Hello Wayne

(self portrait from the Thunderbird Bar years)

poems from a few years having to do with old friend Wayne Jones (1939-2020)

by Larry Goodell

Evie and Wayne: Dawn and Evening Twenty-Five Years Marriage /7Apr1990

East creates west.
West keeps dropping off into the ocean.
West floats back to the East and becomes East.
East decides to go West.
East meets West.
West courts East.
To stay.
The arroyo is so nice after the rain, the tall cottonwoods
the rain splats, the mud.
And the West, howling at the sunset, so affectionate.
East meets West and all the other directions
come for dinner
over and over
the sun throws over the upside-down landscape of
the clinging stars the outlines of real people from real directions
revolving, staying, complaining, living, straying, teaching, groping with problems
groping with the changing anatomy of the Earth, the Earth coming up to meet them                                 again
and provide them home, married, to work, the East becomes the West
the West becomes diversity of the rhythms of change, the same damn thing
changed, transfigured, transmogrified into daily marriage to joy
marriage to change, over and over the age
over and over the age silvers the light in the arroyo, aurora it’s simply
dawn and evening
evening and dawn.


November 15, 2009
for Steve Spalding and for Wayne Jones birthday celebration in Placitas
reaching beyond 70

You have reached the vantage point where you can see all humanity.
George Bush is now in Rectum Alley. Chinch-mouth Cheney is in
daughter-pushing land, chipping off the old block.
There’s a little hope in the vista we can build upon —
as the multi-conglomerate maggots continue to gnaw away at our souls.
But we can triumph by spitting democracy right back in their capitalist faces.
Yes, an eternal note: all of us are created equal
and thus speech ascends into freedom.
Love pulverizes all with more love, like water dissolving,
air breathing, blood warming, plants digesting,
animals coming near to be fed. Life, the back bone of life.
The creative dance of seeing through the haze to a distant galaxy
              that before Hubble we thought was only part of us —
                                 Welcome Andromeda!
How we’ve expanded into ourselves!
In our lifetime our borders have been stretched out and back so much
that we can find humility. Not even a cog on a wheel, but a bump on the cog.
Not even a bump but a bit of a bump. Not even a bit but
a nano particle: human consciousness shrinks to where it’s at,
and the world seems bigger. Seeing things clearly in every birth of a day.
                             /from Foxhole Prayers in GROUNDED, duende press 2020


Have We Been Here?
                      We Have Been Here
/for Wayne Jones, at 80

Have we been here
we have been here
you and me and
many others
some came and left.
                    Some came with spangles on
left with mud on their boots.
Many came and left.
Remember the Vietnam War
remember the Vietnam Vets
as you are
                  who came here
                  lived here
remember marching down Central
young people, we were younger
some pregnant women
the business people looking at us
                as we walked
and when we danced danced
                in the bar
                to loud and louder bands
some quieter or just a country fiddler
or Ginsberg in a crowd
dancing, chanting, people doing
                uncommon things
the matching and uncoupling of people
the handmade day to day activities
embroidering blue work shirts
long dresses, belly dancing, marriages
love, remember love?
drumming, ignorant chanting
lighting stars on the forehead
out of mind ritual guided drugs

shouting in canyons, marriages
               by the creek or next to red rock canyons
                            rock groups from Taos Santa Fe
Albuquerque, thr0ngs for New Years
arts fairs, locally designed booths
              a casita almost a hermitage
renting houses or squatting
turning a place into a magnet for others
much to surprise and confusion and some
             elder dislike of residents –
so many could build unique dwellings –
             didn’t yours have a sloping floor?
a commune, hell, just living together
not me but I observed –
doing farming, what’s new from California,
             New York, beads leather
             diets changing
             sweats, food stamps
                       Tarot, I Ching, peyote
poetry readings, photography, art even
            on basement walls, volleyball, most of all
            the music, live music groups
fire station concerts        4th of July
                      local real dancers
dancing, we got hitched up
had our own spring-fed swimming pool –
we did all kinds of things, handmade stuff
            up from the ground –
and everything turned over into the commerce
           of growth and we weathered, stayed
or some of us,
many were here anyway,
we were all new and yet long time here
as time robs of youth, the spirit stays
stays on year after year

festival after festival, dance after dance
plan after plan, job to job, place
                            to place within a place, this place
                of little places, we come and we go
in a village, and some died many died
and we’re living now families of families
changing growing up generations generating
and children from tiny to teen to adult
as different unwanted unneeded wars
come and go and we’re stuck here
with the gangster wealthy gone mad
as we weather another political storm
with still our integral spirit
singing the song of the Earth the Fathering Sun
the urgency of the local informed by
                               the local
it presses on to celebration do you hear
that music which is this music
the heart beat of memory in this circle of
                love and cooperation to get things done
the theater we had is the theater
                                    we are.
Have we been here we have been here
           you and me and many others
some came and left
many came and left, many stayed
           and here we are
we have been here and
           here we are.                                   /2019 11 26 from COMMONS, duende press 2020

                                            “If music be the food of love, play on;
                                             give me excess of it . . .”
                                                                   – William Shakespeare in Twelfth Night

Note: the header for this blog is from a photograph by Wayne. Many photographs by Wayne are in this album on Facebook of Thunderbird Bar pictures and comments. 

love to all, continuing, and to Wayne’s family and loved ones and friends . . . from Larry

About larry goodell

Poet exploring his viable extensions - publisher, performer, playwright - hand to hand help in creating spaces for poetry to be live in - reading events, recordings, online and tangible publications in the vocal spirit of his New Mexico.
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