Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

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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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:26 am

December 26, 2005, by Charles Carreon

Woke around 6 am
Sat in the living room on the floor, looking
out onto the porch and toward the East
As I sat I realized that
I was free to do nothing
I was free to not respond to my thoughts
impulses, inclinations, emotions
Free to just sit and be
Giving myself permission

Valuing the doing of nothing
Finding freedom from doing
Comes from relying on
The sufficiency of Being

Gaining familiarity with plain existence
Attention aware of itself
Settles the field of perception
With clarity the result

Craving the satisfaction of stillness
Clear water of mind
There is only the path ---
Let the muddy pond settle.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:28 am

Declaration, by Charles Carreon

So what does it mean to be a free person?
To look through your thoughts, and see fewer limitations,
Not to feel constrained by anything,
Absolutely free to do absolutely nothing.
Not needed, not wanted, not sought.
I've become hermetic by a process of inversion.
All resources come from within, so gradually one wants no input.
None.
Dealing with things is hard, because there isn't enough will.
The lack of will is a drag.
It's like a trend to non-existence.
Yet that's not at all what I seek.
I wish to be unknown and unsought, to be absolutely free.
Then of course I will come face to face with the limitations of my own mind.
Which is what I am eager to do.
The limitations of the mind are intriguing.
The problem of time and awareness and their interdependence is wonderful to contemplate.
The mysteries of vibration and attention are innumerable.
The face of mother earth is inscribed with life-affirming meaning, if you choose to fix your eyes upon the mountains.
Read there and you will need no Saviour's testimony to believe that we are part of something immense, living, eternal.
These truths I hold to be self-evident.

Baksheesh the Madman
January 8, 2005
Ashland, OR
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:29 am

Dedicated to Dominique Sanda, 1986, by Charles Carreon

In a world without chains,
I was bound by the rusty
syllables
Of my own heart,
reciting its fears.
 
I saw the dedicated men,
At last, assassinate the old
tyrant
As he walked with his aging
yes men
In the scenic hills.
 I told them "God bless you,"
And tears filled my eyes.
 
You ran, again, down
the hill from me.
You are always running
in that brown coat,
gold curls tossing,
leaves crunching underfoot
until the last encounter.

March 23, 1986
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:30 am

Deity Clutter, by Charles Carreon

Buddhist literature
around my house.
Deity clutter, torma-tracks,
Tattered thangkas
and musty stacks
of sadhanas unpracticed,
prayers unprayed.
There's no shortage of
devotional vehicles,
but practitioners are rare as leaves in winter.

Let's make it easy on ourselves ...
let's not do anything we don't want to do
with a whole mind,
and then we won't have to do
anything at all!
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:32 am

Deliver Us From Evil, by Charles Carreon

Image

I see the evil,
but it's shining out of my
eyes of paranoia.
Universe is empty, has no
characteristics,
Still I'm attached to
transient figments,
flesh and breath.
Deaths float around us
like windborne ashes,
turn the city dark.

So what's evil?
Blaming appearances is foolish.
Deliver us indeed.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:33 am

Diamond Bullets, by Charles Carreon

If wars are going to cost so much,
Why don't we just fight them
by having politicians shoot each other
with pistols loaded with diamonds?
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:33 am

Diggers, by Charles Carreon

Psychedelic ways are out of style
I'm a relic of former days,
Maudlin nostalgia-monger of
curious ways.
Flower children, hippies,
Alice in Wonderland--we're all out
of style with Peter Pan
Nobody ever visits Neverland.
 
You and I, we remember
When hearts were mild and faces
slender
And the city haze was left behind
Looking for naked woodlands
and clean water.
 
So what if it never panned out;
if the dreams glimmered and faded?
We looked and dreamed
and held and knew our dreams
before we traded them for food and
shelter,
This phase of life that's helter
skelter.
 
Having learned to dream,
you never forget how
to seek a path with heart.
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