who’s that waving to me when coming out the door — ferns |
|
rain on leaf |
|
He’s got the car, the job, the girl But he’s losing everything else — Wondering what that might be |
|
Nothing is making any sense so I’m going to start now join me? |
|
She sat in the last of a summer sun Her eyes closed All ocean |
|
He got very high with a good friend They sat out in the cold, snowflurries, In the friend’s car and grooved to Pink Floyd He tried to convey this coming back into the house with us |
|
He said he couldn’t take being without his girl I asked what was worse: the time away from his girl Or that longer time without any girl of any kind He got back to work |
|
It’s incredible How our god loving troops Storm across a desert landscape To fight insurgents who chant back God Is Great! |
|
Working way up in the woods with stone No chain saw, no loud tools, no engine Just me and the trees’ leaves Trickling as they fall |
|
Susan I love I have loved a long time We’ve kissed one another goodnight Over 11,000 times — Still not enough |
|
She’s fruit when I look at her Fruit when I hold her Fruit when I kiss her All parts |
|
Lighten up, she advises With the greatest smile in all the world Since we sleep together You’d think I would |
|
They think of him as a crazy-man shirtless in the summer months, old pants, no shoes or socks often seen on his hands and knees cleaning the sidewalk, right down to the dirt and grime between the cracks of the cement — the place where if you stepped on it as a child would break your mother’s back — and so he cleans through to winter now in sweatshirts and some found boots, ranging through the town park picking up all the tossed paper, refuse, each cigarette butt that we throw away carelessly and with no regard to the earth and still it’s we who call him crazy |
|
No matter how long we live in snow country On the first day of real snow falling, sticking on the ground We go to a window all together and look, like seeing Land after months and months at sea |
|
Our son shares most of the secrets About his best friend Billy The dope smoking The quitting college The lies to his parents So when Billy comes to visit He smiles like Eddie Haskell And tells us college is good Life is straight His parents are fine Which leaves us hallucinating |
|
The fire is almost down First felt on the legs When it reaches the waist Go to bed |
This is the second book of a trilogy including Woodcutter's Autumn and a forthcoming title due over the winter of 2005. Bob Arnold's most recent books of poems are Acres (Twelve Bells Press, UK) and Cairn (tel-let). He lives and works with his family in the back hills of Vermont.
Now available ~
Bob Arnold.You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To. Longhouse, 2004. Fine folded booklet with wrap around band. Limited edition. $7.50
As an act of goodwill and for poetry - Longhouse is sending out each month complete publications - online - of one poet we have published in booklet form for everyone to share. It's a way of giving back to many of you who have sent to us poems, letters, purchases and the same goodwill over the years. The series will fly in under the banner of our Woodburners We Recommend. It should also be felt as a certain warmth in memory of our close friend and long time working companion Cid Corman. Each monthly booklet will also be available for purchase from Longhouse. Issued in a very limited keepsake edition of 50 copies. For those readers that travel back as far as 1972 when Longhouse began, you know poetry was released like bandits by the day, by the week, by the month, and always free. We have never taken on grants and meant poetry to be seen & heard & on poetry terms. For the year 2004, and within the universal cyber cosmos, we would like to share a dozen poets with you....and only ask that you share them further.
Home
© December 2004 by Bob & Susan Arnold
- Site design by two-hands
- www.LonghousePoetry.com
- [email protected]