Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 5:48 pm

After Troy, by Charles Carreon

Image

To destroy another's homeland is not brave.
The gods appoint the hours
Of man's destruction, and enemies
But loot the ruins of that which heaven overturns.

To be long away from home in battle is not sweet.
The spirit craves only the warmth of the home fires,
The familiar shape of one's own island
Carved against the sky.

An old goat sticks to the highlands
Where men don't trust their feet.
A clever fellow watches and waits.
Time does his work for him.

Now numberless leagues of sea
Separate my men from those they love.
The waves give not a single inch,
And silence is heard from above.

Adventures have carved sinews on my back,
Streaked my beard with grey.
The work of outwitting gods and men,
Is with me every day.

Scylla and Charybdis will I dare
Their gnashing teeth will meet my glare,
And Circe with her magics try
And little better fare.

As Heracles for golden apples
Journeyed to the sun,
So to join Penelope,
The longest race I'll run.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 5:50 pm

Ahi Sandwich, by Charles Carreon

Image

There was a man
who had a band
And a pocketful of sand
He took my hand
And in my eyes
He looked to find
Another kind of mind there

It was an Ahi Sandwich moment
A real tantalizing torment
to realize we'd never make it to the moon
Might even work until we jerk
Upon the end of the hangman's rope
Ah you could hope
Like the fellow at the Owl Creek Bridge
Never to wake
From the last dream
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 5:51 pm

All Along the Spine of the Siskiyous, by Charles Carreon

It's a soft-focus night, moonless and mute.
Truck-light on the freeway
filters through gentle rain drifting
from the mountains,
cloaking the valley.

In the upper reaches of the valley,
a southward-running ridge,
a finger of forest reaching
into the drylands of California.
Winds stream by,
Stirring the tall trees,
Bearing a harvest of clouds.
To the north -- coolness and moisture.
In the south -- valleys filled with dry grass.
There is tension between the two.
They lie next to each other,
all along the spine of the Siskiyous,
everything touching, licking each other
with tongues of clouds.
In the morning,
The fruit of their love
is fresh-fallen snow.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 5:53 pm

All Rise, by Charles Carreon

A tiny man of flesh and bone
Wandering over the frozen dirt
That glitters with countless crystals
Of frozen water,
Will gaze about him and
Beneath him
And discover
A lack of tethers,
A great silence ready to respond
With echoes only to his any word.
Tree bark, lichen-patched stone,
Blades of dried grasses
Rimed with frost--
One need only forget
To be utterly lost.

Residing on a spinning ball
We cannot depart from
But only fall into,
We forget the cliff,
The abyss of no experience
Into which we will tumble
When death pulls his abrupt
And exceedingly impractical joke.

Nevertheless, all rise,
The sovereign lord appears,
Speaking eloquently with
Ten million warming rays
To bathe, caress and possess
All the numberless creatures
Born of boundlessness.

1/30/94, Colestine
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

SONG

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 5:55 pm

Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves, by Charles Carreon

(To the Tune of "Rhymin' and Stealin'" by The Beastie Boys)

Well, drivin' Buddhists crazy's what she's all about,
Talkin' so straight that they have to shout,
No sweet muffin with a daisy in her belly,
She's never once been called Cin-der-elly.
Liberating mystics of their counterfeit money,
They're chokin' on their bliss, lookin' pretty funny;
She got sixteen Siddhas on a dead man's chest
They're smilin' like their hopin' that she'll do the rest.

Plum crazy girl -- goes straight thru the ceilin',
She'll keep talkin' till they cap her --
She's rockin' and reelin'.
Rippin' at the reins -- breakin' down the gate
She's got your wagon, it's a jail break,
She's got the warden with a sock in his mouth
And she's headed for the badlands way down south,
Breakin' out bandidos from their stinking jails
They got no badges and they're off the rails.
They're loyal to her
They're loyal to fun,
And they got her back
When she has to run.

It's Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves,
Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves
Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES
Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES.

There ain't no words to end this story.
She's bound for freedom, fame and glory,
With hell on her trail,
With God payin' bounty
They'll hang her in the middle
Of Bumfuck County,

Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves,
Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves
Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES
Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES.

Well they say she took out for Apache country,
That there was smoke in the sky and very dusty,
Thunderheads risin' and tumbleweeds rollin'
The priest locks the church and the bells start tollin'.
And every now and then the children chant
The magic words that their parents said they can't,
Hopin' and prayin'
Singin' and playin',
Feelin' so naughty
That they just gotta say it,

Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves,
Ambu Baba and the Forty Thieves
Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES
Ambu Baba AND THE FORTY THIEVES
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 5:58 pm

An Atlas of Her Body, by Charles Carreon

[Nature has an unerring weapon for controlling her children -- sex. The mysterious attraction of one body for another can never truly be fathomed, rather it is the sea upon which all human beings are borne. As a young man, troubled very much by the emotion of attraction for beautiful beings and things, I became quite worn out with the insistence of my own impulses. Perhaps in an effort to dry out my relationship with attraction, I created this Borgesian poetic essay extolling lust as a scholarly pursuit. Somewhat tongue in cheek, yet lovingly crafted, it is a work that I enjoy to this day.]

Image

An Atlas of her body
would be a thousand volumes long;
Though sages might ponder it for
centuries, taking notes and reasoning,
They would never agree on their
findings.

If an atlas of her body were
composed, those who perused it
Would become filled with wanderlust.
Their eyes would become glazed
And they would be useless for all
else.
If they were prevented from setting
Out upon their journey, they would
Simply fade away, undone by a dream.

If, by some miracle, an atlas of her body
Were found amid the ruins of some
Ancient city, secreted away in a casket
Studded with jade, wrought of gold,
Wonder would spread over the earth
Like a cloud of golden dust;
There would be found hope
In the hearts of skeptics.

If, by examining the intense and
unyielding light at the atom's heart,
It might prove possible to discover
an atlas of her body,
Many would strive to focus their
sight so finely,
Thinking blindness small price to pay
to find one's hand, at last,
Upon the Book, though yet unfree
to read the page

Of all that set upon the quest, none
return.
Perhaps they gain calamity for all
their pains;
Perhaps each one is overwhelmed
by the vastness of the task,
And turn aside to set their eyes
upon some smaller prize.

For a certainty many are lost,
Steering under strange stars for so
many nights,
Disdaining charts where all such hopes
are false,
Attending to the weary waves, losing
track of days and nights,
Wandering endlessly, while we,
Left behind, are still waiting,
Waiting for news, waiting for our
Heroes to return,
Waiting and hoping for that dreadful
treasure, the Atlas of Her Body.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:00 pm

An Ideal Achieved, by Charles Carreon

Winter's the time most geometric
When things, divested of their flesh,
Reveal the simple symmetries of bone.

The hogwire fence, its horizontals crushed
Together, exhibits a complex surface of invisible
Planes, windows to light and air,
evolving from each other.

The pure white rhombus of a salt-box roof
Evenly covered with inches of snow, rounded
All along the edge, lies silent, an ideal achieved,

Displayed against the mutating density
Of gray sky-surface. And if a bird
Were to sing now, its voice would find
No competitor.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

SONG

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:03 pm

Android, by Charles Carreon



Image

Anesthetize him
Lay him on the table
Impress his shoulder
with a stocking label
Give him some saline--
'bout four c-c's
He needs some wheels
to replace those knees
He'll be so thankful--
never have cold feet
Just oil the rollers
and they never squeak
 
He'll be an android, android--
better than a man
An android, android--
part of the plan.
An android, android
well built and well adjusted
An android, android
employees to be trusted.
 
Remove the cranium cap--
Set it in the pan
We'll be replacing it
As quick as we can
Insert a clock in the occipital node
He'll always know just when it's time to go
He'll never waken
too late for work--
He'll wake at seven
and sit up with a jerk.
Connect the stimulator
to the pleasure center
It's cheaper than dope
and works much better--
Now wire up those jaws
in the usual way--
He'll eat through tubes
and he won't have much to say
Just mopping floors and swabbing
toilets every day
He'll be so happy in his android way--
 
He'll be an android, android--
better than a man
An android, android--
part of the plan.
An android, android
well built and well adjusted
An android, android
employees to be trusted.
 
Implant infra-sensors
in the optic nerves
So night or day
he will be there to serve
Graft laser blasters to his index
fingers,
He won't be too attractive,
But we're not building night-club singers.
Just you imagine what his
mother would say,
She'd be so proud to see him here
this way,
Her work improved on--
deficiencies amended,
He's so employable
we ought to be commended!
 
He's an android, android--
better than a man
An android, android--
part of the plan.
An android, android
well built and well adjusted
An android, android
employees to be trusted.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:06 pm

Angels Do Not, by Charles Carreon

Image

there is a furor in the desert there is a flower in
the dark
there is a mind raging inside the flower garden
and lascivious lilacs are pouting passion
with rotting lips and smiles that are drunk

there is you there is me
there is a crescent moon cradled in the trees

I learn to walk on heights
I learn to walk on water
I learn not to look down
I learn it doesn't matter

when there is love there is danger
there is love there is danger

I was born with the furious flowers I was born with
the thorns

when I was born the chain was hanging loose
so I shrugged it off and walked away
later on they used it to bloody my face
I walked away

angels do not live in the alley
angels do not push shopping carts
angels do not wish for milk and honey
angels do not die for lack of money

angels are perfect but I am not one
angels do not make mistakes but they are very careful
I make mistakes I am not very careful
angels occasionally smile but they are bashful

I learn to walk on heights
I learn to walk on water
I learn not to look down
I learn it doesn't matter
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

POETRY

Postby admin » Mon Sep 16, 2013 6:08 pm

A Cry of Vultures, by Charles Carreon



Dreams die hard,
clutching in the silent air,
mouths gaping, eyes that stare.
Dreams die hard,
limbs unravel in streaming smoke,
A strangled cry, a gasping choke,
The Good Physician suppresses hope.

Dreams die hard,
like water drying in the empty street,
the kiss of Wisdom is like summer heat,
The passing cars don't really care,
Like mahasiddhas who have cut their hair.
The mist of folly's lost in empty air.

Dreams die hard.
all the windows in the house break,
letting in the soft moonlight.
In the stone garden, the sound of water
falling out of sheer delight--
A cry of vultures and they're off in flight,
On craggy peaks now gazing down
A span of miles to the burning ground.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 16988
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Next

Return to Belles Lettres

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

cron