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.

Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Sat May 28, 2016 9:20 pm

Beastly Man with Savoie Faire
by Charles Carreon
May 28, 2016

If I was a yogi
I would make ice cream
And I would want to call it Mukti Fructi
I'd advertise it on Twitter
As neither light nor bitter
A real change of pace
A rest from the old rat race

Mukti Fructi
Make it all day long
Mukti Fructi
That's what I call this song ...

It's made from the sweetest cream
Milk from the sweetest cows
I throw rock salt in ice
I blend it real nice
I talk to the bees and the trees
I add some of their honeys

Mukti Fructi
It just sort of rolls along
Mukti Fructi
But it's not like nothing goes wrong

So pay close attention to what you're doing
Keep the crank on the paddle screwin'
Keep it cool as paradise
That's the way to make it come out right

Mukti Fructi
Everyone taste a treat
Mukti Fructi
It really beats the heat ...

The Emperor of Ice-Cream
Wallace Stevens, 1879 - 1955

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.

Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Sun Dec 11, 2016 7:57 pm

Fake News, Self-Censorship and the Three Stupid Monkeys
by Charles Carreon
December 10, 2016

NOTICE: THIS WORK MAY BE PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT

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“See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.” This formulation was first declared to me by some peer at the age of three or four – a veritable wise man he seemed to me – revealing the meaning of the mysterious three-monkey tableux so often encountered among the knick knacks adults accumulated in those days. It was a big revelation: the three monkeys, the first covering his eyes, the second his ears, and the third, his mouth – were a visual representation of the concept. Oh, now that I understood, how wise and virtuous those monkeys seemed. I understood in a flash why they were venerated by so many of the great and powerful big people. They were not taking in, or spreading “evil.” These monkeys were definitely on the right side of the game, since everybody knew “evil” was the worst thing of all.

So I was really surprised when I told my dad that I’d realized how important the wisdom of the three monkeys was, and he told me it was a bunch of crap. Nobody, he explained, should keep their mouth shut about evil. If there was evil going on, we needed to find out about it. We needed to see it, hear it, talk about it, and put an end to it. My namby-pamby see-no, hear-no, speak-no-evil pose went up in flames that day, and I’ve held a grudge against those cowardly monkeys ever since for leading me to make an ass out of myself in front of my dad.

Recently, I heard that an anonymous website had just come up with a list of suspect websites proliferating “fake news” to advance a Russian agenda, and the Washington Post elevated this website to the status of a genuine news-origin certifying authority. I did not bother to be concerned. People who will avoid the blacklisted news outlets are engaged in proactive self-censorship. By supporting the list, they tell everyone in earshot that they aren’t hearing or seeing fake news, so it’s impossible that they will speak it. Their minds won’t be contaminated by fake news, and no one can blame them for spreading it. If the thought police look in their heads, they will find them empty.

Image
Three-monkey relief carving (hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil) on Shinkyusha. Nikko, Japan

Fake News (To the tune of “Downtown”)
by Charles Carreon
12/10/16

Turn on the TV
Hear the things that they’re saying
Well it sounds a lot
Like News

Pick up the paper
Read the things that are written
Well it surely looks
Like News

But now the “Prop or Not” List
Has landed in my Twitter
And Huff-po, WaPo, Daily Beast
They all are in a flutter –
What to Believe?
The Rooskies are under the Bed
The Chinese are here to be fed
This is
Fake News!
Let’s see if it’s on the list
Oh dear, Look at it right here,
Fake News!
Straight from the Kremlin, they say!

Power’s corrupting
And media has power
To sell Fake News!
Now who do you think
Might be in a position
To buy Fake News?

I mean the news is spozed to
Give you all the skinny
The straight dope and the lowdown
And the truly on the level.
Good luck with that!
Citizens United took over your head
Now the screaming liberals
Say Conservatives are Red
This is Fake News
Don’t try to sell me this
Fake News
I know this shit’s on the list
Fake News
Just stick this right up your ass.

Truth is expensive,
So they use it quite sparingly in
Fake News
Like the sun’s in the sky
And there’s a base on the moon
You call that Fake News?
Your mind is just a playground
For thoughts of other’s making
Your choices like a baby’s candy
Right there for the taking.

They have to lie, too
The Rooskies are under the Bed
The Chinese are here to be fed
This is
Fake News!
Let’s see if it’s on the list
Oh dear, Look at it right here,
Fake News!
Straight from the Kremlin, they say!
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Thu Nov 09, 2017 7:26 am

The Minotaur of Hollywood, A Harvey Weinstein Production
Dedicated to Los Angeles, that Loved Harvey Weinstein, Until it Didn't
by Charles Carreon
November 9, 2017

NOTICE: THIS WORK MAY BE PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT

YOU ARE REQUIRED TO READ THE COPYRIGHT NOTICE AT THIS LINK BEFORE YOU READ THE FOLLOWING WORK, THAT IS AVAILABLE SOLELY FOR PRIVATE STUDY, SCHOLARSHIP OR RESEARCH PURSUANT TO 17 U.S.C. SECTION 107 AND 108. IN THE EVENT THAT THE LIBRARY DETERMINES THAT UNLAWFUL COPYING OF THIS WORK HAS OCCURRED, THE LIBRARY HAS THE RIGHT TO BLOCK THE I.P. ADDRESS AT WHICH THE UNLAWFUL COPYING APPEARED TO HAVE OCCURRED. THANK YOU FOR RESPECTING THE RIGHTS OF COPYRIGHT OWNERS.


Image
The Minotaur of Hollywood, A Harvey Weinstein Production
by Tara Carreon


Way down in Los Angeles,
That city by the sea
There was a mighty industry
That everybody thought was sweet.

They called it entertainment,
Vaudeville, they made silent pictures,
Publicity stills. They had talent agents,
talent scouts; they made the country laugh
and kept the public out.

Hollywood became its name
A silly sign its claim to fame
It drew foolish girls
Like moths to flame
In a world gone mad
Well, who’s to blame.

The temples of Hollywood are up in the sky
Through the freeway canyons
The limousines fly. They’re loaded
with girls who wanna be stars.
Next stop is the Minotaur.

He’s got several lairs in the Hollywood hills,
Unlike Bill Cosby, he doesn’t use pills,
He more likes to trap,
Then move in for the kill.

Built like a bear, but not as good looking,
The Minotaur’s friends
All say they weren’t watching
When he feasted on virginal,
delicate flesh,
Wiped his mouth on his bathrobe,
And satisfied, left.

Hollywood’s a labyrinth, they say,
Don’t you see? Concierges and bellhops,
doormen and valets, a thousand
hotel rooms, a million blind hallways.
A girl could get lost here
And never be found
Till at last that old Minotaur
Does come around
And asks himself lecherously,
“What have I found?”

So who built this labyrinth,
So secret and safe,
To house this dread predator
Who loves to make waste?
Why did they love this Minotaur more
Than the virginal offerings
Whose flesh the beast tore?
What did he give them
To protect him with lies
To induce still more victims
To please his desires?

Well, the Minotaur, it seems
Is a creature of dreams,
For all one desires is seen in his eyes,
And in that same place
All one’s dreams die.

His evil is cunning;
It moves not a step,
Till all is secure
And the trap has been set
Planning and preparation the keys to his game
You were foolish to trust him, so you’re to blame.

Now they say the Minotaur is dead
The’ve taken off its head
They’ve dragged it behind
an Escalade
Painting Sunset red.

Yes, they’ve got the guards out tonight
Labyrinth’s locked up tight
The Minotaur’s no more
And the Pacific Ocean
Has departed the shore.
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Wed May 16, 2018 9:34 pm

Crete
by Charles Carreon
5/15/18

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Clean laundry
White sheets
White clouds
White moon
Blue sky
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Tue Oct 09, 2018 6:05 am

The Waterfall
by Charles Carreon
October, 2018

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So many have gone over the edge.
I hear their cries of terror and exultation
As the current sweeps them over the lip,
Their rafts tossing below in the currents.
Some are lost in the first event,
Some battle on downstream,
Shooting rapids,
Splashing through canyons,
Borne on by the waves.
Alone, I remain here in my canoe,
In a lake of pristine freshness,
Within the rainbow veil wreathing the falls.
The pool of the present,
Overflowing, creates the stream of time.
Before it all starts, I remain,
In a place where a goddess could sit
Making presents of flowers and light,
Releasing them in the flow,
To blossom in time.
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Wed Oct 10, 2018 6:29 pm

The Atom
by Charles Carreon
Tucson, October 8, 2018

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Simply consider
that the approximate lifetime
of an atom
is eternity,
barring destruction
in a stellar collapse.
Anything that in its
fundamental parts
is so durable,
in a world of things
constantly decaying,
merits reverence.
Yes, the humble atom,
unnoticed in the day
to day affairs of our
life, goes about, providing
the basis for our
physical existence,
and enjoys a continuity
in time far more persistent
than our own.
Our personalities, alas,
have no claim to identity with even one atom.
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Thu Jun 13, 2019 11:23 pm

I Declare
by Charles Carreon
June 11, 2019

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“I had no need of that hypothesis.”

-– Laplace, on the absence of God from his explanation of the solar system, to Napoleon


”It is the duty of every person to develop their own hypothesis of the nature of their own existence.”

-- Charles Carreon


It is a blank canvas,
our understanding.
A yawning chasm of unmeaning
opes before us
ere we fill it in
with the brush-strokes
of our imagination.
What shapes shall we draw there?
What lineaments accord
the shape of our experience?
A nihilist scrawl
ill serves the opportunity.
To copy what others have written
is naught but a schoolchild’s exercise.
Nothing but our best approximation
of truth is worthy of the moment,
our moment,
the breath of life upon our lips,
the torch of the ancients
in our hands,
the cave wall beckoning,
the earthen paints set out,
magic waiting to be made,
true magic
free of falsehood
free of gain,
a gift back to the universe
that made us from itself,
a declaration in the darkness,
to echo the infinite’s call.
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Thu Jun 13, 2019 11:27 pm

Of What Hypothesis Are You Capable?
by Charles Carreon
June 12, 2019

NOTICE: THIS WORK MAY BE PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT

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Waste not this moment of freedom
Making wagers against imagined odds
Playing with the figures
of demons and gods
Imagining terrors,
hoping delights
Ignoring the sun and stars
for glimmerings and faery-lights
Arm yourself with experience
and set your intentions on inquiry
Delve into the well of comprehension
draw forth inspired expression
Intuit with all your might
will to draw it all a-right
Shape it to your honest measure
Let its form give you pleasure
A mirror and a glass
To better know and count your treasure,
The treasure of this moment,
This living day,
That only a fool would give away
By making some other time more dear
By turning away from the present in fear.
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Thu Jun 13, 2019 11:32 pm

Kindness, Freedom, Honesty, Courage
by Charles Carreon
June 12, 2019

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Inner ideals like these
Take expression in heroic forms
That stand against the humbling forces
Of time and things,
That challenge the joy of our spirit
And tax us with sufferings.

So Hercules and Vajrapani
equally serve the imagination
That wishes to strive
Against the heavens
And earth, to show what
Humanity is worth,
To us, to ourselves, we who strive
While alive.

But stories too often told
Make mice of men
Who once were bold
And worship of the ancestors
Weakens the present generation
If it takes not up the challenge
Of its own time

So take your place in this great
procession,
Guide yourself with confidence.
The footsteps of past generations –-
We cannot walk in them
Any more than we can
wear their sandals.
What was past is dust
And the present is upon us.
We cannot wait for Great White Brothers
Saviors, any species of others,
To rescue us from confusion.
To hope otherwise is delusion.
There is no bank of certainty,
All notions are but currency
Built on our own faith and credit.
The face on the dollar is our own
When we need more belief
We give ourselves a loan.

Virtues? Bring them out in yourself;
Don’t beg for them from on high.
To place them out of your reach
Is thriftless and unwise.
Let generosity strengthen your arms,
And kindness fill your eyes.
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Re: Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

Postby admin » Mon Jul 15, 2019 12:02 am

The Jester Has His Say
by Charles Carreon
July 14, 2019

Way up high on his 10-ft throne
Kalapa's King sits all alone.
He times his breath with a metronome,
Occasionally throws his subjects a bone,
Scratches his rump and checks his phone.

Perhaps his lawyers have texted him
Perhaps the news has grown less grim
Perhaps the exposes are at last exhausted,
He thinks of the girls he once accosted,
And a furtive smile plays on his face.

He thinks how Pa would've handled this
With a cupful of vinegar, a gallon of piss,
He'd have sent them all to hell with a wave
And hastened to an early grave
While students hoarded each blessing he gave.

He thinks of his title, Protector of Earth
Imagines how he once encompassed its girth.
In his mind, at least, He offered a feast
To men and dralas, women and beasts,
Of self-conceived monarchs he wasn't the least.

But spiritual authority's not without flaws
Like gravity, secrecy's one of its laws.
Should samaya relax, hell opens its jaws,
And like Sogyal one slides into Yama's swift claws.
Across such ruminations, a curtain he draws.

Control over thoughts is the greatest of things.
From memories suppressed, nobility springs.
From infinite jest, freedom arises,
With a flick of a metaphor, reason is banished,
Like flushing a toilet, the evidence vanished.

Was he once foolish? Concede that he was!
Was he a sinner? Well, he copped a buzz.
Did he grope women? He thought it was fair.
Steal lots of money? Well, they left it there.

Still, it's mighty dull in Kalapa town,
With nothing but toadies hanging around,
Waiting for real estate deals to close.
His mother just died. He blows his nose.

The last book flopped, the next one won't sell,
On Facebook, he's jeered like a minion of hell.
They don't understand, it was all just for fun,
The Kusung delivered them, each tasty bun,
Like Daddy, he loved them, every last one.

by Charles Carreon
July 14, 2019
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