Ode to a Crumb

 

A crumb is such a crumbly thing

A fragile tiny flake

It waits so patiently upon a plate

Or rests upon a table top

Never knowing where or when

Dark destiny will sweep it to a pail

Or often by a well aimed hand

To shoot it spiraling to the sand

Concealed or cursed it never knows

Exactly when its innocence will close

Too late to learn indifference rules

It flutters helplessly beneath a stool

No prayers or cleric sacraments to bless

How pitiful to be abbreviated into nothingness

 

Ted Goodell

October 18, 2014

 

Amentia

 

To form what flames and burns

And embers still,

That still lights,

Lingers with outstretched fingers

The elbow bends and bends

And arms reach yonder,

Around what circle or pit,

For each abyss,

We who convey each step,

Pause and nod

Wordless as we ponder this

Strange presence of what remains child,

Yet vows to unfold what can

Never be child,

Can never beyond what touches

Those nerves

And touches the eyes and the mouth

Into shapes that descend

With the dread years

Of stubbornness,

That laughs at the thick

Fabric blurring the sun.

 

Ted Goodell

1966

 

 

 

The Thumb

(to Lianne)

 

The thumb rules a quartet of fingers

Unique yet different

Present but apart

Smaller than its four companions

But for strength reveals a necessary compensation

Especially when noting how the fingers

While branching from the palm

Can wiggle and expand

And often they are musically inclined

And delicate when tapping out a tune

At once the stalwart thumb

Resists such anatomical temptations

Trusting to its job of isolating power

When shoveling trenches

In the earth

Or hoisting rocks

Or raising flags

For then the thumb prevails in fame

And lends the hand

A second brain

 

Ted Goodell

July 27, 2014

It’s About Time

 

Time never wastes a minute

You cannot find time

Hiding in the dark

Or making promises

It cannot keep

Not even when the world

Is reeling from the rain

Or whirling in the wind

Time never fears the flames

For time can even

Make the sun look small

And turn the Earth

Into a spinning ball

And finally

Put each book away

Even if a page is torn

 

Ted Goodell

December 12, 2014

 

In Memory of Michael Brown

 

In Ferguson Missouri

The memory of Michael Brown will not retreat

For those of us who watched that street

We cannot know how far his name will reach

If what we know can ever end this breach

We who were there must face this dread

And send to all the boys who fled

Our upraised hands and lowered heads

To mourn those black disciples who are dead

 

Ted Goodell

November 29, 2014