Original artwork & poems by Pete Goode.

Monday, December 31, 2007

Goode Poetry Blog



All poetry, collage & artwork is original property of Pete Goode. Please enjoy.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

in narrow passages



in this narrow passage
red, orange, yellow, blue
seeing all these doors
of a different hue

walls painted pale blue
or maybe bright white
bulbs buzz above
with thick florescent light

a few bashed in
one knocked down
taken aback
by the one painted brown

no windows
just knobs & locks
passing left & right
in a halway that doesn't stop

some doors are shut
tight as a drum
through some wide open
comes a sound of a hum

opening to another hall
from an expectant solid door
all unending the last
as many doors as before

each turn in another down another passage
slams a heavy door with a crack
locked firmly and boldly
you know there's no turning back

each hall travels straight & true
none turns right or left
pacing each well swept floor
one seems to only guess

when finally a question arises,
"where the hell am I?"
a good way into the journey
all you need is a road sign

stopping at a door
you find a new sight
a fresh water fountan
and a small candle light

A cool refreshing drink
and you pick up the flickering beam
open the door to the right
things are darker it seems

now wandering down a dimly lit passage
but your candle burns bright and true
splitting night-like blackness
as you pass the hallways through

why would one leave a patternless world
of closely knit doors
traveling far out of comfort
on unswept floors

can you find some adventure
some secret, brave quest
knowing in the polished old hallway
you'd never achieve the best

now doors offer some hope of daylight
but none seem to deliver
as you start down another passage
your hand begins to quiver

all seems so clear
you left a passage in search
but you don't know what for
in shadows that start to lurk

quietly, a door opens at another end
with a beggar crawling out
as you hurry to see him
he asks you to help him out

you lift him from a broken stupor
and a smell of bathless hell
he speaks of countless journies
and passages that had grave ends

but journies that passed forth
like that of a treasure quest
he told of maps and untold riches
and a large, gold-filled chest

as his story draws to a close
you ask how you might discover
if a story like this is true
such riches from a pauper

His eyes fix firmly
into a sea of joyful tears
fix your eyes on the journey
and your riches come at the end of your years

with that he passed his candle to me
now two lights I had
one burning with wisdom
the other, new as a lad

with the wisdom of the ages, he spoke to me
"pass on a little light to others
you might meet in these narrow halls
never letting your light smother

tell them about your journey
speak often of your quest
never let go of tomorrow's hope
that you might find the treasure chest

freely share the knowledge of what drives you
that others may join in the game
seeking treasure at their last door
makes life never be the same

Many have hallways with knobs of brass and pewter
others have silver, platinum and gold
only to find that it will leave them
when they pass the doorway of old

don't store your hopes in this hallway
it's just a passage through
from birth to life to death
its your choices that will define you

I can tell by your flickering light, my friend
that you've chosen a narrow road
seeking the joy of the journey
only to find where the treasure is stowed

now you can pass on the news to many
break down doors as you see fit
for there are those who are willing and wanting
just to know of it

wander no more with your lamp light so pure
take purpose to steps further more
each time you make a choice
be sure to choose the right door

if you make a wrong turn
in these halls of dirty walls
take courage my friend, my son
just listen inside, for the treasure calls

you're heart has been replaced
by the paths of a treasure map
read it often and daily
to know where the treasure's at

and from a wrong turn made right
you'll find the path will turn
as you're only one door away
from a speedy return

so hasten on, my boy
this light you have will guide
when life's path seems dark
keep its flicker at your side

pass off your light to others
it will return to you
brighter than ever before
as you pass these paths through

for everyone in these halls
comes to a final door
some later than others
some long before

When you come to the end of your hallway
and a light through the keyhole burning
you'll be prepared to run in
as the doorknob is turning

With one last breath he carried on
now run along my son
my doorway has appeared to me
I must carry on"

With one last heave
he stood ramrod tall
turned toward a new door
where he heard the treasure's call

"With that, I must go now
I must finish that which had a start
finding the treasure
that has since been placed with my heart

This door is unavoidable
and one final warning I give you
The glow behind the door
is a fire that will refine you

be prepared to be tested
and prepare your self like gold
it may be far too late
in the days when you're old."

And with a twist and a shove
he was enveloped in bright light
that was like a million groups of a million candles
each flickered just like mine

But this was a grand gathering
as it reflected, sparkled and shone
with a loud, resounding thunder
the door shut... i was alone

But with new found ferver
I gathered my speed
With unexplained passion
not fueled by greed

I chased ever after
telling others all around
find your flickering candle and fountain
and listen to where the treasure is found.

one day, around some corner
there will be a familiar door
where i will have to pass
like others have before

I'm ever looking forward
always holding steady
telling many about a treasure
and always staying ready

So as I travel on this path
I now only have one quest
each stranger that I meet
I invite them as a guest.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

in brave awakening




striding in a daydream,
a fortune's fair in reverie.
sunning in a moonbeam
with not-so-distant misery

awake from this wretched trance!
retrace each step to the fork in the road
bring gifts to the offering of circumstance
and repent of paths men chose.

a traitors curse
to this ground men tread;
on broken earth,

a solitary flicker;
an iridescent glimmer
of what some call a "fool's paradise"

Thursday, December 01, 2005

shard




please believe what i say is true,
hope can wait with only hope at hand
and survey a subtle glance at the mockery of you
words with meaning lost
hidden in countless bleeding shades of grey

but opportunity rises
that flying clay pigeon of laughter
piercing the mournings of a burial site
the terrible tragedy when it's wrong to be right
and solitude seems so close in a crowded room
but silence never comes to those all alone

now trapped in mental cages
a shredded speck of life
what life without failure ever learns to fly?
know that mountains aren't mountains
without the depths below
yet mountains cannot boast
from where they did once grow.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

oh night



in tender open sores
i flail arms wide
crescent moon of wayward sons
and reconcile the hope of light.
i set off without a guide
without even the palest star
open a fruitless map
and ponder to where you are.
lost in the tempest mud puddle of life
a shipwreck and cast ashore
grounded forever this vessle becomes
a graveyard of hope to sail nevermore.

Friday, September 02, 2005

gravestone




say to men
never question
when sadness laughs
at sacred trees and rhythm grass
though green was the only color
of dark yesterday

a cold hand seeps down
the decaying bones of dawn

breathe slow my concrete angel
you marble ghost of man

eternity devours the day
and surrounds our morning
to waking prisoners of time

turning today




I am trapped in the continual faces of yesterday;
of sunrises and pitfalls
and "taking one for the gipper."

considering the has-been i've become
and pushing off tomorrow
for a sad counterfeit of youth.
remembering when i was wrought iron
and a pillar of vigor.

soaking my masterpiece in turpentine
and washing away pale grey stains
replacing the bitter-sweet with a white-wash.
lumping my failures in with could-have-been successes
and torturing an artist starved for attention.

is this what today has become?
that poor reflection of what i am not?

i did once exist in this hall of valor;
a trophy place i constructed in my memory.
Today i clean the cobwebs from the ceiling fans
and ignite the remaining torch of SeƱor Gunrenthal.

No more cowered in the corner
playing peek-a-boo with a king cobra;
i douse this edifice with gasoline.

letting someone else mourn
in the ashes of what could-have-been.

i renew my hope with a mighty heave-ho to my cross
and trudge forward toward what might be
and cherish each sunrise with you.

Friday, August 19, 2005

the come back




gaze upon this ghost of a man
once gathered by the wind
now he would come back to you
admitting that he had sinned

fallen from the balcony
of tainted tattered grace
approaching with each glance of you
shying from your face

permit me as i come again
to speak your holy name
within me please rekindle
that ever burning flame

small thoughts




maybe everyone speaks in riddles
or twists their tougues into half-truths
observing every utterance
polishing every phrase

were words all human and living breathing things
would they speak so with abruptly lifted wings

truth be told, they say it ain't so
approaching the well of what i can deny
casting in my coin
tossing in a wish

and these thoughts join a humble hearted plea
possibly your thoughts will return once to me.

the absurd metaphor




question why
a stroke of fiery blue
and the shard
in my decomposing angel
sings the song no man knows...

in this empty world colored green
silhouettes & cigarettes
smear dry black ink
on my imagination

through shimmer & glass
they hear me ask
can we suffer more grace?

captured to be free
an icon monument
a beauty form
and concrete aesthetic of
vivid metal passion

hard, rigid dream
covered with a white dust film
carved by an angry chisel
that never gives up

innoculated am I
from the innocence past
resurrected by water
delicately poured over my face

cleansed, created, new.