.
An orange may cost twenty-five pence.
The waiter cleaning the table looks tired. Do you see.
The dreary underground of this city.
My life's a leaf in a foliage.
Stay tall like a man. Give a hand. Smile.
Where's the ashtray.

Children play

Mouths open in silent wonder

Purple waves

Begin to roll

Lovers love

Holding hands

A final time

Together

Drowning

Faces lit with

Jasmine yellow

And fuchsia fire

Reflect the falling embers

Burning sky and haunted beauty

Sunset at the end of the world

When the world ends
it'll be too late for Netflix
to make a series about it,
too late for BBC's
'any questions'
to give answers to it
and those
queueing for a McDonald's
will realise
they've
'bought the farm'

Queueing up to queue to get to
the front of the queue and they're
all behind you just to remind you
that they are queueing up too,

the lines are never ending
the queues are always forming.

We've become a production
a Cecil B DeMille,
'The whispering chorus'
of wannabees,
most of us
over the hill.

God
if they only knew
they would be queueing up
just
to have a conversation
with you