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PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:18 am
by admin
Good Evening, Cottonwood, by Charles Carreon

It's one of those opaque nights.
The moon goes down early and young.
The atmosphere thickens and hides
Stars, hills, trees --
Your voice is out there in the dark distance.
Listen, Cottonwood,
let's run away together,
tonight --
I'll be a leaf that doesn't care where
We're going. You can carry me beyond our
bridge, under the railroad, through the meadows
And into California. Splash by Hilt and
Slip through Hornbrook about midnight.
Merge with the Klamath in the dark
we'll give ourselves up to the rush
of its waves and wind through canyons
Of volcanic rock tottering with
individualistic pines and junipers.
Below Oak Knoll we'll yoke arms with Beaver Creek
and storm through Happy Camp --
tonight, Cottonwood, tonight.
As the cold comes on with increasing bite
we'll take the final stretch two steps
At a time, And in the predawn light
We'll sight the soft glow of endless waves
and oceanborne clouds.
As light spreads over the Coast
we'll look back through the weaving woods
-- tall trunks the warp, heavy boughs of emerald-black
the weft, with silver dawn like a luminous arch
suffusing the tapestry with light.
The grey waves, Cottonwood,
Will swallow us both and we'll return
to lap the shore we came from that gave us birth,
To shape with sandy fingers
the discarded roots and boles of the rain forest,
Drifting North and South along the rocky coast,
Wandering with the rain.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:19 am
by admin
Good Morning, Cottonwood, by Charles Carreon


Good morning Cottonwood,
Freezing today. I suppose you felt it last night
stiffening the mud along your banks,
Forming fingers and half-moons of ice
in the still spots and puddles.
The meadow is covered with
cheap dime-store jewelry --
She's such a hick.
In the east the dawn's a silver disk
Where the sun's getting ready behind
its satin curtain.
Through the outhouse portal I see
that it is cold everywhere,
And besides your voice (which sounds hoarse
have you got a cold?), the first sounds
Are gasoline engines.
Down Colestine road a car buzzes
brightly; Jamie starts the Chevy-6
in his dumper; Shandor gets his generator going.
To join the fun I start the Toyota
that's parked halfway up the hill
full of wood where I left it yesterday
after three unsuccessful attempts to
reach the yurt. You see, I started
when the mud was hard, but with its
half-dead carburetor the Toyo took
so long to start, by the time I got rolling
the mud was all defrosted and halfway there
those super-high performance hiway tires'd
start spinning free as if the rear-end
were blocked up off the ground. pissed
me off. At any rate I won't bore you
with details, since you were probably
eavesdropping the whole time.
The sun's out of its dressing room now,
and looks like what the weatherman
calls "clear and cold with high clouds"
Have a nice day --
Your friend, Charles


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:20 am
by admin
Hard Time for a Free Mind, by Charles Carreon

Yes it is a whole new fashion,
They call it lama-trashin'

Well it busted outta downtown
where the old school gets down
Now it's takin' over schoolyards
'cause the beat is really very hard

Because goodness is held hostage
In the principal's office
The nice teachers eat crap
while the mean ones sit and talk smack

Somebody had to get down
and make at least one real sound
At the risk of doing hard time
they talk about a free mind

You can't expect a wannabe
to cover your back
And ya' can't trust a goody-boy
ta' even keep a secret

So we have to break it down,
Have to make a tough sound
Then they know that you mean it,
Don't have to plan, you just release it,

An infinite cry
Like a baby bein' born
Gonna signal to the others
By burnin' down the cornfield

Slavery's over children!
Please report to the assembly hall to meet Mr. Lincoln!


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:22 am
by admin
Hanging Joke, by Charles Carreon


Grasping fear by the
Long, thin edge,
Peering down the dark tunnel
To sight the obscure,
Breath Tautens,
Grows Sharp,
Colors seem to shimmer
At the edge of darkness
Or the edge of light.

You're talking and I grow
mute. One well-crafted sin
And forever after I'm
Reknowned for my footwork.

Daisies, lilies, opium poppies --
The unusual arrangement
Adorns the room where
Twisted melodies play.

Rockets chasing comets, chasing stars,
The traffic in the heavens
Getting heavy. Let's get down
And take a look at Mars,
Where voices still are drifting
From the lungs of drunken spacemen
Who frequent the martian bars.

Silly, I'm slapped silly,
Like a clown who wears a frown
And brings everybody down,
Like a child who can't tell you
Why it hurts,
Like a man who's playing with the noose,
And wondering
Is it too loose?



PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:23 am
by admin
Harsh Words, by Charles Carreon

Out here, running with the herd,
Life and death,
It's a daily thing.
Beauty passes in a season --
The long-legged lovely one
Becomes the encumbered mare,
Hindered by love of young,
Unable to run wild in the sunset.
Sex has its terrifying side;
The steaming pain of birth,
And the duty to care for some
Repulsive hairless thing that
Only cries and shits and speaks nothing.
No wonder babies are killed though
I'm not condoning that sort of thing,
It's just your mother's voice
That says it's cute, how lovely,
Oh, it needs a change.
Out here with the herd
It's a question of dominance,
And who has the means to make it stick.
Losers can cry, but "to him that hath,"
more is given, and to that
Poor sucker that's got not,
There's nothin' due --
You can take it to the bank.
If you're weak, throw in with
someone strong; if you're stupid,
Follow someone with brains; if you're
A coward, serve someone brave.
Then at least when night falls
There'll be some campfire where
You are welcome, some pot where
You can stick your spoon.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:23 am
by admin
Hazard!, by Charles Carreon

I have lost all my friends.
I am alone and friendless
in the world.
I bet you're delighted to meet
someone in the same boat as yourself.
This world is like a bubble popping.
I can't believe in it for one second.
Stand back! I think I'm going
to disbelieve!


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:23 am
by admin
He's a Man, by Charles Carreon

(Heavy metal anthem-style)
He's a man
Who gestures to heaven
Standing straight and tall
The fire rains down,
Down from heaven,
Turning earth into hell.
He's a man
Who rolls two sevens
And makes a hash of the land
He's got so many dollars
And a five-sided building
All right there in his hand.
He's a man
Mean as his father made him
Proud as his mother is,
A whole mess of psycho behavior
In a Western suit
He's a man
And he'll send his men to Hell
He's a man
Did you hear the tales they tell
Did you hear the tolling bell?
Were those portents in the sky?
Are you not afraid to die?
The only unasked question: Why?
He's a man
We should try to understand
He's got power in his hand
He must rule the savage land.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:24 am
by admin
He Screams, by Charles Carreon

For the moment,
He screams at the top of his lungs
Just to stay awake,
Just to keep breathing,
To stay alive.

If the pain were to stop now,
He would fall asleep,
He would die.

His dreams are frightening,
Murder, suicide, drowning.

His waking life is crowded
With the needy approaching
from every side.

He's not asking for a medal,
or recognition.
He's just screaming
To stay alive.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:26 am
by admin
Heaven's Perfect, by Charles Carreon


Heaven’s perfect, so why should eye care?
They say that we’re all gonna end up there.
White light and blue sky, up on Cloud 9,
But down here there’s no time to be divine.

The earth is turning in the Milky Way,
I reckon that it’s gonna stay that way,
My momma bore me, my daddy taught me,
The earth will rest me in its heart someday.

Yeah heaven’s perfect, so why should eye care?
Don’t figure I could pay the rent up there.
White light and blue sky, up on Cloud 9
My neighbor says that it’s a real good time.

The highway’s filled with rollin’ automobiles
That whisk us through domesticated fields,
We rarely stop to see what’s on the way,
It always looks the same, anyway.

Yeah heaven’s perfect, and I might care,
If it was somethin’ like the County Fair
When some old blues band plays a funky tune
The beer is cold and it’s the middle of June.

They put another WalMart out this way,
They said it couldn’t wait another day,
They gave ‘em tax breaks, they gave us jobs,
Thank god that Michael Moore is such a slob.

Heaven’s perfect, as everyone knows,
The place where all good people go,
In glorious garments, that they’ve put on,
Arrive like soldiers on the shores of dawn.

Yeah heaven’s perfect, but I’m just not there,
A thousand promises won’t drag me there,
Yeah I’ll just stay here see what I can do
On my perfect Friday afternoon.

Heaven’s perfect, so why should eye care?
They say that we’re all gonna end up there.
White light and blue sky, up on Cloud 9,
But down here there’s no time to be divine.

The earth is turning in the Milky Way,
I reckon that it’s gonna stay that way,
My momma bore me, my daddy taught me,
The earth will rest me in its heart someday.


PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:26 am
by admin
Holy Writ, by Charles Carreon

Make ink from bloodstone, spurious one,
Write long, lavish manuscripts upon the linen of your
Empowering yourself with mythic words,
Requiring witness of your own two eyes,
Seated in the garden of the sun,
Among the trees of gold,
Where jeweled birds twitter,
And spirals of light wander lazily forth from the maze at
the heart of the sun,
Setting golden flakes upon the feathers and the trees,
Flakes that balance delicately till they dissolve
Into the very air.

Call your eyes to witness, then,
The deed that has been done,
Upon the linen parchment,
Words of arterial brightness,
Written in the garden of the sun.