Monday, July 24, 2017



What a beautiful day

No matter how trite that sounds —

After days on end of heat and foul weather

Rain, storms, even tornadoes south of us

Which brought us hail here in the woods

Sounding off the steel roof like sparks!

Today the breezes are back cool across my face

Along my ears, on the cheeks, over the brow, to the hands

I imagine this happening to anyone close by

I’ll read a few more poems by Santoka before I head

Off to the woods with splitting maul & wedges

An old apple tree fallen to the ground awaits

In short lengths I cut it into last week with that heat

The bugs, the mud, the last of the blossoms on the tree

Which I waited to fully blossom and die before I returned

With the breezes, my saw, the faintest aroma of the bloom


It isn’t right

to have the sea

come to us from

the sky but on

Sunday that’s what

it did and every

one and every thing

that was once born

paid for it whether

there or not which

is the real message and

shape of this earth

Could Be

This has to be love —

she could be anywhere else

she could be under soft quilts asleep

she could be in a warm kitchen stirring

she could be in a playground watching what she loves

she could be in the garden dreaming

she could be walking the dog, petting the cat, singing with a bird

she could be by the ocean with all the day ahead

she could be in another's arms but no

she could be and is in my arms

beneath the driftwood of huge trees brought down with a flood

this little cave we've made under horizontal trees

it looks possibly dangerous and if it all collapsed

we would be crushed

and she has joined me there

while it rains


The ugliest house

on the road

has all the butterflies


Bob Arnold

— End of the book, see you in a few weeks with more