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 » 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

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.


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

NOTICE: THIS WORK MAY BE PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT

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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

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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