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.


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


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

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

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


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


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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Postby admin » Fri Sep 27, 2013 8:07 pm

Not Everyone All At Once, by Charles Carreon

Each day uniquely troubled,
Each night a special woe,
Each step the earth does tremble,
In every grasp a seed is sown.
This fertile field, abundantly produces fruit
according to the nature of the seed.
We farmers till according to our nature,
harvest in keeping with our ways.
Now, getting on,
with money, gold and scrip in hand,
and heavy grip upon the land,
Raise stones, inscribe them carefully,
All in their way,
Variations on an epitaph.
Last words, anyone?
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Postby admin » Fri Sep 27, 2013 8:08 pm

Nova Donna's Valentine, by Charles Carreon

Long, long, long ago
When the Universe was very small,
And there really was no space at all,
Nova Donna was there.
She was so furious.
There was no time,
No time for anything.
She was raging,
She was determined,
There was no one to stop her,
So she let loose.
She let loose of all the boundaries,
All the restrictions,
Every last one,
She let it rip
Right up the crotch,
Split the seams of her restraining garments,
And started growing like Alice.
Her head lifted the roof,
Her arms shot out the windows,
And then all the walls just
Busted to flinders
And went spinning off into space,
Because now there was some,
And she took a big, deep
breath, exhaling
A stream of galaxies
as dense as thick smoke.
She kicked back on the
Big sofa covered with patterns
like rattlesnake hide
and leopard prints
and tiger stripes and
all those kinds of badass
patterns, and started to chill.
She kept smoking for a long time,
Because now there was some,
Time I mean,
Time to get some things done,
Things she'd been meaning to do
Back when there was so much pressure
And no means of expression.
She didn't make any decisions.
She delegated everything,
And didn't create any minions.
She wrote everyone a blank check.
There was so much to do,
And she needed helpers, not slaves,
Willing warriors, able to brave
The space, because there was so
much space now in this new place.
She couldn't stop smoking.
It turned out there was no limit
To the volume of swirling spirals
And gyrating pulsars and
collapsing vortices she could exhale,
And she started collecting white dwarves
And red giants to keep her company,
And always loved to wear a nova in her hair.
Eventually she thought "WOW"
And then she thought "This is really cool"
And she noticed little things starting
To happen in the cool places out in
the star systems.
She noticed some very cool stuff,
Like water, which she had never seen before,
As rain, and snow,
As lakes and rivers,
As oceans and ice caps,
Turning these cute little planets
all blue and green
The cutest little things she'd ever seen.
And then she saw something
that took her breath away.
Because her vision being very keen,
She could see the snow falling,
Every snowflake, just drifting down
Through the atmosphere like inside
A glass ball when you shake it,
And she loved the way the winds
Swirled all around the planets,
Making those twirly patterns
That are so cute.
But what amazed her most was
the way every snowflake was
unique, custom-made perfect,
And she just laughed with joy,
Because she knew that she was rich.
So she went on a shopping spree,
She started spending wildly,
Everywhere she could find a
cool little planet.
She was everywhere at once,
Checking planetary orbits,
Waiting for gravity to pull them
into line,
Watching for stray comets that
might be candidates to deluge
some bare rock with a splash
of bubbly
Then watching them foam up green
As the suns, oh how she loved her suns,
Warmed up the whole shebang,
And then one day they came.
Flowers, oh god the flowers.
She gasped.
She thought the snowflakes were grand,
But the flowers were, they were,
They were just magnificent,
And she said out loud in
a voice like thunder,
"I'm movin' in!"
And she plucked some dawn clouds
Out of the sky for a nightgown and still
almost naked, gathered up
flowers and rolled in the fields,
Getting drunk on perfume
And watching the sun
way up high in the sky, and
the rivers flowed between her legs
and she knew she was not only
rich, she was beautiful.

(Jan. 2009, Tucson AZ)
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Postby admin » Fri Sep 27, 2013 8:13 pm

Off-Planet Haiku by Zafu, by Charles Carreon


A blue-gold perlisonde is blooming
Under the red moon.
In the dim twilight
A rippo niggles softly.


Chu-chong will not see me--
I have cried so much
My runtor will not function.


My friends say you will not return--
But your departing steps
I will never cease to hear
Until you return again over the hill.


The whistling winds of tundoo
Swivor my undulating ramp.
Your chuckoo.
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