Altruistic World Online Library

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.

Ohhh! Bama, by Charles Carreon

Do you remember?
It was 2008
The millions pushed the old regime away
It was our own Velvet Revolution
A Black man would provide the real solution
Oooh Bama!
The crowd surged in an orgasm of voting
We were purged of our legacy of suffering
Only a few Nader-sayers were spoiling the party
Saying "He said he'd kill terrorists in Pakistan,
That Wall Streeter fella Summers is his right-hand man
He bags up votes in Goldman Sachs
How's he gonna get our backs?"

But to them most everybody said
"Shut up you green-ass muthafucka --
You helped Bush win Florida lika sucka
We gonna shut you outta the debates
Don't piss on hope
We vot'n F' Change!"

So change we got
Like a revolving door
Swear I been here before
In one side out the other
But missin somethin'
My dear brother
I thought Obama was my friend
But it's dejavu
All over again

Soldiers in Afghanistan
Losin' limbs and
accomplishing nothin
While M'Hamad Karzai
And his next o' kin
Bankin billions in Swiss accounts
Buyin real estate in
Qatar an' Doha,
Dealin' smack an'
Rollin' in clover

Ohhh! Bama

Bush was in yo face
But this man's stickin'
It in the other place
Below the waistband of
Your pajama

Now he's in the same
Position, up side down
So happy to surrender
That must have been
His mission!
They say don't switch dicks
In the middle of
A screw,
But that's exactly
What they do
And if you can't handle
Act One
Act Two won't be no fun

On Buddhist Boards, by Charles Carreon

(Sing to a mambo beat, with marimba accompaniment)

On Buddhist Boards so happy-o
No nasty words no nasty-o
I've got a lot of Dharma to say
Will have to save it for a nother day

Oh Buddhist Boards so nasty no
We never have dissension-o
All people happy, all day long
Singing old Bernardo's song

On Buddhist Boards we posting-o
Say nothing much that you don't know
Sometimes so dull I fall asleep
On keyboard drooling at Bernardo's feet

Oh Buddhist Boards I love you so
Say nothing funny or crude you know
Free to say anything you want
As long as it isn't a nasty taunt

On Buddhist Boards the truth won't show
It's white on white the color of snow
Build up a snowman with a carrot nose
And when Bernardo has to sneeze it snows

On Buddhist Boards all Buddhist know
Can't learn nothing, but that's how it go
Nothing ventured nothing restrained
Now I see Bernardo pop a vein

On Buddhist Boards!
He pop a vein!
On Buddhist Boards!
He go insane!
On Buddhist Boards!
Dancing the tango!
On Buddhist Boards!
Juggling the mango!
On Buddhist Boards!
Eating the whole Papaya!

(This poem is really about Juan C. Aragon, creator of Buddhistboards.com, who operated under the false name of Bernardo Aragon during 2002-2003. Apologies to the true Bernardo Aragon, who probably is guilty of nothing more than knowing Juan.)

One View of History, by Charles Carreon

In the age of the salad bar,
There were no real men
Or women, because canned garbanzos and
Plastic cutlery
Made identity irrelevant.

In the age of bottled fruit juice coolers
And yogurt bars,
There arose titanic palaces
Crammed with ambrosia,
Ornamented with water fountains,
And fragrant with a rich
Dairy-fruit scent

In the age of chocolate
Covered marshmallow cookies,
Great migrations were triggered
That in turn spawned
Cultural intermixtures
The repercussions of which
Are not yet fully understood.

In the sober era of canned pineapple,
As we all know,
Great solemnity prevails,
As we await the return
Of our children, decked with garlands,
Wearing saturnalian smiles,
From the place the heroes took them
Long ago.

Ordinary World, by Charles Carreon

We are the ordinary color people,
the faded clothing, the old car people,
We are the wood-stacked-by-the-fire people,
The sun-shining-on-the-bare-rocks people.
We are the just day by day people,
No wealth, no future, no claims to fame.
We are the don't-mind-being-forgotten people,
The wind in the abandoned orchard people.
Some people say we are a good-for-nothing people;
That is OK with me,
It is good to be for nothing.
Yes, I like to walk a rocky coast,
Listening to the sea-cave sounds.
I like to lean my head out the window,
Rolling down the hiway as the desert golds,
And I like to think -- perhaps, someday
The lights and shiny paint will fade,
And reveal an ordinary world.

Panorama, by Charles Carreon

There is gold for the rising sun,
And red for the time when it sets.
Green boughs adorn the curving hills,
and blue resides in the depth of the sky.
The purest light is the heart of the sun,
and its absence the essence of night.

In the weight of the earth, nothingness --
In the nothingness of sky, endless abundance --

Mountains rise high into the air,
Water swiftly descends from a height,
Wind travels everywhere without hindrance,
And the arrows of the sun are numberless and swift.

Paper Bag Blues, by Charles Carreon



(Sing to the tune "In the Summertime (when the sun gets hot)" but a little slower.)
 
Well in the afternoon,
When the sun gets hot,
And the shadows don't move in the parking lot,
You bring a paper bag
With a bottle o' wine--
We just sippin', bullshitin' an passin' time.
 
Well if ya just sit still
You can chill yourself
As cool as sweet wine
On refrigerator shelf;
You can rest your bones
And relax your mind,
You can have the kind o' pleasure
Even kings don't find.
 
Well as the bottle gets low,
Gotta sip it slow,
And as your bones get loose
We'll sing some paper bag blues--
We'll sing some paper bag blues--
You'll be swayin' and singin'--
Singin' paper bag blues.
 
Well you gone home,
And you left me alone
Nobody gonna call on the telephone
The shadows creep,
And they lay down flat
Right on the cat
And the kitchen mat.
There ain't nobody comin';
I got noplace to go,
And I finished up the last
Of the Oreos.
I got the paper bag blues--
I got the paper bag blues--
I'm gonna lay down in the kitchen,
And sing the paper bag blues.

Path of the Waning Day, by Charles Carreon

The Voice of the Heart
Leads through a jungle.
Sitting in a boat,
Steering with an oar through turning currents.
The waters twist through winding courses;
I follow the path of the swirls.
You cannot see the sky,
Only green light sifting through the leaves,
A glimpse of blue,
The sun like a jewel flashing high in the vines.
I am a young traveler;
It takes youth to travel this path,
It takes suppleness to follow the currents,
Endurance to keep on without clear means.
In the jungle of the heart there is still threat,
There is danger for the traveler, and fear.
The waters comfort.
The waters console.
I follow their twisting winding,
Through the trees, old as crumbling castles,
That murmur with the Voice of the Heart.
I follow the stream, that never loses its way,
I follow the paths of the waning day,
And leave no tracks behind me.
I follow, and the sound of the waters is with me.

Pat Robertson for President, by Charles Carreon



i give thanx for the message of hate
that tells me I'm not too late
to get a hotdog and a straw boater hat
and a ginger beer and barbecued rib
'cause i like the cut of his jib
i'm gonna vote for that guy!

Pig Party, by Charles Carreon

Well we're having a pig party
2-Nite,
Empty the ashtrays
And put the chairs upright

Then lets
Get down
At the Plushie-Tushie Palace
Do a job
Blow outta here 4 Dallas

On the nod
Like to make it home for supper
Doin drugs
Feelin skewered thru the scupper

But when we
Get down
At the Plushie-Tushie Palace
We can raise
Some holy hell between us

Back at home
And I'm feelin kinda nervous
On the phone
Twitchin' like a demon

I wish they'd come
To the Plushie-Tushie Palace
Then they would
Not ever have to tell us

Wouldn't have to
Ever ever tell us
Treat us just
Like ordinary fellas