Author: Joie Arnold

Community-pen, wood, acrylic, latex, 2023

Pen and Ink

Pen and Ink

*Registered Nurse-2007-20024

Boy. Man. Robot. Digital Lullabies, Michael Ferentino, album cover, self-released, 2015

Pierogi Gallery-group show: PIEROGI a Go-Go-Brooklyn Gravity Racers, 177 N. 9th St. Brooklyn, NY, 2004

Boy. Man. Robot. An Exorcism, Michael Ferentino, album cover, Gig Records, 2003

Asbury Art Center-group show: Nudes, 708 Cookman Ave. Asbury Park, NJ, 2002

CB’s 313 Gallery-group show: 3 Artists, 313 Bowery NYC, NY, 2000

Undrugged, Amazing Meet Project-album cover, Gig Records, 1999

Melody Bar-public art installation, 106 French Street, New Brunswick, New Jersey, 1998

Jason’s Niteclub-group show: Art, Jazz & Photography Exhibit-Negro College Fund Benefit, 1604 F. Street, South Belmar, NJ, 1991

Kate Millet’s Art Colony for Women (The Farm)- resident, La Grange, NY, 1991

High Heels

Sometimes, the sun sets
beneath my feet,
and I feel as tall as the sky
as my Grandmother
in her four inch
tan leather-buckled
Rapallo’s,
open-toed, with
solid wood soles,
oh-how they lifted her up
above the sunset.

Casino Bus

southbound
on the Garden State Parkway
she sits
on the casino bus

tucked into a snowflake roll
trimmed with frisee, mayo,
beefsteak tomato

unwrapped wax paper
on napkin-ed lap

red nails fluffing
a cloud of white hair
that looks like cotton candy
collecting on a paper cone

reminiscing
about that June in afternoon

Sensory 70’s

“Say cheese.”

“CHEESE!”

/flash

The atomic white cloud
instantly expands and hovers
in the center of my vision,
even with my eyes closed.
I blink hard to make it disappear faster.

Today I would have said: “Goddamn
flash bulbs. And this pantyhose
is itchy as hell!” if I’d known
how to curse as a kid in the 70’s.

I was taught beauty is pain, while
complaining as sections of my hair
were wound tightly around foam rollers
all over my head, waking up with a
headache and tangles.

Anxiously sitting in silence
my eyes pressed out hot tears that burned
all the way down my cheeks, as
knots came loose with a mother’s
heavy handed Mason Pearson Boar Bristle.

No more tears my ass.

I sat still so the nail polish would dry,
otherwise, we’d have to take it off
and start all over again,
my energy pulled back
from the tips of my fingers and toes
and settled down, there, in my lower back,
just enough to keep me from twitching
with my body screaming from the inside,
I gotta move!

At the beach, I stood still as a soldier
until the hat with a brim
was secure under my chin
as cold, white cream was
generously slathered over my skin
Watching, through dark sunglasses
that managed to steal everything’s vibrance.

When I grew up
I threw caution to the wind,
ran through hot sands,
into the ocean where
the unholy sun had it’s way
on my bare skin.

Jello Wrestling Today

The parking lot sign
is a boardwalk barker shouting out:
“Jello Wrestling Today!”

We sit and wait, us broads
a long line of pocketbooks and peroxide on
tattered bar stools,
to be teamed up on stage
in one of those pink, plastic kiddie pools, full
of cold, slimy, jello,
brimming with the sweat of 50 dancers
and their body glitter.

The highest bidder ascends the stage,
to hold my towel poolside, like
a knight pocketing his lover’s handkerchief before the joust.

That’s the way it was back in the day,
at the poor man’s ballet.

Kol Nidre

The cellist’s bow
carves a ballad out, of
blind struggle, of
birth, and how we were
knit together on
Sarah’s loom.

My voice, alongside
your voice, combining
our voices join the lament,
the L’chaim,
that carriea us through the
hedge of flames, stretching back
to our beginning.

We are,
golden bells and pomegranates,
adorning Sinai’s
Hem.

Jersey Girls Don’t Pump Gas

II learned how to pump gas
with my cousin Andrea
just over the North Carolina border
at the One-9.
Irritated by the lack of prompt service,
we idled in the fuel lane

“Where’s the fuckin guy at?”

We honked and cursed
and
rolled our eyes,
shook our heads,
smacked our gum ,
and
threw our arms up
at the nerve of this guy,
the audacity!
until ten minutes later,
we noticed people were
getting out of their cars to
pump it themselves
and
a very, harsh reality kicked in:
we weren’t
in Jersey anymore.

he image shows a whimsical scene, possibly a children’s illustration. In the foreground, several small creatures resembling frogs or toads are scattered around, seemingly engaged in a race towards a signpost that reads ‘RACE’ with an arrow pointing to the right. The background is simple and minimalistic, featuring a light blue sky with little detail besides some sparse, light green grass at the bottom. A girl in a red coat is the central focus, carrying a pail of what looks like more small creatures. The pail appears to be overflowing slightly suggesting the creatures inside are escaping.

The girl appears to be of Caucasian descent, perhaps between the ages of 8-12, judging by her height and attire. She seems calm, almost detached, as she walks alongside the racing creatures, seemingly oblivious to the event. Her expression suggests a playful attitude, rather than one of urgency or competition. The girl’s economic status is difficult to determine based on this illustration, but the overall style suggests a simple, potentially rustic, lifestyle. This image is a drawing rather than a photograph; there is no indication of a camera used or when it was created.

There are several subtle details that might be missed on first glance. The creatures in the pail are of similar size to the ones racing in the grass, and the creatures themselves are not uniform, suggesting variety. This could be interpreted to suggest an overall theme of nature and the playful competitive spirit of nature’s inhabitants. The girl’s coat appears to have stripes resembling a fireman’s uniform, which could be interpreted in multiple ways. Also, one frog in the distance seems to be wearing glasses.