Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

SONG

Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 8:52 pm

Murder Czar, by Charles Carreon



Image

Well life can put some boulders
In a young man’s way,
No sex, no money, no nothin’ funny,
That’s what they seem to say.

When all roads lead to Paradise
And a credit card for a key
There’s Playboy bunnies and Christmas money,
And nothin’ left to see.

Well a young man craves some action,
Can’t find none on the streets,
And when you’re out of high school
There’s no place to park your feet.

“Till one day on the streets
There comes by in a pimpin’ ride
A man with a plan
And a gun in his hand,
Says boy, won’t ya’ come with me.

He's a military man
He's extending his hand
He wants to take you for a ride
In his long black car.
He's the murder czar.

His path is always secret,
‘Cause need-to-know’s the game.
He’s got your DNA code,
And won't give you his name.

If you serve some time on the pipeline
All this could be yours, son,
With a wink and a clink
And a flash of pink,
It’s all he needs to say.

He's a military man
He's extending his hand
He wants to take you for a ride
In his long black car.
He's the murder czar.

“Just give me the pen,”
You say with a grin,
You think you’ve got some play.
If you’d watched real close
You’d a seen like a ghost
As your freedom slipped away.

Now the bombs are falling
And the devil’s calling
And he’s got your number today.
You’re sure it’s over
Then you live to suffer
One more fucking day.

You’re a military man
You took that fucker’s hand
You let him take you for a ride
In his long black car.
You knew damn well
He was the murder czar.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 8:56 pm

My Red Sky, by Charles Carreon

Image

My red clouds in my red sky
Deepen red mountains with red light.
I play my zither
And red tones sound --
Carnelian, carmine,
Crimson and rust --
Alizarine smooth as a red moth's dust

Red is the voice
Of passion and trust.
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Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 8:57 pm

Nailed, by Charles Carreon

Big, burly guys
Seize and immobilize you,
And start workin' on your arms to see if they'll break.
When they call you asshole, yell it into
your ear, you get the point: "Don't
fuck with us."

FREE ADVICE: Shortly after you meet a cop you will
have an opportunity to kiss his ass. Take that opportunity;
it may not present itself again.
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Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 8:58 pm

National Roulette, by Charles Carreon

It's very simple, really,
National roulette.
Pick a country, any country,
Spin the dial, and wait.
Aha, you see it's not the same
Today as yesterday.
A different flag and credo
Rides a wind of change.
The Shah is cooked,
Somozo split
Afghanistan's been blitzed.
It's national roulette,
And no one's got it sewed up yet
So step right up and place your bets
It's national roulette.
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Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 8:59 pm

New Season, by Charles Carreon

It's a new season,
a break in the weather --
I look through a window
And breathe in the blue.

One dead end behind me,
A mind that can't find me,
An old bag of bones on a bench.

Saints get the run-around
With their ears close to the ground,
And their noses to the grindstones,
They're flunkies,
Hustling for a buck in a company town,
Where the demons flock like shadows
When the sun goes down.

Outside the window
There's a cool moon rising

Outside the window
There's a lone cloud drifting.
Stars come out, one by one.
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Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 9:01 pm

Nice, by Charles Carreon

Image

Nice--
The word is so often slighted
As if nothing could really be nice.
But it is nice when the trees
Planted in the middle of the road
Rise up into the blue sky. It is very nice.
As we go motoring down the road
The deep blue of the sky
Anticipates the approach of the sea,
And this is also very nice.

It is nice when the child
Plays with the colored ball in the sunshine,
And it is nice when the mother
Pushes the infant in the stroller--
The infant is very pretty,
And this is also very nice.
Oh yes, from here to infinity,
Stretching out through all the extent of the clear, permitting sky--
Nice, nice, very nice,
Like a child's game
Of me discovering myself,
Which is, in fact, nicest of all.
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Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 9:03 pm

Night Wandering, by Charles Carreon

We are on a journey
Crossing many lands
dry lands with salty lake beds
rocky lands with toothy crags
windy lands with twisted shapes
forested lands with dark groves
gouged lands with crashing torrents
impassable lands with gaping clefts

We have made a pact
This journey will not end
We will never turn back
though paradise beckon a thousand times
though the ghost of suicide whines
though the elders threaten and malign
We will press onward
Regardless

We sleep in the open
we feast on the sky
If the stars could eat our brains
our skulls would be hollow as the night
but we have the power of fire
in our hearts to give us light

The trees murmur in the dark
the wind stirs their leaves and
they say things to each other
to the clouds the mountains
the meadows the creeks
and we listen intently
as if we could understand
but we do not

The moon stays on course
unfurling its sail a little more every night
Traveling farther across the sky
waxing to its own sort of silvery day
Lighting the path we must follow
Charmed, all our lives

This is no simple game
but the rules are unwritten,
so you learn by losing,
and win by learning.

It would be nice of course
if someone knew the way
but if they do they never say.

Come along then,
to the place where eternity can catch us up
and bear us along on its dark waves.

_________________________________________________

No Karma Karma, by Charles Carreon
11/19/14

Most often, your idea of who you're dealing with
Is just a notion redolent with anxiety,
So lighten up on the personalities,
Especially your own.
And do what needs doing.

There's no place different from this,
So stop leaning into the hamster wheel,
And work in the timeless presence
Where beings appear
In the splendor of unfettered creativity.

Breathing forth a stream of benefit
From the heart that pervades all space,
Radiate liberating awareness
To every living being,
And be washed pure in the rain of joy.
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Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 9:17 pm

No Stopping It, by Charles Carreon

A small fire
Can touch off a blaze
That burns a million trees.
It can smolder
In the dried needles
Inviting the latent flame
in every thing
To join with it
In releasing the hidden power.
Once fire catches
Up with matter
There's no stopping it.
Chernobyl and Nagasaki and Watts
Taught that.
Fire one,
Fire two,
Fire three.
Phosphorus Victim,
Molotov Martyr,
Subatomic Sacrificial Guernica Beast
Terrified Howls "I DO!"
Forced to wed, shotgun in the face,
Flesh with flame, which,
Once it catches,
There's no stopping it.
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Postby admin » Wed Sep 25, 2013 9:20 pm

No Doubt I Was Born a Fool, by Charles Carreon

Image

No doubt I was born a fool.
When young, I thought
I'd die a wise man.
Now I know
a fool once born is
never unmade.
The way I was born is the way I've stayed.
Strewing rose petals all the way,
Greeting every grimy day
With the toothy smile of idealism,
As if someone else
was going to pay
And all I had to do was play.
Is it any wonder I've been hated?
Kindled others' rage to overflowing?
Set tempers to raging
and tongues to clucking;
You would've thought they'd caught me fucking
The Pope, or a horse, or somebody bad
As if they never had
conceived a naughty thought
Or felt themselves get hot.
There's something 'bout a traipsing step,
a cavalier air,
a flip of the wrist
that puts their panties in a twist.
I say I'm just a realist,
Whereupon they drop their work
And come straight for me,
And it's not 'cause they adore me,
They abhor me,
And with imprecations vile
Despoil my name.
If I wasn't a fool
I'd have gone insane,
And they're all thinking
"What goes on in that brain?"
And I just say
"I could tell you,
but then you'd have to kill me."

(Century City, 1994)
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Postby admin » Fri Sep 27, 2013 8:05 pm

Non-Memory, by Charles Carreon

Image

Everything, it seems,
bears the mark of where it's been.
Old lumber still bears the circular
scribing it acquired in the mill,
And nail-holes remain as memory
of previous use.
Rocks are a record to those who can
read them, and even I can see they're
saying something about events long
past, of no concern to anyone,
like old men reminiscing.
But the water in this creek here
doesn't tell much about the past.
It's muddy, but that's just today's rain.
Its rippled face is the product of
the very moment, and like a pliant
lover, it smiles at whatever comes up.
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