NEWYEARSPOEMS
larry goodell
a duende spur of the moment presentation poems written end of one year beginning of next “New Year’s Day Night” is published in PIECES OF HEART, Beatlick Press 2015. “The New Now” from LIZARD BOWL, 1992. “Such As It Is” from BREATH, 2002. “The Day Before the Day of the Dead Days” from PIECES OF HEART, 2014. “New Year’s Day Night” from REMEMBERING THE PRESENT, 2008. “Jazz Beat” from HE HE BECAME, 2015.
New Year’s Eve 1971 What brought me down was having to leave her alone while I went out & sat in the basement of the Thunderbird without her
I Did Not: Portrait of Judge Thomas I uncategorically deny that I did nothing, said nothing, or pretended to do anything that would cause anyone any harm anywhere, whether they were connected or not connected to any organization under my thumb or having caused sexuality among any of my employees, or did I ever produce indecent sperm in public or pretend I was top jock or bottom jock, and I absolutely do not recall any amoral, certainly no immoral flaw in my superfluous character which shall remain a shining example as it always has to our youth, our office girls, who have the immaturity to scream every time I flash. /New Year's Eve, 1991
The New Now I love you so much sky fallen hours the computer of my word mind fails to come up with any better phrase than I love you a bushel in the pew of empty bibles a minister with no head an organ without pipes gladiolas deprived of their vases bells with no clappers an offertory with nothing to offer a communion with no wine, no grape juice no crackers --a church with no god a god with no past a past past chains and freed of the future a sermon with no words a song with no melody a hymn that was never written rises from our feet through the church with no walls through the ceiling of clouds into the canopy of trees floating in the mystery-high heaven a mirror with no image , only the earth, this snow this ice, this cold apricot tree tannish juniper a distant choice old apple tree young cherry &
struggling peach what divides us when there is no church Earth with no message but itself grasping for a less masochistic image. My computer analog flesh and bone-brain sees my love loving out to Whitmanesque degree. The you in you is who? Not brother not any other a friend and yet another takes your place the Earth itself beyond ever seeing knowing all of anything you are of the Earth imagining representative and out of the form of some Earth of mind your opposite woman you are born as a fair carrier of the Earth sense of loving plants as much as us animals as much as us I love you Earth unknown church without ever being a church as broad as Whitman our only
Eastern-minded Westerner save the Indians already here you friend, history talks we share a long conversation bringing in the New Year you wonderful companion of Earth
that trusts trust. Love exudes in spite of all undefined, but declared. Effuses. Amuses.
woman as little as I see is all you become, lasts into a new direction of you
Friendship love long friendship love.
I remember my friend and now you are you
deepens in continuing.
beyond friend a natural you
A meditation on a musing. One, two, three. ‘ The whole is not centered, the whole of everything. My centering is. Giving gifts by trust. Me to the you yous.
I address love as a pleasant issue‘ as religious as round is as the free mind expounded cold January fire limpidly going Sun intermittent you sit reading in the rocking chair by the stove I sit being blessed in words by New Year's Eve party friends who carry on the years into a builded openness
Wife of love long wife long love
Is it warm? Do you get anything from vagaries? Not intense work but relaxed. First day of the mythology of the year is born. Sir James Fraser, 1st of January 1854. We begin our step upward into
friendship and love, that is downward into the Earth weaving mysteries from a piece of toast whole wheat homemade & homemade applesauce from the choice old apple tree I see below a possible Winesap the VCR unreeling EntrĂŠ Nous in the other room French fills the air with a kiss of choices a wish for continuance in the angle of growth playing with clichĂŠs when you can't avoid them invoking the rapture of the muse Erato of erotic song with a lyre Euterpe of lyric song with a double flute Calliope of epic song with a tablet & a pencil Polyhymnia of sacred song veiled & thoughtful Thalia of comic & pastoral song with a mask & staff "inspire the poet and prompt his song" or from any source ease the chair away through the veils of rapid worlds to rest the mind in
the set of friends that you do have though seeming so dispersed though never satisfied each from the essential loneliness of our unattached bodies planets in our own space of birth, alone of death, alone between celebrate bravely openness to grow until I die I die open and come back to soul mates a soul with no definition an ambience of man and wife an ambience of our care. A dancing dare to give when the other bends. A bouncing from friendship to marriage. Bouncing back from friendship to marriage in the house that is the church lived in a doxology of life in the now the new now the now now. /1992
Such As It Is for Steve and Jane Sprague Everything is exquisite as the Ponce de Leon find, the fountain of youth flows in the passing moment. Eternity is always youthful as it begins always from the beginning as I do, no matter what age I am. No past no future not even a now. Just is-ness, such is such a gift giving away. A moment being momentous. What now. Cool to bed to warm up. Tired from the first day of a New Year. Posole biscochitos anasazi beans homegrown poblano chile jalapeĂąos relish and flour tortillas
pistachios apple juice tea, coffee, local bing cherry wine brownies baked on sour cherries, olive bread friends brought, homegrown almonds, a tap dance on the kitchen floor all after a late morning hike to the spring and up across arroyos to snow patched hills overlooking the houses, the village and down here home, warm with the closest of friends blends into never-never land reality plus reflection. January first bursting with pleasure. /2002
In Gratitude for Phil Stewart The Avenue of the altar the altar to motorbikes & domes the altar to fine old things the altar to little porno devices or funny little curios the altar to making a living off of what has passed our past, their past anybody’s past bargaining, bartering, giving, gaining speeding to the height of speed and down again getting off the shit and into the 12 avenues of recovery the 12 doors of the spirit the gaining a life of one’s own in the now now present forever past now future forever now, all those things of yours up in smoke as the shit from the past turns into the garden of present flight flight into reality, Reality with a big R becomes the joy of living. Thank you for your part in my part, great embraces after dancing all evening New Year’s Eve Thunderbird, the bird of our escaping into our own lives as the wings disappeared and we walked on our own two feet.
Thank you for your part in the merry wisdom of right earthy living, on the avenue of the altar to motorbikes & domes the altar to fine old things this new avenue goeth toward goeth toward fine things of the spirit going toward, going to gone, to going to you. Going with us. Thanking you. /for Phil, in memory, love 30Oct 1999
The Day Before the Day of the Dead Days The day of the day of the day before the day of the dead days when everything becomes clear what’s happening this day saying goodbye forever on this planet and maybe all elsewhere it’em “goodbye,” “good riddance,” and this year I’ve learned my lesson. The day that comes just after all the dead days when you can look back and you know the day to be dead you’re looking out from aint gonna be any better but worse maybe, the link to link to years gets grungier gets more defiled as humans act like the mad mice in the overpopulation experiment years ago – when there are too many of them they get crazy crazier than themselves, they act like humans do when they overpopulate self-righteously thinking “it is my right to overpopulate and stink up the world” overpopulate yes overpopulate – the business-scientists don’t like the word saying technology is the saint that will always save us, man will fuck out he’ll fuck himself out of any situation, Man is the supreme donkey of the universe, the jackass of hope, the stinkeroony of paradise. We will fight and will survive we will be he, he-haw he-haw, as they donkey-fuck themselves through the jackass skies the jackass moon the jackass stars, everything is opportunity to them, he-haw, every poisoned thing they touch, corrupting the seas with their stacked cruise-ship filth and the pipes of running sewage and chemical wastes and animal slaughter run-off. The jackasses of earth are convinced they’re the saints of earth, he-haw, and can do any he-haw thing they wish since the earth is just a giant landfill. Thank you God for all the blessings we have to make things worse. “I’ll kill myself out of any situation I’ll use my brain to devise new self-defense mechanisms that we know are assault weapons in disguise, in fact everything is to disguise, there is just one rule do as you wish to get what you want, kiss the rich ass and become like them, ape the wealthy and you shall become like them if not really them, since they are the king-rule jackasses of all time he-haw the business leaders of oil and weapons, poisoned-tank food, big box products that spin you out in debt in gambling and drinking palaces
as bright colorful lights disguise your demise, take a pill dear, take another pill not so dear, take a pill: fear surrounds us on the day of the day of the day of the dead day, the coming alive seems remote the weather hits us with surprise surprise surprise, we told you so, and you’re worshiping yourself in the mirror wouldn’t allow the news to be sad, to be real, to be criticizing yourself, pointing out your entire panorama is a sham and based on your favorite thing, ignorance. Oh ignorance is bliss and I eat you, I become you, let’s kill the endangered for fun and rule the world – Oh we already do! on the day of the dead days the day that’s supposed to be alive, things can only get better, oh excuse me, worse, which is better. We want to rip-roar and be ourselves and Americanize everything which means hire the rest of the world to powder our checks and fumigate our asses, he-haw, on the day of the day of the day of the dead days when everything comes alive to be dead again, what more can be said, what more can be said. /dec 31, 2014
Jazz Beat Happy New done did it come clean twice at least once for every year you been banging around or gracefully achieving a makeover a forgetting or value lifting or repositing a rehearing from baby to advanced man advanced entranced woman so happy wishes understanding natural energies of the juicy universe and pumping sucking relaxing life out life out of energies borrowed as everything is holding on to this thing that thing absorbing transforming just don’t blow up we take it again pretend it is our own, no me just one guy no speak for others, I’m dust still you do pop dust to dazzling rainbow colors plus black of the wheel of existence sand painting whirl of life at the end as it always is destroyed or simply assembled, brought all hands together to carefully cup all colors into bags and carry down to the Rio Grande, goodby colors good bye rainbows of traditional even ancient images the mandala of importance the stepping out of the past dancing and humming singing saying word phrases of lifting blessing healing way, sit in the center or on the sidelines being the center on the sick center being lifted by the sidelines the surround lines the dissolving of the past with tarnish stain misappropriation into nothing, the blood carrying everything away renewing breath breathing ecstasy song whirling with no dizziness you throw off dross all unimportance layers of layers of communication of old business old certainties even lost in the smiling faces of a laugh a grin a light in the eyes, the eyes all lighting up when as tenderness approaches the grand old ancient song of love comes steaming through the cracks the mist of morning calling
messages from the rocks the layers of history that is facts living their lives out, ghosts spirits stories passing down from one round to another, love leaks out as the laugh the unintended humor reminds of the base of things like the recovering wave, we have recovered we hold ourselves up these truths are inevitable though unsurmountable they are without a doubt surmountable as the jazz beat sends new vibes through any speaker imaginable, penthouse serenade or flop house drudge turns the corner and that blessing that has been hanging in the air, the air waves passing over the sun morning noon afternoon night nightlong, starts singing the new days having clean energy singing refreshing washing of face, drying looking clean in the mirror having survived the ceremony of sleep, the dreams of kiva dances the long night of dread gone down the drain into the earth of receiving cleaning transforming arisen as impossible fact grown new face new body new health new approach, cylinders tubes whistles organ pipes flutes diapason vibraphone sax, whether you like it or not you can’t suppress the relaxing giggle the full orchestral register of quality, hear now sound the true voice of the truly new past crevices fissures open up into lips open up this is it, sing play what the creative fresh new talent tongue song appearing guiding along hand-mind to bodyhear happy new done it did it, it came about on the distant horizon of falling laughter never failing is it, never fails to fall off into itself as the new day greets love to love in opening jazz bass moving along, moving everything along. /2015
Mono Color It’s as if the plants have all taken on one color the color of dehydration. Desiccation has set in on our morning walk in the wide arroyo. If brown is desiccation it’s supplanting the green. The persistent green junipers are dusty and pale. Sparse juniper berries attracting no birds. The brownish loss of life from the wintry drought seems more urgent as dehydration comes comes with the unseasonable warmth. Climate change stalks the Earth with its manmade curse of death as the megalomaniacs in their high chairs fight change and lead humankind towards cyclical extremes of morbid weather. Sing snow in spite of all, sing water, sing collapse of the oligarches of oil bankers and realtors of stagnation and self-absorbed idiocy. Sing snow, sing water, to ring from the impossible some healing as massive numbers of people take on their own strength forcing change to Earth, self sufficiency and renewables prosper as the voting booth is the turning point of the Earth as it turns out as we turn out in defense of our Mother planet. Sing snow in spite of all, sing water, sing sanity and science sing for the return of natural order, shared wealth, compassion for plants as well as animals, sing snow, sing water sing for the sanity of truth, as I walk back to the car and return, the dryness and crazy warmth hounding me. /1Jan 2018 jan 1 2018
Less Rotten? Happy New Year May this year be less rotten than last year may it actually progress in solving problems and helping people helping the surviving species, helping the Earth reachieve its natural stability may supposed friends among humans discover a true friendship or two may technology not suppress what’s left of the human spirit as we learn the values of companionship and helping others work together for the benefit of all. May greed not progress in its control but regress actually turning into service and humility. May the tendency to think big, buy big and be big dissolve into creative reality where less is more and small is at last big. May new leaders suffuse government with new ears that listen and have the courage to transform a decay of will into action. May truth which has been here all the time reassert itself as the sublime, the continual eye-opener where progress is possible. May humans open their minds and give up trying to control others, learn to love without taking. May liars cheaters and thieves who made the last few years so rotten face consequences of their criminality. We accept with joy the grace of new day, a new year, a daily new beginning. Must be 30th of dec 2018
(impromptu paper mask used as a hanging or poem backing)
NEWYEARSPOEMS larry goodell