Tuesday, November 13, 2012



Bigger as the night got later.

Nearing winter.

I’d walk out last thing of the day.

Bring in two armloads of stovewood.

For the next morning.

That’s when I heard the gunshots.

Unreal. In the middle of nowhere.

Louder than anything I’ve heard for weeks.

Native knew I could hear him jacking deer.

No one else in the world was down here.

One of those things we never talked about.


The time we worked in the woods

Cutting trees in the old sugar stand

Opening back up to the light and the

World some of the largest maples we

Had ever seen, Sweetheart called the

Job our Fitzcarraldo, after the Herzog

Film, when they cut a wide swath over

The mountain in a jungle to pull the

Ship over to reach another waterway —

But we were after no waterway

Just cutting tree after tree and

Brush and piling it all but still

Like the movie Sweetheart

Said she had the same opera

Music playing in her head

for Susan

Rule of Thumb

don’t stay

long in




out a





[ BA ]

from Yokel

poems & photo © bob arnold


Anonymous said...

Those stars, that thumb, and Sweetheart, they know all the wonders, some of them straight from your pen. I love these three poems you posted here. Bringing them to that word pond. XOXO, Donna

Bob Arnold / Longhouse said...

Thanks to you, Donna, the carrier of water, a return bow.

Taking everything here to word pond — a hardware store if there ever was one!

all's well, Bob