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.

SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:20 am

I Don't Love Lucy, by Charles Carreon



Image

Well who is Ricky Ricardo?
The plastic Latino
Married Lucille Ball
And played Cubano
In a Music Hall.

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.

Your buddy Ethel is a laugh and a half
But I think you’ve
Got an incredible ass
Let’s get Ricky outta the way
I’m four years old
And it’s time to play

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.

Hollywood is an incredible place
You’re like a clown with
Makeup on your face
You’re like a bird
Lookin’ weird and proud
You make my uncles laugh out loud.

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.

I don’t love Lucy
No, no, no
She isn’t funny
Let me go
Stuck in the living room
She makes me twitch
Now where the hell do I feel that itch?

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:20 am

Idle Musing, by Charles Carreon

Honestly now,
that's how I'd like to take it,
bit by bit,
One thing at a time.

Like an idle chipmunk,
watch the morning,
the undersides of the leaves lit brightly,
the sky perfect blue.

If there were an infinite number of angels,
and one blew a trumpet,
Would all the others clap?
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:21 am

Idyll, by Charles Carreon

The lazy boy is in love
with the milkmaid.

Her skin is as fresh as cream,
her laughter is enchanting,
her hair hangs down in beautiful strands.

She is laughing at something
he said.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:22 am

I Got My Buddhas, by Charles Carreon

I got my Buddhas over here.
I got my rock stars over here.
I got my politicians over here.

I meditate here.
I rock out over here.
And I listen to CNN.

Don't mix my meditation with my political persuasion.
Don't mix my rock and roll with my wisdom.
That guy's all right but he don't bring salvation.

You keep buggin' me with all this confusion.
You gonna have ta' get on your knees
And say your Act of Contrition.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:22 am

In Town, by Charles Carreon

In town the earth is paved
strips of green maintained with effort
Fertilized, trimmed, shorn of luxuriance
Spaces on the sidewalk reserved for trees
chosen, doubtless, for their tractability,
Their tendency, proven to the planners,
to grow without buckling the sidewalks.
Cars -- the city is made for our cars
air for their carburetors
asphalt for their wheels
filling stations for their thirst
And the town is full of the sound of their effort
Which is the shifting of gears
the purr of a late model import
the husky rumble of a healthy domestic
the emphysemic labor of a degenerated sedan
with a dead cylinder, missing loudly
as it accelerates down the main drag
Sit at a street window and listen
to the systole and diastole of traffic's pulse
regulated with changing lights and
the unheard clicks of unobtrusive grey boxes
Accelerating and braking all day long,
rubber tired, gas powered, water cooled
well-upholstered, shock absorbing thermostaticly
controlled steel envelopes with chromed
adornments ferry the vulnerable cells to and fro
carry them here and there on strange
fleshly errands ... breathing and seeing
creatures of skin -- soft eyes, rouged cheeks
and businessmen's hats and neolite heels
inspire pity in mechanical hearts
--- they turn off with the ignition key
and do not notice when the officer fits
a parking ticket under one eyelash
They sit outside in the rain as people
sweet to each other nestle up in restaurants
and fill up on sandwiches and cold drinks
They sleep under the hood while high heels
wander through the mall and from store to
store over the sidewalk by the dripping trees
in their reserved spaces
Their batteries run down helplessly while
their lights stare blankly at a wall, and
when their owner comes back they just won't
start.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:24 am

Internet Addiction, by Charles Carreon

Image

Trust old Bak to steer you right,
I've burned the oil into the night
To find the scrap of evidence
To prove what should be obvious
That everyone is quite obsessed,
In a clinical sense
And needs to go to detox
In a computer-free space.
The statistics are in,
Your brain is burning dim,
And hitting that space bar
Isn't going to take you very far,
And posting just one more reply
Just isn't going to get you by.
The sun is calling,
But you don't hear it.
Your son wants to play ball,
But you won't go near it.
Just admit it,
You've got to quit it,
God forbid
Your mother should see you like this.
Just look at this place,
The beds unmade,
There's dust on the table
And there isn't a maid,
So look that face in the mirror,
And don't turn away,
It's the face of addiction
Every day.
People are polite
Too polite to say what they think
That your mind's on the blink
If you were clicking for dollars they'd all approve,
But you were just following the spiritual groove
And in all that time
You left but one impression
On the seat
Of your swivel chair.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:25 am

In the Womb of Stone, by Charles Carreon

Image

When the sacramental gong
strikes,
emptiness ...

Look!
Stranger over the horizon,
standing lone by elbow rock --
Comes to make an offering
at the cave.

Dark now,
in the cave,
hidden within the thighs
of the mountains.

A thousand rainbows,
flooding all horizons,
Angels sending and descending,
All waters pure as crystal,
All skies ineffably bright.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:27 am

Is It Thunder?, by Charles Carreon

Image

Somewhere between the gold and the black
I lost you --
You fell from my hand
Like a card from the deck,
And you're gone--
I can't retrieve
the things that we had
I can't reclaim
the hours that have slipped away--
There is nothing left
But an empty horizon and you.

Like the sun coming out from
Behind a cloud--
A dream that couldn't be true,
You were a vision in sunlight and lace,
Never was there another face
Like the one
That you wore--

But now that you're gone
I sit alone and I wonder,
Is it the sound of the rain
that I hear? Is it thunder?

Come back again in my dreams if you can,
You're welcome if ever you choose
To join me there,
I don't have much company
These days,
I stay in the same old place,
And I sit alone and wonder,
Is it the sound of the rain
that I hear? Is it thunder?

(Dedicated to my mother, Eloise Carreon and the Choir of the Sacred Heart)
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:27 am

Island, by Charles Carreon

She beckons to you
Come, come --
Come to where she lies,
Her body like a curving island
Lapped by foam
 
Springs of fresh water flow,
Warm ocean breezes blow,
Ripe fruit droops, waiting
To be picked,
Bright plumed birds watch from
hanging branches;
More brilliant even than the
fragrant orchids
 
Come, she beckons to you,
Come, to where she lies,
Her body to a slope of glowing amber
Turned by sunset dyes.
 
A voice, as mystical as that
of circling seabirds
Sounds in silence
As ponderous as the sound
of crashing waves,
 
Come, she cries
To the end of the earth --
Across the sea of curling waves
to me,
To where all treasure lies,
And beckons with her silent eyes.
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:29 am

It's a Predatory Civilization, by Charles Carreon

Well I look up in the sky
What do I see?
A 747 beamin' down on me
I'm driving down the freeway
What's that ridin' up my ass?
A fuckin' Winnebago wanna take my gas!

It's a predatory civilization
Sometimes we call it "the land of the free"
We got a predatory civilization
Every President's a Reagan if you ask me

They're dropping fire from the heavens
In the Holy Land
And preachin' resurrection on the other hand
You better kill or get laid
If you wanna get paid
Here's your towel and your Gatorade.

It's a predatory civilization
With convenient banking from sea to sea
It's a predatory civilization
A world-class heroin democracy

Well the books have been cooked
The bribes are paid
Time for a ride in the motorcade
Ever since the towers fell
The whole damn country's
Gone to hell

It's a predatory civilization
There ain't no freedom in the land of the free
We got a predatory civilization
Every President's a Reagan if you ask me.
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