Saturday, May 28, 2011

from The Lights No Stars Are Made Of

    (front & back cover & one page from my Notebook #54, one of many notebooks
    I made from stacks of my dad's leftover state senate & house stationary.
    this one covers June2000 to August 2001 . . .)

       The Truth of the Matter

         I can’t get enough done.
        Chaos aplenty rules the roost.
       It’s like an unkempt chicken house,
       feathers & shit everywhere.
      I pray to the organization order of the universe
      that produced one fine part, me,
      to connect me, to correct me, to direct me
     through these books, records, papers papers papers
     things scattered about long beyond their use:
     give me simplicity simplicity simplicity.
     Maybe if I keep saying it it will come.
     Oh order, good orderly direction, for goodness sake,
     for power, love, service to others’ sake.
     Take me, make me anew, may I do for once, what is true.

     larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / june 2000 / from The Light No Stars Are Made Of

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Goods Gods

(south window, larry's study, twins, spider woman, others)

The Wild Flower Powers Act 
ascertaining all the good that is in the Gods 
Gods spelled with a capital awful 
and preceding from there to the d for damned 
the s of snakes in coupling, if plural 
which is the only way 
and back from the s's 
over the awful of d and the blank vowel 
to G the goddamned, the gee 
of Gee Jesus whodunit Christ 
the master on the Paul 
jacking off Christianity 
Peter & Paul
                      & the holy rod 
stood like common ordinary prick juices 
between them 
Peter & Paul & the horse 
the nightmare of the cross buried 
upside down & forgotten 
coming up in supermarket lilies 
at exactly the wrong time 
Jesus syringed out of God 
over Paul showing him 
the mystic rod to beat his women with 
is how Paul interpreted 
& spread the original joy 
down through the Church 
the Church with a big S hissing 
churches of the rock of Peter 
hard to stone 
spilling or rather 
shooting the hardon into the female church
burst the doors out with 
pretend sperm 
as the male gods refused goddesses 
and rubbed their come on the backs of altars 
the hems of their vesicles 
chasubles and the rest of their impoverished 
rich filth 
that made up the masculine lurch 
from the feminine 
cunt-opera-stone rather to specific 
vulva altar 
like an acorn entering– 
I abominate the history of the Catholic Church 
 (and the Protestant is no protest now... )
I feel free to commit myself 
to freedom from it 
and all its old-fashioned 
Popery puke 
knee-deep in repression 
forked-tongue altars 
split-image confessions 
power-cocked ears 
wealth-misused to 
extract from the mob 
diamonds.& emeralds 
rubies back 
out of their breaking backs 
humping for more tithes 
the orgasmic coffers of the church 
with little token Mary's 
our Lady of Sorrows 
our Virgin of Guadalupe 
robbing Cihuacoatl 
of her skirts.

Toss off what burns
anything painful is not part of the good
in gods 
and one "o" to gods, it's goods– 
erase the church it's 
           the churches 
tied-up masturbatory lurches 
the women priests 
under their thumbs 
under their knees 
under the foundations of the churches 
come rolling out in the light of day 
a new subway rakes off the clay 
and exposes the Goddess 
the mask behind the face looks 
the God in the Goddess 
several tons of exact 
the train of events 
surrounding the circle 
of ancient daddy, old-time mammy 
that old couple 
that old goat, old nanny 
that old fashioned 
Southern family 
from way down 
deep down 
the archeologist hands me 
just such picture 
of what he found there

this was she & he in trees 
in gorgeous swamps 
mosquito ridden 
hiding in the hills 
the groom runs up with best man 
to find her or is it her 
hiding there 
it is her passing 
the wild flowers act 
the power of the two like scales of form 
stations of the house 
the office, the club 
the legislature, congress 
chief of staff 
the board of poets and sculptors 
like scales of function 
space and matter 
the governing bodies race to the top 
where there's only two there 
sometimes doubled 
sometimes tripled. 
Going out with god becomes 
going with the gods becomes 
getting    the goods– 
they are goods 
when they pop out at you  
       or caressed 
rise up to you  
       when blessed 
warm up in you when 
gentled hold, 
surround you are 
the us 
of lust 
the lie 
of life 
that is just 
that is lying down
duplicity emerges
one to the other
in exact duplicates
that become opposites
two males as different as
night and day
two females worlds
all thrown together
to make up gods
that focus on
the man, the men
and woman, women
they are, they are
or were found again
to be totally new– 
caught with the goods
the man as far away from the woman
as he can be
rides the same horse
he tamed – 
she made the horse
comes back in
with her fins
he turns after
swimming in their house
with their goods
compressed air fills the tires of his truck– 
hot air blows
her hair dry
quickly–it’s so short– 
quickly they’re so small
that is the circles of air
they breathe
surrounding earth
with all its goods.

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / 4Oct84

Blue Spruce

(I recorded this long poem in May, 2011, while sitting under the tree. 
It is Fall writing with a kind of stumbling prelude that leads into the poem.)
You can hear it here:      

filled file
I have writer’s

King pin
knocked down,
bad ass
clear the mania
the run any way
gate to
the fairy tale
oh pine
& sea
by the sea warped

I was going to be
right about
something for once —
instead I gushed
boo boos
the cartoon baby
left in the supermarket of desire
by frivolous
parents of the 90's.
Stoned, so sad
no morals
no anything but
let’s narrow the focus
people of our
eaten-up times
eating out on the run
everyone on
the out and outs
with each other
everyone else to
not take care
of themselves.

I have been abandoned in
the supermarket of
no words.
I scream in my cart
don’t take me home
I grow up.
I am home
I am no longer
a pup.
I am
grown up.
I am free
to be me.
And she
who has never been mentioned
is indeed
in this rare moment
is listening
to me
putting up
with me,
I remind myself
to be good
the plate down
with the food
the chile & beans
the homemade pizza
the macaroni & cheese
the great big
garden salad
on it.
We don’t eat together
but we eat.
We are waifs
who found each other
a long
time ago.
There is no impediment
to the fortunes
of a rolling optimist
beating up through
the leaves
of the evergreens,
like heart beats
beat to beat
I grow
because I am planted here
and I haven’t
dried out yet.
I wish I was
a blue spruce
looking at me
irrigating (it).
I have nothing to say
being a tree
growing up high
in the sky
between the two
apples trees.
I am now
taller than
or me.
Feel free
to dispute
the mind of
a poet:
our songs connect thru
Our lives intersect
not touching.
for us.
That is
a forest
in a tree.
In three trees.
The spruce
the Jonathon apple
the tart green
the irrigation
depends on the Oso (bear) spring
flowing above us.
Nature exists
in spite of
People certainly exist
in spite of
in an all-time
rat-race to oblivion.
on the new portal
the sacred yes I say it
sacred because I make it
out to be

Acequia madre
connects to our
shared one
here and
to where it
flows on down
the other part
of the village.
She and I
flow on
as long as the spring fills
through the reservoir
and runs
through more
and more people
& more
more and more

We will take care of everything
by keeping space
between ourselves.
Space makes

I grow up
to become
the tree I see
the blue spruce now
that was
years ago
a Christmas tree
for our family
of three,
making us
after all
I believe in
Sitting on the
looking out at
what was
the sea.
The paradise
of the fall
the paradise of
the garden upon
the blue spruce
overlooking all,
the blazing, blazing
yellow of fall
does the blue spruce
I see.

I see
the fall
the blue spruce
overlooking all.

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / Oct95
from Beyond TV, poems from 1995
this poem was given to friends as a duende press broadside . . .