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.

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:27 pm

Coffee Drinking Cockroach, by Charles Carreon

"Hey, let's go fuck the moon maids, said the Devil,
and me the dumbfuck I went along for the ride ..."
a melancholy postmeditative event.

dancing starkly by computer light
One is not oneself, One
is not anOther.

Quiet time for the coney
island of the mind,
mother of mary
ferlinghetti by the ocean
Accompanied by a coffee-drinking cockroach.
It's all good.

But Buddha,
he done gone beyond
and you been lef' behind
with all the porn stars
and the lottery tickets,
and you gotta lotta explainin'
to do 'bout that shit
went down
at the bus station.

Yassuh, betta' say yo' mantras
and pray that clear light after death
Gone' shine.
Otherwise, you gone' be back ta' stay with us
One mo' time.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:29 pm

Cold Street Light, by Charles Carreon

Image

Nobody
was
awake but me
And the light shone
at the last stop.
Subway doors slam with a hiss
I remember the movie heroine's kiss
Street-light vacancy aches
in the open -- find me a doorway
to hide in -- I am so tired of the
painted eyes of sell-girls.

Once I had a prayer but I lost it
Once I had a friend but she left
Once I had a home but I couldn't pay the rent
Once I had some money, but now it's all spent.
Find me a place to huddle,
It's too soon to die tonight.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:30 pm

Colestine Ragtime, by Charles Carreon

Longtime ago, this place was here. Rocks and creeks were formed in profusion of creative force. Longtime the alders have grown along the creeks, keeping shade where it's needed. The cedars and the pines they seeded themselves on down the slopes. The meadows filled up with grass, who knows what kind. All kinds of creatures, filling niches in habitats. People there too, sometimes, hunting and fishing, gathering plants and food.

Then white men, changing the face of things, too rapidly. Cutting trees, making stage roads, a railway, a highway, a freeway.

Still the sentinels stand watch. Pilot Rock to the East, the Dragonfly to the North, and Shasta to the South.

Men with long hair come, and women in long skirts. They pray to the spirits of nature, and pray to the wind and the earth. They worship the stars and follow the moon. They try to live right, and nearly do, until they stumble.

Men in red robes come. They take note of all the auspicious signs, say prayers, consecrate the Land for the Buddha's Doctrine, and entreat the local protectors to lend their aid.

A great Buddha image rises to attract the faithful. The kind face of Vajrasattva beams radiantly on all who behold him. His form was constructed with the wild energies of untamed beings. His ideal appearance purified all of their mistakes.

Many wish to dwell there. These people are possessed of a ferocious intensity. They have travelled, searched, and wish to plant their flag here. The place accommodates them, and they begin to dance with each other. This dance is controlled for a long time but then begins to break its boundaries. New interactions are happening at a rate faster than old interactions can be resolved. Overlapping ripples create confusions, and many see with double, triple vision, or worse.

They take to partying, feeling their oats in the anarchist solution that appears to be emerging. Not possible to look back, or anywhere, for guidance. What is coming is coming, and no one can affect it. Storm clouds have hovered so long that we have given up all hope of rain.

(Aug. 3, 1994, Colestine)
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POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:33 pm

Come Back Salmon, by Charles Carreon

Making a better world,
I saw a salmon try to cross the road,
Not enough water there to make a difference,
But he was givin' it all he could,

Because it's an ordinary world
with ordinary people
and ordinary concepts
on any ordinary day,

And if you can't make it simple
Like an Amazon website visit
Then there's no hope for your idea
So you might as well forget it,

But if you think you've got
what this old world demands
Then take it to the bank
and see what you can get.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:34 pm

Conan Doyle Said to Rudyard Kipling, by Charles Carreon

'Twould seem overly reductive,
Not terribly instructive
To take the colors from the sky
When anyway they all will fly,
To kill us every single day
When we must all die anyway.

'Twould be rather fuddy-duddyish
And lack imagination
To smother children's happy thoughts
With a dark zen-colored cushion,
To break their toys for their own good
And tell them there's no supper
For fear they might enjoy themselves
And love what should be hated.

'Twould seem the criticism
that the world's but a machine
Has itself been found defective
And even a bit obscene

For those who know
and do not know
Are seldom told apart
Except the truth is always known
In fools and madmen's hearts.
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SONG

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:38 pm

Condoleezza, by Charles Carreon



Image

Lately I've been thinking how much I miss my lady
Condoleezza's in the West Wing brightening the daybreak
Living with a lust for power, running through the grass for hours
Rolling in your Hum-vee like an army-child

And when it rains oil dollars down
Washington's a cattle town
And she's far away somewhere with Colin Powell out-of-town
And she screens my corporate schemes
Protects me from those wild dreams when we swelled
Like Corporations fit to burst upon each other

I can see you by the window, planning first strikes in the evening
The fruit juice flowing slowly, slowly, slowly
Down the bronze of your bombshells
Stokin ' up my lust for power, bombing old Baghdad, oh for hours,
Flyin' your Apache like an army-child

Oh if only we could nestle in that hangout back in Saudi
My arms around your shoulders, the Bin Ladens laughin' and jokin'
While the smart bombs and the children are playing in the valley
Oh I miss you Condoleezza like a banker miss his money

Lately I've been thinking how much I miss my lady
Condoleezza's sowing minefields and clearin' out the terror
Living like a lusty flower, bombin' ole Saddam, oh for hours,
Rolling through old Baghdad like an army-child
Rolling in my Hum-vee with my puppy-child.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:41 pm

Cool World, by Charles Carreon

There's a cool world out there
AND I WANNA SEE IT,
There's this cool world out there
AND I WANNA SEE IT,
Yea, there's this cool world out there
AND I WANNA SEE IT,
WANNA SEE IT
WANNA SEE IT

Well I'll tell you one thing
I DON'T NEED YOU HANGIN' ALL AROUND ME,
Yeah I'll tell you this
I DON'T WANT YOU TRYING TO SURROUND ME,
And one more thing
I DON'T CARE WHERE YOU GO,
ALL I WANT'S JUST LEAVE ME ALONE

Well my mama raised me
TO BE A GOOD BOY,
But she didn't teach me
TO BE SOME FOOL'S TOY,
So pretty ladies: DON'T BOTHER ME
Police with shotguns: WHADDA YA SEE ?
Politicians: TAKE A HIKE
Mass production? NOT ON YOUR LIFE

(Cause there's) a cool world out there
AND I WANNA SEE IT,
There's this cool world out there
AND I WANNA SEE IT,
Yeah there's this cool world out there
AND I WANNA SEE IT,
WANNA SEE IT
WANNA SEE IT
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POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:43 pm

Cosmic Enron Bookkeeping, by Charles Carreon

Well it's May,
and the nuts are gathering.
It's May, and they may be dithering,
But Hey! If you don't mind maundering
They make great company
And, Say! What about that Buddha-guy
He's so amazingly inspiring
I want to install
new wiring
In my old brain.
Yes new,
brand new wiring
To carry all the high grade voltage
That I will soon be carrying
Thanks to my new power trading
Deal with the great big grid in the sky,
The one that won't pass me by.
I'll mint money
It's not funny
Because soon I'll be feeling so high
I'll never ever die.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:43 pm

Crash Landing, by Charles Carreon

Broken hearts are cheap --
Mine cheapest of all.
You don't really know
what you did.
You say you saw danger
You bailed out & left me
flying alone.
Crash landing at sea . . .
As usual,
The dolphins took care of me.
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SONG

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:45 pm

Dazbidanya Amerikanski, by Charles Carreon

Image

Dazbidanya, Amerikanski
Adios, Americano
Au revoir, Americain
Sayonara, GI Joe

Our influence is waning
All around the globe.
We're lead by blood-drenched killers
In sanctimonious robes,
Claiming freedom from all laws
Of decency and justice
Like homicidal maniacs
With doomsday as their plan.

So Dazbidanya, Amerikanski
Adios, Americano
Au revoir, Americain
Sayonara, GI Joe

The dollar is a millstone
About the world's neck
And the atoms we've been splitting
Have got loose from their nets.
We sell administration
Of the wealth our fathers stole,
And we'd melt down our grandma
To increase our stock of gold.

So Dazbidanya, Amerikanski
Adios, Americano
Au revoir, Americain
Sayonara, GI Joe

Each one of us consumes ten times
Our share of the world's wealth
And now we have designs in play
To get the rest by stealth.
You can claim you're not part of it,
That you are not to blame,
But while you keep your silence
Soldiers murder in our names.

So
Dazbidanya, Amerikanski
Sayonara, GI Joe,
You're no longer the world's policeman,
Take your guns, and go on home.

Why do they hate us?
They like to ask.
Why did they hate the Ku Klux Klan?
Why did they hate the fascist soldiers
Who drove the murder vans?
Why did they hate cold hearted bastards
Who murdered children with their own hands?

So
Dazbidanya, Amerikanski
Sayonara, GI Joe,
You're no longer the world's whoremaster,
Take your guns, and go on home.
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