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(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.)
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You can hear it here: http://bit.ly/luyA8Y
filled file
foil
few
I have writer’s
critters
block
bust
through.
King pin
King pin
kinged
pinned
knocked down,
bad ass
bump
busted
clog
cleared
clear the mania
the run any way
gate to
the fairy tale
muse
opened
opined
oh pine
& sea
by the sea warped
seashore
I was going to be
I was going to be
right about
something for once —
instead I gushed
bad
elongated
haikus
boo boos
on
booboos,
boohoo
the cartoon baby
said
left in the supermarket of desire
by frivolous
parents of the 90's.
Stoned, so sad
mad
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
abandoning
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
until
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
here.
She
in this rare moment
is listening
to me
is
putting up
with me,
because
I remind myself
to be good
honest
sharing
caring
putting
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
you
or me.
Feel free
to dispute
the mind of
a poet:
our songs connect thru
disconnects.
Our lives intersect
through
not touching.
Words
touch
for us.
That is
a forest
in a tree.
In three trees.
The spruce
the Jonathon apple
the tart green
apple
the irrigation
ditch
depends on the Oso (bear) spring
flowing above us.
Nature exists
in spite of
people.
People certainly exist
in spite of
natural
wonders
diminishing
in an all-time
rat-race to oblivion.
Sit
on the new portal
overlooking
the sacred yes I say it
sacred because I make it
out to be
acequia.
Acequia madre
above
connects to our
shared one
here and
connects
to where it
flows on down
below
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
wells
more and more
anti-nature
nature.
We will take care of everything
by keeping space
between ourselves.
Space makes
character.
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
four
after all
I believe in
equality.
Sitting on the
portal
looking out at
what was
the sea.
The paradise
of the fall
the paradise of
the garden upon
garden
the blue spruce
overlooking all,
the blazing, blazing
yellow of fall
does the blue spruce
see.
I see.
I see
says
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 . . .
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