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.
Born 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.