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10 Poems From

Oh Cabezon
poems 2001

larry goodell

view of Cabezon towards the Summer Solstice

Copyright 2012 Larry Goodell

duende digital booklet 2012 po box 571 placitas, new mexico 87043 USA

Down the Drain, a Holy Book True Love The Art of Life Mormon Lost Alamos Solar Heat A Bit of Peace Unchained Melody Powerless and Free Oh Cabezon

Cabezon Peaks dramatic volcanic formation is one of the most well-known landmarks in northwest New Mexico. With an elevation of 7,785 feet, the Peak is part of the Mount Taylor volcanic field and is the largest of 50 volcanic necks rising from the Rio Puerco Valley.

To Hear These Poems

Down the Drain, A Holy Book

Book the One, Book the Two Book the Three Four Sailing through the door to eternity. The giving of face to fodder Flash to Fortune Jewels of Heaven taking care of you. After death real life continues on. Those left living continue consciousness. Consciousness is eternal as life. Life which sees itself, the world is the miracle, the entertwining of necessity produces mutates a grace, a gift which sees itself


Book the One, Book the Two Book Three. The beauty of the world just had to be seen to be believed. What you do with it is at your disposal. Written on the tablets of foam. Pushing through those doors the floors open ceilings kiss my feet I am elevated. I am humbled. Just looking out the window to a rock wall is a prayer. That is breath. Feathers. Turquoise from Nepal. Quartz from here on a hike in Placitas. Can the dead direct? Can the living command? No. Only the giving over in substance, all substance I can know. In this breath deeply in and then out as the single bell sound dissipates. And the sun knowing everything, proud of our planet rises. Can we be humble enough to love?


True Love

Flower of onion wealth give me the tomato kiss my beet heart deserves. Never does the sky open inveterate monsters without turning inward to surprise. Nature is All & All is nature of which Man is a tiny part of Woman. And she and he are but a single species. Be warned. Be firm. Be true. Be open to the meditative spirit which kills your dominating atom, your meditative spirit when the bell rings and any other time, breathe in and out and know it is better to observe than conquer. True action follows the meditative nothingness where everything takes over and I am but a tiny vital part. What do I know the eternal question asks which takes greater energy, breathing in or out? The more I give to Nature the less I know. I give up my baseball bat and stop beating life to a pulp. The garden accepts my kitchen waste eventually everything breaks down. Break with it. The joy of observing. This is my final act. My prelude to garden onions, tomatoes, orange bell-peppers jalapeos, grapes, pluots, green beans. Banana squash plants the size of elephants. What isnt beautiful? But it takes work. After true pause. The bell ringing in my irrigated heart.


The Art of Life

Open my heart & allow the art of life to display itself. If Earth isnt art what is it? Canvas laid out in a globe with Picassos in every inch of Nature Dekoonings Pollacks Rothkos & Redons in patterns where I look as the seasons change. Okeefe & Arthur Dove as Goyas present the panoply of people and Gertrude Stein reads to us in the waves coming in at the edge of the ocean. All the great art is an expression of the Earth in inestimable beauty or gratitude toward the Creator of the heart, the mind of everything the feeling of great, as the tragedies & comedies of the art of Earth speak through the hands of Shakespeare into the art of now. Every pain, every celebration every common work hour the art & expression of it all, lives, rocks & dances. Is its own, in its own fresh music & (bright) reflection.



pristine picture of hog-tied heaven where everything requires endless dusting


Lost Alamos

Weapons of mass penis-filled destruction war has become un-wageable land mines to blow you up chemical weapons in the air Oh what have we designed in weapons laboratories under the guise of the cottonwood trees that every man & woman becomes a guinea pig of slaughter.


Solar Heat

How poetry flows out of nowhere into somewhere. Its like a temperature control. When things get too cold something happens to click on to make things warmer. And it doesnt just happen in language it happens in sound all around. Do you feel the warmth flowing in? Listen to the bell. Are you breathing deeper? Are you well? All those people who need it who dont have it. Or dont want it. Dont see it. Dont hear it. Dont feel it. When the hole that is empty in their soul wont fill up. Wont over flow. A giant click and the sun is on. Warmth flows in through the windows the floors the heart of the mind when poetry is what it is. Peace of mind of a most curious kind.

A disturbance in the soul which urges growth and a constant revelation of enjoyment. Pass it on. Oh human basking in the miraculously clicked on light.


A Bit of Peace

Wait until the inspired moment presents itself. When is that? When there is a why. Questions present themselves in the answers. Answers whirl forever in their place. On mountaintops in my mind slightly outside my mind. It is a miracle I can see outside myself. Let alone think. Think broadly or narrowly preferably open mindedly. What is why and how. How is. It takes work to figure it out long hours of experimentation that may lead to nothing. You have to beat the bushes until there is nothing let alone fire. And then a rabbit jumps out. Or when I least expect it, I jump out. A presence says hello. Get down on your knees and give thanks. What are you doing down on your knees? Giving thanks. Why are you giving thanks. Because I dont understand anything and Im still alive. Im more than alive. Do I deserve it? Shame turns to guilt and I can ask for forgiveness. Rug forgive me for walking on you.

Particles in the air forgive me for breathing you. Wife forgive me for robbing you of a life. Son forgive me for putting you on the wrong path. Or do I presume too much. I do and I do and I do do do. And now Im married to the true self within myself. The true self within my mind. It is a difficult relationship but productive. Productive all the time. Why. Because I dont ask, or try not to. Clarity pokes its funny face at me. You write too much. You say too much. You interfere with the gift. It says to me. Why is it? To guide me. Simply breathe more and talk less. And enter a new found peace. Please enter a new found place. A bit of peace is okay. Breathe deeply says the master the mistress the mobster when you escape the danger. Breathe deeply. A bit of peace is okay.


Unchained Melody

The weeks go by like flying debris. Time only stands still on television. Wonder of the Universe where are you in this? The harsh flow of beauty stupefies here while there the horror piles up. Its all in the mix the good and the bad gyrating into one awful thing. Too many of us and we become like ants, like aphids destroying the plant, for us, the planet, we are on. Destroying each other under any guise of death-god. Give us release peace. May the source of this misery see

the gift of love tolerance for others compassion the permission of peace. And may the bombers only bomb without exception the idiocy of hate, the cult of human idolatry & the suicidal madness of retaliation: let there be an endless chain of education equality of living things that the criminals may be brought to court and receive due justice.


Powerless & Free

With money comes power with power comes the energy to deceive to perpetuate the behemoth: therefore keep me small. There is no human power except through false pretenses the planet which was here before us is our teacher and guide if Im small enough to listen. The human ego is a false god whether I like it or not but now Im forced to see the truth admit reality as ego which is death stares me in the face.


Oh Cabezon

Oh Cabezon Previous tone Outward pooching belly button Nipple Be the center of my Universe Forever.


Anthrax Avenue belongs with this set of poems from September & October 2011 and can be found here with a link to a recording:

duende digital booklet 2012 po box 571 placitas, new mexico 87043 USA

10 Poems From

Oh Cabezon
poems 2001

larry goodell