spring she comes with a clear snap, like an icicle breaking she's pretty
the cold tingles her cheeks
there's dew on her young breasts, small like budding roses
when sunlight comes her eyes are clear skies she'll let you kiss her gently
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:41 am
by admin
Stranger Destination, by Charles Carreon
I've got a stranger destination, Behind the locked code Of your eyes, And the means of infiltration, Besides. When I want you, It's not because of Anything I've ever known before, It sparks and flies Over the darkening skies, And there are a thousand choruses Singing in your eyes, Besides.
SONG
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:44 am
by admin
Suicide Santa, by Charles Carreon
It was the Night before Christmas And all down the road, The truckers were pulling Their Chinese loads
Haulin' that crap To Wal-Mart and such So we can bury our kids Under a mountain of junk
Only assholes hate Christmas Least that's what they said And when he heard it a lightbulb burned out in his head
He flipped into overdrive And picked up his suit He was a jolly old fella With bombs in his boots
He was a Suicide Santa With tears in his eyes For his message to the world He was happy to die Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo
Well he made a long list Of bad boys and girls We'd be better off losing From this great big world
Millionaires, Billionaires, Trillionaires, friends Bankers and lawyers The ones who know best
He tucked that list in his suicide vest, Headed out on the freeway To the Vegas strip
He was dressed real nicely for his final act Wasn't gonna stick around for a heart attack
He was a Suicide Santa With tears in his eyes For his message to the world He was happy to die Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo
He called himself in to 911 Said he was headed for Caesar's to have some fun Loaded for bear, let the SWAT team come, They're welcome to die, every goddamn one
Security parted like the Damn Red Sea When Moses stretched out his rod, you see, He was a smilin' mass of notoriety
He was a Suicide Santa With tears in his eyes For his message to the world He was happy to die Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo
He cleared out the dealers From the gambling hall To the poor broke players He gave it all
He told the band to play White Christmas, and to the showgirls said sit down, saying, "I'm not ready yet to blow this town"
That seemed to relax the tension a notch He lit himself a stogie And asked for some scotch With his boots on the table, He savored a sip And said to the cameras "What a helluva trip," Here I threaten to kill 'em Now I'm in the chips"
Cause I'm a Suicide Santa But I'm not insane It's just lately This terrible pain We'll all have to suffer for the mess they made So I'm a Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo A Suicide Santa Doo, doo, doo, doo
Then he pulled an alarm clock From one of his boots Hooked a wire up to it and then said "Boo!"
The people fell back And moved for the door Except one old chick A used-up whore
She said if you don't mind I'll sit with you As far as I could tell This show's about through
He pulled out a chair And poured her a shot He said, "At this here table We bet the whole damn pot."
'Cause I'm a Suicide Santa And on Christmas Day We'll light these candles In a magic way Convert the doubters And believers, too Show 'em the shimmy Like we used to do
'Cause I'm a Suicide Santa, And it's Christmas Day, You can push my button Any goddamn day 'Cause I'm a Suicide Santa Yeah, yeah, yeah Suicide Santa Yeah yeah yeah
Well it was all over Google On Christmas Day How Suicide Santa Made his getaway
From the rooftops of Vegas Where he hitched a ride In a stolen copter That flew outta sight
Flying over the mountains Last seen heading north As fast as Mel Gibson In a speeding Porsche
He leaned out the window With his Newlywed wife Smilin' like Elvis Under the lights He said "Merry Christmas And to all a good night May good boys and girls Learn how to not fight
'Cause I'm a Suicide Santa And it's Christmas Day I've got my toys, So now it's time to play I'm Suicide Santa Yeah, yeah, yeah Suicide Santa Ho, ho, ho
I'm a Suicide Santa And it's Christmas Day I've got my toys, Now it's time to play-heh-heh yeah
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:47 am
by admin
Summer, by Charles Carreon
And then the radiant days of summer came to wash away indifferent pain, to grow the leaves of green again and warm the bones of tired old men extend the playtimes of the young The days of summer came again.
The days of summer came again and we as well arrived, in pickup trucks and colored tents in hippy garb and Wal Mart threads in Winnebagos, jeeps and beetles, on motorbikes and even jet-skis wasting time and drinking beer not even feeling slightly queer, The days of summer come again and we together all with them.
The foolish American people ride a roller coaster up one side forever mounting high it's summer always till we die, the days of summer come again our thoughts drift southward to our friends; The fruits grow heavy, the tree boughs bend, The days of summer come again.
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:48 am
by admin
Supernatural Wail, by Charles Carreon
As I rode home just yesternight I heard the banshee scream, And a strange wind came from the wild fen, and my heart began to grieve. I laid the lash to my horse's flank and spurred her through the dark; Her shoes struck hard in the moistened earth; Her hooves flung flying sod. The oaks along the river bank were shook as by a storm, And as I dodged their tossing arms I prayed to the Blessed One. I left the winding river road at the base of the Eastern hills, But behind still followed an evil laughter, the omen of sorrow and ills. Still urging on my faithful mare, whose mane seemed touched with elfish fire, We bounded over the tumbled stones and leapt the tangled briars. As I crested the knoll I sought the light of my cottage below in the vale -- Only dark met my eyes -- in the meaningless night I heard the departing wail. The spell was broke and filled at once as my horse blew a shuddering breath. We both looked around at the glittering sky as silent and strange as death. Down in the valley I wandered all night, 'till dawn came to seal my despair, And away in the village, the people, all strange, regard me with awe and chagrin, And kindly say, "Sir, in the place that you name, there's never a house that has been."
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:49 am
by admin
Sword of the Wind, by Charles Carreon
Penetrating the interstices of the world, Breathing through the holes, gaps, and cracks in mountains, caverns trees and teetering shacks,
The sword of the wind, delicate as a whisper, tastes the surfaces of all exposed forms, savoring the contours of terrain.
With deft, gentle strokes, pressing the formless form of mist, with unbluntable edge shaping the clouds like a swordsman playing with smoke, sometimes leading, sometimes following,
Dividing the hills, dabbling the surfaces of lakes and brooks, rattling the dry branches of winter, removing every wisp that obscures the eye of the sun,
The implacable blade has innumerable emanations, everywhere addressing the face of substance, even in stillness standing at attention with the edge before.
Light itself blesses the blade, An invisible gleam runs all down its length, And settles in the empty sky.
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:53 am
by admin
Tales of the Pioneers, by Charles Carreon
The old ones came when they were young. Beautiful, without shoes, Treading delicately on morning dew, Drinking dawn air like An ecstatic fluid.
The old ones knew nothing when they came, Having fled homes of privilege, The taste of things rustic being novel, Their works were fanciful, Emblazoned with imagery of dreams.
The old ones shared seed with each other, And children blossomed like wildflowers Covering the hillsides way up the mountains. The old ones built the corrals of stone, The houses of wood, dug the wells.
The old ones left an ambiguous legacy -- Prayer flags flap in the breeze, Their words were those of libertines, Sacrifice and ceremony were known to them, But a cacophonous destructive tone marked their songs.
The old ones did not give much thought to history -- Their early goals changed like tadpoles, Just in time when the puddles dried up, And pragmatism drove them on when ideals Proved too capricious to bear the load.
The old ones broke the soil And it sullied them; The first generation shall not see The promised land; from the love Of my ten thousand descendants Shall come the seed to save my heart.
(1/14/94, Colestine)
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:56 am
by admin
Tasting the Edge of Dawn, by Charles Carreon
In the chill morning The dark, solid shadows of the pines & firs Dominate the hillside, Permitting only glimpses Of the pre-dawn moon, glowing Full and naked In the cloudless, star-specked sky Above the western ridge.
The dawn comes gently creeping, Preparing the arrival of the sun, A spreading ripple of radiance, Silencing gentle chatter In the gallery of the stars. The eastern mountains, Robed in darkness, Backlit in silver-blue, Call the earth to order, True vassals of the sovereign, Enthroned through no power Of their own, their voices rumbling In profound serenity Downward through deep veins of stone As quickening light touched Their peaks And opens eyes of snow.
A tiny man of flesh and bone Wandering over the frozen dirt That glitters with countless crystals Of frozen water, Will gaze about him and Beneath him And discover A lack of tethers, A great silence ready to respond With echoes only to his any word. Tree bark, lichen-patched stone, Blades of dried grasses Rimed with frost -- One need only forget To be utterly lost.
Residing on a spinning ball We cannot depart from But only fall into, We forget the cliff, The abyss of no experience Into which we will tumble When death pulls his abrupt And exceedingly impractical joke.
Nevertheless, all rise, The sovereign Lord appears, Speaking eloquently with Ten million warming rays To bathe, caress and possess All the numberless creatures Born of boundlessness.
Colestine, 1/30/94
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:02 pm
by admin
... That Naughty Girl, by Charles Carreon
that naughty girl won't behave ... Like a page from a comic book, She's a total outrage, And rules are confetti, As she flies through the storm, dressed in something revealing to keep others warm. She's ancient as the twisted trees that cling to blasted peaks, and youth is but the fashion of the day. Poisons pump through her veins in stifling succession, leaving her intoxicate with rage. Strong medicine's needed for this one, and a quick trip away from the carnival of pain, But like Dorothy seeking OZ and homesick for Kansas, With a horde of evil minions on her trail, She must remember the trick And click Her heels together and say goodbye to this place, Hello to Auntie Em.
POETRY
Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:03 pm
by admin
The Boatman Song, by Charles Carreon
For all you boatmen out there ... Put on your boat shoes and Row, row, row, Row those sentient beings ashore. Just keep rowing as hard as you can, And then row some more. The lust for life is a never ending fire that you cannot extinguish with your preaching, So as long as you love Buddha You must slave away Converting beings to his Teachings!