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PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:37 pm
by admin
Boogaloo Baby and the Ripstop Mama, by Charles Carreon

As we rock the cradle
Sky darkens to sable
Don't say we're not able to love
It's a real miracle singalong
At the edge of the lawn
With a rocket star pinnacle
Pinned to the dawn
As we lift up our voices
And teeter so tall
As if standing on tiptoe
Meant anything at all


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:39 pm
by admin
Border Song, by Charles Carreon

Reminds me of a week I spent
one afternoon in Nogales

The rain was falling heavily
With rattlesnakes mixed in
You had to use an umbrella
and lots of anti-venin

The Border Patrol were hot to go
So I said "Hell, why not?"
The chicks were cool
The road a spool of liquor-signs
I thought a Navajo I spied as tall
as an old saguaro cactus
He just waved
As we sped by
Wearing a cheerful rictus

Down by the Rio Grande
all dressed up like a dandy
Coyote swung his watch chain
and chewed his cocaine candy
We watched the drop
the lightning fell
Then nothing was left standing
but a waterfall of millionaires
coming in for a landing

Do you find the workweek long?
Does it make your tickle tangle?
Just comb your hair
With breaths of air
And you won't ever strangle
when Armadillos talk to you
down in old Durango

The waterfall, a wheel of fire
still stutters through my sight
A rolling thing, with butter wings
That melted in the night
A phoenix then arising when
We close our eyes at last

Two men are running in the dark
Running very fast


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:43 pm
by admin
Buddhist Horror Flick, by Charles Carreon

Armies of zombie clergy
Dragging their malas
Wielding crowbars
and sacred implements

Led by hordes of vampires
Sangha officers and boards of directors
Engage in gang warfare,
Blasting away at each other
With blazing thunderbolts

Hot chick vampire action figures
Primed for temptation
the new generation
Of Mara's Daughters,
Slick wet look glossy lipsheen
And DiVynyl boots

Steven Seagal eight feet tall
Whuppin' them demons
One and all
With a platoon of phony tulkus
Done up Shaolin style
Using their malas
To garrote heretics

And Ambu up on the pyre
Screaming louder and louder
While I'm out in the crowd
mistaken for a madman
[Fade to Black]


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:50 pm
by admin
Built to Last, by Charles Carreon


And the mind,
they tell us
is a chemical phenomenon
that psychopharmacologists
will wind and bind
with chemical tools.
They will come up with
pills and thrills
will be a thing of the past,
And humans will run smooth
and fast, and built to last.
We will become
the playthings of an
ideology bent on
The children of the womb
refined in a factory
of certainty,
The troublesome orgy of randomness
reduced at last to harmlessness,
All watched over by
nursemaids paid by the big father
in his perfect

(Aug '94, Colestine)


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:53 pm
by admin
Burn Your Bridges, by Charles Carreon


My Dad taught me something
When I was young,
He was gifted with a silver tongue
He made me think that everything
Lay within my grasp
'Cause I understood
Why it pays to be good.

He always said
Burn your bridges, my son
Make no preparation for retreat
Don't think about gettin' beat
Just burn your bridges
And you'll see
There's only one road ahead
And it's the one you make
So burn your bridges
Every one.

It's a terrifying leap
That we make each day
Through the gates of hell
At least it seems that way
All the signs are misleading
I can't believe what I'm reading
Somehow gotta make it pay

So I burn my bridges
One more time
Set out on the road that is mine
Toward the smoke of bridges burning
My mind will not be turning
Yes I've burned my bridges
One more time.

Some people worry they'll be dead someday
I don't tend to think that way
I've lost everything I ever had
And hasn't really been all that bad
The taste of the good old days
Lingers on

I've never been of the world of men
Probably had 'bout enough of them
I could burn those bridges
And feel fine.
Yes I'll burn some bridges


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:57 pm
by admin
Bush Riders Outta Control, by Charles Carreon


A stranger rode straight into town
The fear was in his eyes
He gulped a shot and then once more
And said, “What I’d advise,
Is saddle up and ride as hard and fast
As you can ride –
There’s Bush riders comin’
Bush riders outta control.”

He didn’t have to say it twice,
A mob made for the door,
The bartender yelled out, “Last call!”
And I called out, “One more.”
I had a winning poker hand
And had been about to raise
When my poker game was ended
By the stranger’s maddened phrase –

Bush riders comin',
Bush riders outta control.

I might not had a mentioned
That I’m from Tennessee
So I figured that I’d stick around
And see what I could see.
I’d seen some ruffians down south
With snake-eyes in their souls
So I figured I’d get a load of these
Bush riders outta control.

The eastern sky turned dark as pitch
As they moved toward the west
When they hit the edge of town
They didn’t stop for gas,
Just shifted to a lower gear
And yelled as they drove past,
“We’re just the advance column,
so watch out for your ass.”

And soon we saw what they had meant,
It was a dreadful sight.
An eclipse came down o’er the town
And plunged it into night,
And like a wounded animal
A siren shrieked in fright.
Then Cheney’s voice cried, “Open fire!”
And they put out the lights.

The shooting went on all night long
While Rumsfeld danced a jig
Then out came Condoleezza
Riding on a pig.
And Cheney with his shotgun
Shot friends and foes alike
Then the most fearsome among them
Stepped right up to the mike.

He had a folksy manner
And a kind of Texas drawl
He said, “We kicked old Saddam’s ass,
And got ourselves a haul,
So let’s just do some drinkin’
And all let down our hair,
‘Cause tomorrow when the sun comes up
We’ll all be billionaires.”

From where I hid I still could see
The clouds above his head,
As if an older evil
Had took his place instead,
With swastikas and murder camps
And instruments of dread,
It blasted through the megaphones
And straight into my head.

There's Bush riders comin',
Bush riders outta control.

Then they raised up a gleaming cross
To honor their own dead.
The Chief swept off his cowboy hat
And placed it on his chest.
He said, “These boys have died for us
And the values we hold best,
Now send their parents letters
And burn ‘em like the rest.”

When they broke camp there wasn’t much
They hadn’t broke or stole.
Just fire, wreckage, ruin
And the smell of burning oil.
‘Cause underneath that Christian hide
there lurks a demon soul,
Who let the devils out of hell
With just two words, “Let’s roll!”

Bush riders comin',
Bush riders outta control.
Yeah there's Bush riders comin',
Bush riders outta control!


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:04 pm
by admin
Buy American, by Charles Carreon


One more Monday morning in the USA
Twenty thousand people lost their jobs today
We’re payin’ mercenaries
To fight some stupid war
If it isn’t over oil,
Then what the hell’s it for?

There’s a scary sound,
There’s a gathering danger
People talkin’ loud
Voices raised in anger

And if ya turn on the radio,
Whatta they say?
They’re givin’ billionaire bankers bonus pay,
They say ya can’t say no,
It’s the American way,


One more Monday night in Afghanistan,
Kids try to do their homework without hands
There’s an enemy around here somewhere,
We gotta draw a line in the sand,
I wonder why they hate us?
We’ve killed all that we can.

There’s a scary sound,
There’s a gathering danger
People talkin’ loud
Voices raised in anger

And if ya turn on the Fox news
What’s Hannity say?
Ta win hearts and minds,
Ya gotta blow ‘em away,
As long as ratings go up,
It’s a perfect war,
So hand me that flag,
I’ll show what it’s for,


Military preparations never cease
Congress meets the generals on bended knee
They offer them our nation
With heartfelt gratitude,
But they couldn’t protect the Pentagon
From a fuckin’ missile, Dude!

The masses getting rude
Our schools are total failures
Our people have no pride
We live in tents and trailers

And in the grocery line
The magazines say
You can lose ten pounds in fifteen ways
Bin Laden seen with Elvis in Paris France
Brad’s kicked out,
Angelina wears the pants,



PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:07 pm
by admin
Campus, by Charles Carreon

The lawns are clean on campus--
The students do not raise a rumpus;
They are busy memorizing
Tales of Uncle Remus.
Of the poor they say,
"We do not see them and
They cannot see us."
To the strong they say,
"Might, I know, makes right--
Give me your hand,
And turn out the light."
To themselves they say,
"You are the child,
You are the heir;
There is no time
To speak of what is fair."


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:09 pm
by admin
Can't Change the Channel, by Charles Carreon


Well ya wake up in the mornin’
And ya got nothin’ to do
There ain’t no job to go to
And there’s nothin’ on the tube

But you can’t change the channel
No matter how you try
Even though ya’ got a hundred
They all repeat the Lie

Ya’ got your blonde wearin’ blue
And a guy talkin’ red
Ya’ got your weather and your sports
The rich and the dead

Ya’ got your stocks goin’ up
And your bonds goin’ down
Ya’ got your stars and the drugs
And your hip-hop clowns

And behind the screen ya’ know
It’s like the Truman Show
Some guy callin’ the shots
But you will never know

Is this war for real?
Are those people really dead?
Do cops really do that?
Let’s TIVO that again…

Well you can’t change the channel
And you can’t get a job
But you can vote with your remote
Part of the digital mob

Now politics is worthless,
It’s all part of the game
If you haven’t got a dollar
Nobody knows your name

Now Coke, Sprite and Pepsi
Are things I understand
They serve Kentucky Chicken
In the promised land

You don’t want to change the channel
After all what would you do?
Without your guy talkin’ red
And your chick wearin’ blue

You’d be a rat without a maze
A cop without a gun
A politician with no bribe
And that would be no fun

Thank God we can’t change the channel
No matter what we do
‘Cause one’s the perfect number
So who would count to two?

Ya’ got your stocks goin’ up
And your bonds goin’ down
Ya’ got your stars and the drugs
And your hip-hop clowns

And behind the screen ya’ know
It’s like the Truman Show
Some guy callin’ the shots
But you will never know.


PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:12 pm
by admin
Cat Whiskers, by Charles Carreon


Dirt tracks footstepped all over by the marching
lines of beings
Deer tracks with little piles of deer shit
here and there like shrines
Cow tracks, heavy trodden down hooved over sod
dried flops of undigested fiber
City streets, winding highways, stinking rivers
Sewage treatment plants blowing plumes of flaming methane
in the dark
Poisonous clouds, grimy windows, callused hands, sore throats
City window lights, shower stalls, bedrooms, televisions
Bare spots on the carpet, holey linoleum
Threadbare cuffs, blinking eyeball
Grease spattered on the stove, dusty television screen
Mildewed shower curtain, empty pill bottle, cat whiskers
the television widow crochets a bedroom of lace
the sun streams always over the coverlets
Singularly lost amid the clutter of wires
Branching bouquets of wandering flowers
Through the mesh and the web of the undertaker puppeteer
Invisible paths trace unheard-of symmetries
Working into a dark nucleus
Waiting as in Before the Yet To Come