PLAY ON PETER GREEN ~

P E T E R      G R E E N

1946 ~ 2020

______________________________________

NOW ~

Back Road Chalkies

July 2020

Bob & Susan Arnold

FURRY LEWIS ~

IN LISBON ~

The City and the Writer: In Lisbon with Patricio Ferrari

R E A D       M E

ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ TO THE RESCUE ~

ARDOR ~

R E A D      M E

ANNIE ROSS ~

A N N I E      R O S S

1930 ~ 2020

STONE ~

READING WARHOL ~

R E A D      M E










Hatje Cantz
2 0 1 3

POETS WHO SLEEP #8 ~

P O E T S     W H O     S L E E P

______________________

                                                     drawn & scribed by Bob Arnold

all drawings

copyright

Bob Arnold


The complete series to date ~ please link here

SLEEPING BEAUTY ~

ALAN CASLINE ~

Where White Goose Goes


white goose, white goose

fly away home

John found white feathers

up creek

the farmer not home



white goose, white goose

swim for your nest

John found white feathers

down creek

beseeched the preacher

to bless



white goose, white goose

walk the road to the right

John found bloody feathers

evidentially a fight



white goose, white goose

take the left turning path

away from fox's footprints

and the hungry hunter's wrath



white goose, white goose

stay where you are

food, shelter, and friends

though some may find

the company bizarre


January 5, 2009
Voorheesvlle, New York




_______________________

Alan Casline
Summergreen
FootHills Publishing
2019

CHRISTOPHER DICKEY ~

C H R I S T O P H E R      D I C K E Y

1951 ~ 2020

M O R E

TO BUILD A HOUSE ~

POETRY IS ~

Poetry is the shortest distance              between two humans.               — Lawrence Ferlinghetti                Poetry As Insurgent Art

BORN WITH ~

Born With





My painting will have no surface.

You will enter it by light.

But the sheet of color seems still

the moment refracted sun

twirls cloud mass and the petals,

dapple accidents on crabapples'

wet black trunks. Light enters, richly,

cow-green fields a lake rises to meet.

There's no distance, sundown finches

wash our street in the song of rain.

In the shades there's no tomorrow

but we let it fall on us uncreated.

I have had a canvas but never a brush.



_________________

MICHAEL DALY
BORN WITH
DOS MADRES PRESS
2020

BUILDER, GRANDA A MU ~

POETS WHO SLEEP # 7 ~

P O E T S     W H O     S L E E P

______________________

                                             

                                                     drawn & scribed by Bob Arnold

all drawings

copyright

Bob Arnold