Larry Goodell | 3 poems

Superb Be

"it almost becomes like a sign of fear when I see anyone 
repressing being able to enjoy something like color." 
    – Jeffrey Gibson, from an interview 2011 in Santa Fe. 

shaman white blithering sainthood
rapid fire egg hunting at Easter
Christmas turquoise tree ornaments
and ancient roots severed from all trees
in fear of the future laughing hard
from death’s head in a colorful breeze
give me a rhyme to the past at last
to the present pheasant that disappeared
when you shot at an elk that wasn’t there any more
what’s slipping out from under you if not
the last ice age the beaded punching bags
descending from the ceiling and swinging
swing low sweet chariot of the Muse
she lost her forelocks her sister her reason
to be amused for you, she screams like Medusa
"you poisoned my water" the water falls from the
Virgin of Guadalupe
and waters Mother Earth Tlaloc nods
Chalchiutlicue appears in the cenotes
acequia running runs off in farmland now
garden land, now overgrown weeds tumbleweeds
sunflowers give a mind to the past
covered with bells, tinkle bells and rattles covered with
layers of covered tinkle-rattling bells as the god
approaches the white board and writes messages
everybody can understand: "Jump Into the Void"
"Transform like a butterfly"
the remarkable ethno-poetic towel dispenser
automatically washes your hands before it
dries them as cars fly by themselves to their previous dawn
and the performance of ethno-strut does
fancy footwork to trance rave beat beat
volcanic electronic power bump speakers and
gong drums look out red radiating eyes
to the white men passing by the black ladies all colors
up and down humanoids lost their future
splashing mish-mash of colors as lost hope
powering wowing you better appreciate
flashing dancing before you labor intensive
gift on gift as sound on foot
colors for the joy of it on rawhide
hide nothing, present themselves in
drums and walls, pieces, elaborate spreading out
garments or propped up
presentation of itself in tea time
Indian time tune tomorrow today
served on a palette beads dropping delicately
in every position the organized mind
shouts out patterns full hanging tassels
tessellated beads of no time now
now of no time is now as only now
is no time not to, superb, be.


Vista

Climbing through the rubble to the top of the world
I looked out at the curlicues of humans
the congested rococo of their dwellings
and architecture of their heights of hubris
I became a fairy tale but without the fairy
the tails of the tail no grandmother to tell it
no grandfather to live it but just the stark effect
of the humans stuck in their technology grinding out
their lives infested with the two extremes of poverty and wealth.
Nature was running away from them left and right
but finding nowhere to go. Nature was losing its identity
and trampled - on dirtied lettered and vilified -
the vertical towers of garages and vacuous homes
        glutted the hills and valleys and the cardboard shacks
replaced the flora as dogs and cats replaced much of
the animal kingdom, the leveled forests where crops
               pitifully grew and cattle ranged
picking through the drought of cleared land.

The governing corporations within their walled up gates
buzzed with affluence and cannibalistic greed
as they commanded the mercenary armies and taxed
to arm them and manufacture more.
I turned to go to go back down to find a 
               compatriot in Nature
but we couldn’t find each other: Nature was horrified
I was one of them.


Impossible

are we free ever to not complain?
run a golden gamut through our brains
and stand in the pot of gold illuminated
by the rainbow while bounding gyrating couples
dance around us.
Oh lattee dah-tee dah-tee day
It’s gone away
unless you pile all the weapons in a pile
        and burn
or melt down destroy
then you might find us dancing again
in the no-dope paradise of reality.
I look forward to the impossible
why not?
I have nothing else to look forward to.


Larry_GoodellBorn in Roswell in 1935, Larry Goodell schooled at USC, UNM, studied with Creeley, founded Duende Press in ‘63, organized Living Batch poetry series and the Duende Poetry Series in Placitas where he lives. Larry Goodell’s personal website: which features his poetry, plays & music. He has 3 new books: Broken Garden & the Unsaid Sings, Digital Remains, & Pieces of Heart.


Larry Goodell’s interview.

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