A Poem

Posted on May 5th, 2008 by The Captain.
Categories: Poetry.

In keeping with our vision of local literature, we will be presenting more poetry on this website.  Here is a poem by an artist who has contributed to The Pharmakon many, many times.  This very talented artist prefers to remain “Anonymous.”

The Buddha and the Cynic

After a night under a bridge
and hiding from the
horde of parched souls
I woke up in an abandoned
military bunker owned
by a squatting poet
and frequented by
numerous
children
who already had it all figured out
as long as they
never grew up

disenchanted by their
conversations
I took to my bottle
and stared at
a small statue
of buddha
dancing under
a golden lampshade

I asked him,

“What do you think about chiromancy, you know palm reading?”

He spun and spun
until he became dizzy
nearly tumbling off
the side table and
giggled at his own
spinning world

“All fortunes foretold end with death!”

he laughed,
and then continued his dance
as the others went on conversing,
surviving under the tyranny
of parents, and eloping in dialectical
-Oh did you knows- and -You sees-

-This is your heart line-
-This is your life line-

-The length of the tip of
your thumb shows
the activity level
of your expressiveness-

I said to the Buddha

“Who would have guessed that
your whole life was in the palm
of your hands.”

He just continued to twirl
and laugh
laugh
laugh

“Your words are quite amusing!”

and then he went right back
to his effortless spinning

No wonder he had it all
figured out
he just realized that there wasn’t
anything to
figure out
in the
first place

everything was figured out
in every moment
by you

to this
I just
started
singing into
my empty bottle
as the
tiny buddha
laughed and
danced
and
filled the space
with utter
clarity

~Anonymous

1 comment.

Local Literature

Posted on May 2nd, 2008 by The Captain.
Categories: Poetry, Bryce Style's Poetry, Books.

The words coming from our community are strong and Bite the Hand Productions is working to make them heard.  Whether it is an article in The Pharmakon, Bryce Style’s upcoming book, or the poem below by Liz Peters, our words form a a deep foundation.  They are growing along with our community, and we need to share them in the form of books, speeches, poems, songs, and more.

So write it down!  Pass it around!  Contact us if you want to talk about future publishing projects!

1 comment.

A Poem From Liz Peters

Posted on May 2nd, 2008 by The Captain.
Categories: Poetry, Individual Artists.

Mental Eclipse at Salmon Creek Beach

On the yellow streaming euca way there hair and smiles flying compact
car careening
this car is a fucking
car is a
fucking!
car is a fucking
drive!
fucking drive on the beat man drive on the hella tank tank beat man
drive on the beat beat beat
FUCKING drive
this car is a
fucking
 faraway
 fleeing freedom
Coleman Valley coming
Coleman Valley deer hoof hoo-la-la
Coleman Valley Oak snapping kaleidoscope CACKLE!

you know or maybe the first time we went there
the dark edge
 so pretty
(we know)
but we can’t find the Cadillac headlights
cha hey if the road’s a vein
we can live in our hearts
fog and dark -
fine we just go
driven
this thing
under water in my dreams anway

and then THERE
at Salmon
this pretty flicking folding paper pixie fox girl
the one with the burning face
she knows how the moon feels
a really glowing sadness
a lightbulb exploded our heads exploded
but somehow we both turn into fireworks

maybe mustard seeds in the sky open up into new mustard seeds in the
sky and that’s how come we soar around with super power arms smiling
hey that lady showed us her fetus ha

and a while later that night

the music
like floating nets
brings butterfly
back to the beach house
back from off the sloping hands
of nighttime dunes

but yeah now

her eyes are turning
neon fatigue
absinthe green

and she

falls through windows
when her winded wings
trumpet pink

then she kisses flutes
and cigarettes off tile floors

and when cingy strings of light spin to swashy
she supernova pukes up
carpet chunks of scripts
tomato pizzas some guy’s robot oh some sticks of stage
some little dolls
and things she used to say

how can she cry bigger than her body?
fill the theater earth
and ocean
to overflow
past presidium sunrise soul?

down from the soul place
the Sonoma County Cat Men
(cunt co cut co rocko men)
carry baby
up the stairs
down ladders
silly striped like redwoods
up tunnels phosphorescent rainbow like sound like
screams
got lost
inside her ears

and they

make music
that pisses the sun off so bad she slams the sky for good
and they set the solar system stage lights on
and circus seance speakers spitting sparks
and they tousle curly stars and x-ray every inch of dark
and now they dance with moon masks
sparkling with snakes

 Salmon Creek spins like carousels
or oranges
skirts
things in your head
scream

Rockos pull a curtain to a bathtub

She crashes in
with sounds like if her limbs
were baseball bats
And she cries out painted scarves and kites of tears out across the blackness
She is a red
 accordion wringing
colors in
and out and
 in and
out until they’re only noise and hot water sea foam

in the front room
the schizofrenic man shouts apocalypse
 he knew it he knew we were all golden angels in that room and everywhere

but in the bathroom
she
dreams she shards her heart on shreds of mirror
so the beaches burst
and disappear

break her body laughter laughter laughter
the sound of laughter
the sound of laughter
the sound of laughter
resonating so real they can’t hear
the sound of lauhter
so real she has no face
and she could die
she sees g-ds faces laughing
this is real

Love,
Liz Peters

0 comments.