Presents
Gene Avery and Bill Carr
Monday, Sept. 19
THE READING WILL BEGIN EARLY AT 6 P.M.
Fremont Park, Between 15th and 16th, P and Q
We will have a short open mic after the features.
Please feel free to bring a picnic blanket and something to eat while enjoying the performances.
Gene Avery, “like you, is a-splashin’ along in the River of No Return (as recorded by the original MARYLIN) heading for the Lake of the Gone Forever which empties into the 0cean of No Come Back.” Free and Open to the Public. More about him here: http://www.sacbee.com/2011/09/12/3902143/writers-lifes-work-begins-to-see.html
Poem by Gene Avery
i walkt with some0ne / thru & to
0ld & New
we laff’d & cry’d at this & that
we were always some kind of friends
clumsy, sincere, distract’d
we talkt about something, sometimes
nothing \ we smile’d in Silence
& She might have been an 0racle
in my heart i knew
i walkt beside a miracle
now i sit here gazing, gazing,
perhaps i’l glimpse her around a sand dune
bundling up the boulevard
stepping from a simple market
climbing down from a bus or out of a taxi
or waving from an air balloon
She may have been an 0racle
in my heart i always knew
i walkt beside a miracle
Bill Carr is a poet, painter, and playwright who has been performing his work in Sacramento for many years.
Poem by Bill Carr
The death angel
there were twenty million planets with twenty million humans
all longing for the chance to sing the same song: a beatle’s tune
featuring cosmic lyrics.
The big little notes with small, giant blue messages all
vibrating head . . . sending the emotions under bandage pulsating. It is not pleasant to sit and to
feel one’s brain rise in form and texture . . . it is easier to duck in caves or huts or lay beneath band
aids or just turtle down within hard shells knowing all the time individuals don’t matter for the
cube shall always function without you moving a muscle, mind and all your back trouble, eyebrow
tick-tocking twitching, feeling hits like a pancake, wooden walls that are closing in on all three
sides simultaneously, angularly, geometrically–
shapes and figures sending psychological distorted patterns bending in time and space motion
towards a spinning torched galaxy–
in the cranial skull and universe via the cosmic portal
in the skin and holes from the ground or black wholes
no . . . of course the cycle of trash and whispering must never conclude itself and the endless
stream for the search for joy must cascade into the dark abyss . . .
Steaming towards . . . the long awaited warrior of the heavens
of the red mountain of white peeks of beauty and then
she will step upon this everlasting flower of humanity and
soul or soil
delivering the beam of hope of the flashing yellow toothed devil on the burning cross for our
delicate consumption then as smoothly as she arrived shall extend her flowing, ascending
appendage
those glorious golden wings and leave earth forever once again
then we shall crawl from huts and shells into the bright sun above our heads
looking for the signal to breathe the air again, looking for the sign
to stand and reach toward our brothers’ and sisters’ arms
the signal for it to be all right to gather our sisters’ and brothers’ hands . . .
Raising them towards the soaring angel
