THAT'S A POEMHow do you write a poem. Poem on a napkin. Think about the size of the paper you're writing on. If you're doing it in your brain only, there's no limit to the length of the line you're going for But on this here napkin they gave me at the Thatsaburger I've got about 5 inches from left to right. 5 inches to write what my brain thinks & translates from brain language into American English and if my brain thots keep going in a long sentence I've got to wrap the writing of it back to the left margin, indenting each time so I have a stepped stack of words, diagonal in until I've just about run out of space! So I've got to wonder if this is a poem or not What would any other language have for the word poem or would there be no word at all in some tongues for poem! And then how would you write one: I guess you wdnt bother. So why write a whatever it is. Well I've got this napkin and I've got this Bic Micro Metal ballpoint pen And I've been called a poet for so damn long I don't know what else to do in a situation like this. I've finished my ham, egg, cheese on whole wheat toast sandwich, 2nd napkin! By the way if you write on a napkin, put another napkin under it because the ink bleeds through the one you're writing on. And I've finished a couple cups of coffee, refills free! Got a little container of milk so I can have that in my coffee instead of that damned non-dairy creamer.
And I must say two-thirds the way through my breakfast sandwich it was so good and the light was so clear and the place seemed so open & spacious with its blue & white tile floors and the Navajo guys & gals & that little baby were all so enjoying their breakfast the infant was just sleeping that somehow I felt like I was in heaven. How could there be any more in life than sitting here in perfect contentment. But what is perfect and is there any such thing as heaven & can it be attained right here in this corner booth at the Thatsaburger in Shiprock New Mexico. If you want to know the truth the astounding presence of that gigantic volcanic core spectacular rock Shiprock, rock-with-wings, is so present in my thots tho I can't see it directly from where I sit That I must get up: it is so overwhelmingly there. I want to see it. Is there perfection, is there any kind of heaven. There is a kind of perfection, there is a kind of heaven. I just experienced it. 3rd & final napkin! But is there a poem. What is this thing. Why did I write it. Well maybe it's just a letter like my Grandma Goodell used to write to all her brothers & sisters maybe it's just a way to bridge the gap from me to you.
larry goodell / Shiprock, New Mexico 3Feb94
|People really did laugh at my wordplay poems|
and especially my poets reading spoofs . . .
& nature & gardening . . . audience
almost entirely Native American.
|TumbleWords brought writers/poets to local communities in Southwest states . . . this is University of Nevada Press, 1995 and "Thatsapoem" is included . . .|