Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Identified as a trouble maker by the authorities since childhood, and resolved to live up to the description, Charles Carreon soon discovered that mischief is most effectively fomented through speech. Having mastered the art of flinging verbal pipe-bombs and molotov cocktails at an early age, he refined his skills by writing legal briefs and journalistic exposes, while developing a poetic style that meandered from the lyrical to the political. Journey with him into the dark caves of the human experience, illuminated by the torch of an outraged sense of injustice.

Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Mon Jul 15, 2019 12:02 am

The Jester Has His Say

Way up high on his 10-ft throne
Kalapa's King sits all alone.
He times his breath with a metronome,
Occasionally throws his subjects a bone,
Scratches his rump and checks his phone.

Perhaps his lawyers have texted him
Perhaps the news has grown less grim
Perhaps the exposes are at last exhausted,
He thinks of the girls he once accosted,
And a furtive smile plays on his face.

He thinks how Pa would've handled this
With a cupful of vinegar, a gallon of piss,
He'd have sent them all to hell with a wave
And hastened to an early grave
While students hoarded each blessing he gave.

He thinks of his title, Protector of Earth
Imagines how he once encompassed its girth.
In his mind, at least, He offered a feast
To men and dralas, women and beasts,
Of self-conceived monarchs he wasn't the least.

But spiritual authority's not without flaws
Like gravity, secrecy's one of its laws.
Should samaya relax, hell opens its jaws,
And like Sogyal one slides into Yama's swift claws.
Across such ruminations, a curtain he draws.

Control over thoughts is the greatest of things.
From memories suppressed, nobility springs.
From infinite jest, freedom arises,
With a flick of a metaphor, reason is banished,
Like flushing a toilet, the evidence vanished.

Was he once foolish? Concede that he was!
Was he a sinner? Well, he copped a buzz.
Did he grope women? He thought it was fair.
Steal lots of money? Well, they left it there.

Still, it's mighty dull in Kalapa town,
With nothing but toadies hanging around,
Waiting for real estate deals to close.
His mother just died. He blows his nose.

The last book flopped, the next one won't sell,
On Facebook, he's jeered like a minion of hell.
They don't understand, it was all just for fun,
The Kusung delivered them, each tasty bun,
Like Daddy, he loved them, every last one.

by Charles Carreon
July 14, 2019
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Thu Nov 28, 2019 10:04 pm

Thanksgiving Day 2019
by Charles Carreon
11/28/19

Sitting in the parking lot of Whole Foods,
I feel the presence of Bezos
In the relentless industry of this store,
Open when Natural Grocers is closed,
Its tattooed checkers humbly dispensing
bland, dispassionate effort,
As if biding their time till the robots arrive.
On the walk outside the store,
A young man with high-water, cuffed grey cotton pants
Wearing an athletic-style leisure shoe in matching grey,
Completes the modern aesthetic with an unmemorable cap
And a bit of reddish stubble about the mouth.
Intelligence, refinement, and sensitivity
Are characteristic of these natural food buyers,
So also, seriousness, traces of self-absorption,
distance, withdrawal.
The Trader Joe’s crowd is more world-weary, light-hearted,
Athletic, up for a bit of fun.
But is Traders open?
“No” is the answer, I see as the empty lot rolls into view.
I pull through the lot and consider whether
the WalMart Family grocery might have USB-C cable
for less than the arm and leg required by Walgreens.
Arriving there, I see Dollar Store is open and well-attended.
Tucson, oh Tucson, you never disappoint
Seekers of random poverty.
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