Fire and Rain - Selected Poems 1993 - 2007 Vol. 1
Author:
RD Armstrong
Genre: Poetry, Trade Paper, 6X9
Publisher: Lummox Press (PO Box 5301 San Pedro, CA 90733-5301)
www.lummoxpress.com
ISBN: 978-1-929878-96-3
Pages: 208
Publishing Date: March 2008
Retail: $15 + shipping
USA - $18
Can/Mex - $20
World - $25
To pay by Money Order/cash, choose appropriate amount and make
check out to Lummox
and send to Lummox Press c/o PO Box 5301 San Pedro, CA 90733
Once again Raindog (RD Armstrong) raises the level of expectation for his vision as a poet and writer, with the publication of FIRE AND RAIN (his first major collection, and the first of a two volume set). Purchase Fire and Rain directly through Lummox press via PAYPAL. If you want it signed, please indicate when I email you confirmation of purchase.
Watch Raindog read from this book on YouTube.
Here are some responses from readers of this book:
“It was a good read -- You have a way of describing other people because you know yourself pretty well and can relate. A fine big book -- glad it's out there and I hope lots of people read it.” – Leonard J. Cirino
“So many poets put out such boring stuff. Your book is really keeping me going.“ – Pris Campbell
"RD Armstrong's ‘Fire and Rain' is mostly all ball
busters and roses. One of the best larger collections by an American poet, that
this reader has read, in many moons" – Doug Draime
FIRE AND RAIN: SELECTED POEMS, VOLUME 1, 1993-2007 -- A Review by B. L. Kennedy
(First appeared in The Rattlesnake
Review #8)
"This is a handsome collection of poetry by one of California’s most prolific
writers of poetry. Having known RD Armstrong mainly through e-mail, it wasn’t
until a few months ago at Luna’s Café that I had the opportunity to actually
meet the poet.
Upon dipping into Fire and Rain, I could not help but take note of the quality
of this collection: the quality of the poems and the clear writing style that
the reader is offered with this book. Armstrong is ever the social critic, and
the 185 poems included in this manuscript are a testament to his original
vision. Working from the sweat of life, Armstrong is a talent that plants itself
in your mind with his rough-and-ready voice of delicate lyric and refined
narrative. He is a poet who does not creep from behind but is full-frontal in
his twist of a line and his blue-collar sensibilities. To not recommend the work
of RD Armstrong to new readers would be sinful and sad, because here is a poet
with a voice that will challenge even the most hard-ass critics of poetry.
So don’t be afraid to purchase a copy of Fire and Rain: Selected Poems 1993-2007
and explore the words of this well-grounded writer."
Here are a few poems from this volume...
VACANCY
There was no vacancy
in fact the whole place had been shut down
locked up
the contents of each room
covered with sheets
shades drawn
doors shut
locked
The paint is peeling
the foliage
dying
A fine layer of dust
covers
all.
I will clean the old place up
make it livable
again.
Slap some paint on
open the windows
unlock all the doors
air it out
Get out the “Murphy’s”
clean, clean, and clean some more.
Clean and polish
the old sign
so you’ll know
There’s a vacancy
You’re room is all ready
bed made up
flowers
fresh picked
on the nightstand
The register is open
and ready for you to sign in.
The staff
ready to serve you.
“Do you have any baggage?”
DENISE
She dances naked except for a red blanket
which she holds in her arms
like a partner
She Tangos around the room
her left arm, high
her right hand, low
flipping the red hem
back and forth
much the way
flamenco dancers
flirt with the crowd
showing an ankle
a calf
maybe even a thigh
she is showing me
more.
Her pale skin
like butter melting
muscles rippling
beneath
the red blanket
a flag draped limply
on a windless day
the air in her studio apartment
too dense to breath deeply
a shape of sunlight
creeps up my leg
warming as it progresses
as I lay on her bed
at one with this day
at peace with the world
at least for a while
at least till this dance
is over.
Mozart at 22
“My life sucks, man!”
He was 22
His hair was cut like the Dutch Boy
and dyed jet black
His overcoat covered
ragged jeans and jackboots
Leaning against the lamppost
bumming cigarettes from
passersby
A group of young men milled around him
muttering their agreement with
his wisdom and profound insight
he was 22 and life was
passing him by
He looked dejectedly at me
“Why can’t I be like you, man?”
22 and he wanted to double his grief
In parts of Eastern Europe
old men of 22 were manning the barricades
right now even as we stood on a corner
in the midday sun
Mozart at 22
had already lived two thirds of his life
Rimbaud at 22 had given up poetry,
been shot by his ex-lover
and taken up gun-running
(better profit to cheap-thrill ratio, I guess)
“My whole life is totally fucked up, man!”
He lived in a small, neat, studio apartment just
down the street
When I was 22
I lived in a roach infested hole of an apartment
in Oakland
My girlfriend was two-timing me with
a baseball player
and booking herself on an all-expenses paid trip
around the bend
The Blue Meanies were gassing kids on Telegraph Ave.
whilst Nixon and Company
were looting Vietnam
raping our faith in authority
and pillaging the federal government
Now this kid
this 22 year-old
this angst-ridden lost soul
wants to be like me
living the “easy” life?
One tenth of my entire life
equals his “adult” life
His life is a little fart
compared to the brown
crusty foot-long floater of a turd
that is mine
22 years old
and its all over except for the
screaming and crying
“Rest easy kid, it’s always darkest
right before it goes
completely black.”