I M L 8 CALIFORNIA PLATE
Black motor home
Pushed by a white rabbit
I M L 8 CALIFORNIA PLATE
Black motor home
Pushed by a white rabbit
THE EDDIE ARNOLD KITCHEN COLLECTION
Tea for one
That lonesome kettle call
SPRING HOPES ETERNAL
Spring hopes eternal
The meadowlark’s song
Lifts tears from the dew
THE JOY OF THE LOON
The joy of the loon
Is in the sadness of his song
Candle lake at dawn
BIRCHES DISROBED
Birches disrobed
Weep in their nakedness
Pray for the snow
MILKY WAY
Her breast withdrawn
I walk face down in darkness
Milky way above
LONG HOT SASKATCHEWAN SUMMER SHORT POEMS
Hay bales pile
the sun stays to watch
will evening come
_____________________
Plow breaks again
metal too hot to touch
will evening come
_______
______________
Girl in summer dress
more heat inside than out
fall is soon coming
_____________________
Beer is all gone
road weaves our way home
morning comes soon
_____________________
Sun rises at four
bones store summer heat
winter days are short
_____________________
Waiting for the crop
rain or hail, God decides
in the pub, politics
_____________________
Stopping for water
dry eyes turn westward
reading the clouds
_____________________
The farmer complains
gratitude too much like pride
outside the rain falls
WORKING WITH FATHER
In the short days of a long winter
we sort nuts, bolts, and washers
against the busy days of summer
Place them in well-marked bins
accompanied always by his mentor’s
Never waste five dollars worth of time
looking for a five cent bolt
The 9/16th fine-threads do not go in
with the regular or coarse
When you’re four
it’s not hard to get up
at four to ride in the cattle
truck to the city with your dad
excitement keeps you awake all night
There are knots you need to know
reef, sheepshank, and the ever
popular bowline that can still
be undone even after looping
a red bull weighing a ton
Hook the twine around your
little finger just son, in a way
that I could never get,
three turns and knot
the gunny sack
in two seconds
flat
Heel that calf, or turn the herd
drive the truck at the perfect speed
to catch the combine
on the fly
There is a great deal of pleasure in
doing something right, when right
is the only way anything should
ever be done
But never far, even yet
from the red-black cloud
of doing it wrong
THE MESSIAH IN MINNESOTA
A Minneapolis Sunday morning
and an outer limits preacher
in an inner city church
has a thousand (feels
like a million)
singing
chanting
clapping
Flying high as the sky
on pure faith
and hundred proof
adrenalin
I stand at the podium
still hot from his exhorting
to confirm that I’m the man
come to buy their building
come to save their dream
And their love
is lifting me
lifting me lifting me
like I’ve never
been lifted before
We are one, and I am the one
carried along on the juice
and the song
And I don’t want it to ever end
don’t want to go back
to my chair
Don’t want to put my arms
down to my sides
THE ICON
(For Albert Huffstickler)
The icon and I
read at the same venue
I like his poetry
but am not sure
that he even hears mine
surrounded as he is
by the iron filings of fans
No matter I think
I have the gift of his words
and an iron filing or two of my own
We may nod as we pass
on the way to the stage
As similar as magnets
the shy poles repelling