Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 30, 2013 11:14 pm

Seed, by Charles Carreon

Image

Through bare window,
silent sand.
 
Mist veils distant ranges in
light dust of azure powder.
 
Rising sun, one drop of blood,
suffuses mist with spectral corolla
of solar radiance.
 
At the heart of the sun,
a vibrational seed, the emanating stillpoint,
radiates warmth.
 
In the matrix of the seed,
amid nonfinite transparent lattice rays,
silence, a vast sky of light.
 
In the light,
intrinsic energy engulfs sense/knowing.
 
Engulfed in light, who rests
within/beyond self, sun, seed.
 
Seed sprouts,
again self, sun, one drop of blood.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:21 am

Shadow Children, by Charles Carreon

There in the shifting light
Lean the shadow children.
Seeking shelter from the cold--
Bleak survivors growing old,
They don't know what childhood is
They don't know what loving was,
 
They'll fade before the break of day,
Shadow children go away.
Go away.
 
I'd like to think that they
Are only figments of my mind,
But childish fingers clutch at me
And hang on tight to what they find.
 
Tracing fire in my soul,
Sobbing sorrow they grow old--
Shadow children full of weakness
Shadow children raised on bleakness
Shadow children come away
Come away to stay.
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:22 am

She Was Born, by Charles Carreon

She was born from one drop of blood
So red so pure so hot
it couldn't be contained
in any vessel
and burned away everything
before she took form.

Her tongue so ripe
licks away the surface of change
to reveal the immutable skeleton of flame,
Her fangs so sharp
penetrate the arteries of pain,
Her lips so full
fasten on to the neck of grief
and drain all the dark blue blood
from the frame of the walking dead.

Desire unquenchable
causes her to writhe, yearning
to reach the heart of the matter,
To twist out the dark root
with claws so kind,
'till the rich red color of her
floods forth, drenching
the subject of her tender mercies
with release,
Leaving one more
Bubbling scarlet,
At last breathing free --
Then on to the next.

She was born for this work.
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:24 am

Signs of the Times, by Charles Carreon

A man in a four-colored jacket beckons,
His silver buttons gleam.

A maid in a gown of emerald smiles,
Her eyes emit bright beams.

A dragon in his lair turns 'round,
His spines bestir the deep.

Ten million golden fishes flash
Their scales in your sleep.

Breathe deep the alien air my friend,
All things will come in time.

Remember never a man was hanged
Who spoke only in rhyme.
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:25 am

Silver, by Charles Carreon

Limpid moon shining
over shaggy trees swaying,
barely, in the night breeze.
This is the world,
the one I long to pierce,
exploring the silvery forms,
the illusive gleam between
the seen and the perceived.
With the fox and the bat,
my eyes devour with gentle passion
the gossamer images that abundantly appear
in ever subtler subtlety,
the shadows of the trees,
the fingers of the leaves,
the tracery of branches
the wisping curls of cloud.
All night, dark and light,
changing places,
Dancing liquid starlight poured upon
the flesh of the eye.
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:26 am

Sinecure of Moonlight, by Charles Carreon

Poor petals,
You have lost your blossom --
Unfortunate leaves,
You have lost your places on the Tree.
Upright, upon our feet,
We walk among the fleeing hordes
Blown by the killing wind. We find
the flushed corpses of blossoms
Rotting in wetness.
Our eyes reflect the color of the sky,
We are wrapped in the blanket of the wind,
We stand and watch the exodus of clouds,
Escaping over the horizon.
The abandoned shed,
tilting slightly on rotten beams
Affords sweet, if tenuous shelter,
The rickety walls showing splinters of light --
Nail and knotholes where the wind
Ventures probing fingers of transparent blue.
Here I could live
On a sinecure of moonlight,
On a stipend of grass,
Receiving remittances from sparrows,
Sleeping in old hay,
Reading the scraps of outdated dailies.
Watching the course of prolific summers,
Inhaling the splendor of moth-studded nights,
At last you might discover a road out,
Appearing like a mirage in the north wall --
Passing through, you might find yourself
At last among the migrating stars.
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:28 am

Skull Behind Your Smile, by Charles Carreon

Image

   SKULL BEHIND YOUR SMILE --
FLOWERS IN THE SOCKETS OF
YOUR EYES
PLEASED TO MEET YOU
PLEASED TO DANCE
PLEASED TO PASS A BRIEF
ROMANCE
SKULL BEHIND YOUR SMILE
BUTTERFLY IN YOUR HAIR
GRASS STEM HELD IN YOUR
FINGERS
NOON BELL IN DISTANT CHAPEL
EMPTY FIELD
SKULL BEHIND YOUR SMILE.
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:31 am

Slender Threads, by Charles Carreon

Image

The universe is held together by a
slender knot.
The message we write to succeeding generations
is written in finest script.
Whether it all breaks down to yes and no
in the end
we'll never know.
The writing will be the same.

In your thumbprint and your bellybutton
and your voice and the twist of your joints
There's a changing signature, owned of generations,
Impressed with changes wrought of union.
Someone poured acid on the world
and the threads got twisted.
The message is mangled.
We can't read the notes we made to our cells;
The delicate lines run as if tears
were distorting our vision.
Woman's the victim.
Her womb's a mischief machine.
She can't trust it anymore.
The universe is held together by a slender thread,
And life is more tender than we had thought.
Someone dumped garbage in the sea.
Someone went walking on the moon.
Someone took a sheet of paper and made
a list of names they didn't know,
And the fragments of lives went falling
into the fire like scraps of paper
and tatters of old clothes.
Someone cashed a check at the bank.
And someone opened the drainpipe on a
sludge-spattered truck
And watched the poisoned liquid flow
into the swamp, into the water,
into the ambiguous night.
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:33 am

Smoky Night, by Charles Carreon

It's a smoky night,
with the wind blowing cool
and scented with
some forest burning
off north of the horizon.
 
Country nights,
that's the way it is.
Moon rising and slowly
taking a panoramic view
of all below.
From her level it must
seem immense.
Summer wind
blows windbells
leaving behind
tangles of melody.
 
August '94, Colestine
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Postby admin » Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:33 am

Smug Pig, by Charles Carreon

Bricks of delusions
Made of the clay of form
And the straw of conceptions
Fired in the kiln of no compassion
Make a very solid house
Into which the Big Wrathful Wolf
of Liberation
Can't get in.
Not by the hair
On my chinny chin chin.
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