Kell Robertson at home on MacCallum land south of Santa Fe
Passover at Waldo Draw 11-7-11
A gentle mean madman poet has come home
To leave this life in peace
Out on MacCallum land
Where he found family and friend
And what joys he has known
Along the Lone Butte Road
These last fifteen years
Argos says it was 1997
When he built the cabin for Kell.
We all read poetry on his birthday
At the Cowgirl Hall of Fame
And Mitch Rayes’ wife gave Kell a
Sack of marbles, saying he had clearly lost his.
And along the Lone Butte Road
Frank the cowboy broke and rode good horses
And worked on movie sites with Kell
Frank handsome tan carefully groomed
We drank Schlitz beer
And smoked cigarettes talking of the horrors
Of war and the importance of warriors
While we cast our eyes to the sparkling stars
And Frank’s mate, Doña, barrel racing at the Galisteo rodeo
Doña Dillenschneider who grew up in the sixties
On a ranch at Lone Butte.
Doña who sang in cowboy bars
In Santa Fe at the age of sixteen.
Doña who still rides horses
And dances to the New Year’s Eve music of Joe West at the
……….Mineshaft in Madrid
Friends of Kell’s.
Tom Nordstrom, Larry Goodell and Martha Straba from Placitas
Tony Moffeit from Pueblo who performed poetry with us in
Taos Santa Fe and Bernalillo.
Lynne Wildey, Bob Kaufman from San Francisco
Felix Silva and Lena at the Silver Dollar and Ross the mayor of
Pat White’s Last Chance Bar on the Indian edge of America
Morning Star hippies
Ace of Hearts and David Pratt from Arroyo Hondo
Socorro Romo, Lisa Gill, Katherine McCracken
Lynne Cohen at the End of the Universe
Mitch Rayes and Bob Swearingin and Bill Nevins
Don McIver, Gary Brower, and Neil Elliot – all friends of Kell’s.
These connections the gifts
He gave to me.
It grieves me no end to lose those years
Of books and politics and human emotions
A lost friendship built on trust and truth
Real cowboys don’t cry.
Argos MacCallum and Kell
November Early Afternoon After Kell’s Passing
Beneath a grandfather cottonwood tree
Leaves rustling brown
Skittering over a dusty road
Down Waldo Draw
Kell is gone.
But before he passed over
Kell and I drank cold ale
He bought at the Lone Butte store
On a summer hot July sunset evening
We ate ham and cheese sandwiches
And watched the lightning flash over Cerrillos
With only the sounds
And the popping of beer caps
As the Fat Tire
Washed down our thirsty throats
Just this past summer.
Just this last September
When green leaves filled thick branch and trunk
When shade meant cool relief
When cold beer and grand ideas
Filled the canyon with poets’ talk
And drunken laughter.
We spoke of his approaching death and that of my own
He wondered why the end came so slow
He said Argos would take him to the emergency room
If it got too bad.
He said he wanted to die