Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:20 am

Hard Time for a Free Mind, by Charles Carreon

Yes it is a whole new fashion,
They call it lama-trashin'
buddha-bashin'
sangha-lashin'

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
Tonight.

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

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:22 am

Hanging Joke, by Charles Carreon

Image

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?

1/11/94
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:23 am

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.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:23 am

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!
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:23 am

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.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:24 am

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,
Self-mutilation,
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.
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Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:26 am

Heaven's Perfect, by Charles Carreon



Image

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.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:26 am

Holy Writ, by Charles Carreon

Make ink from bloodstone, spurious one,
Write long, lavish manuscripts upon the linen of your
heart,
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.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:27 am

Homage A Spinrad, by Charles Carreon

Now I sit outside again,
the Void lights twinkling,
While the faithful worship inside,
I'm thinking of the distances, the space
Between the stars.
With bowed head I cannot see
the splendor of the Night,
With lips so busy with prayer,
I cannot listen to the chilly reminder
of the darkness, the brisk night wind
That whips along my cheek.
No rebellion contra orthodoxy
feeds my alienation,
Only need for silence
and meditation. May I onward
endlessly pursue the unerring
Trajectory of the True.

11/28/87
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:29 am

Homage to the Lama, by Charles Carreon

Image

Homage to the Lama
Stepping like a mountain goat along the rocky defile,
Garbed in clouds and staring
Into the naked face of Kuntuzangpo
Until the single eye of the sun
Inhabits the throne at the center of the Mind,
One is one with all the teachers
And reverences them with each thought and breath.

When the knife can penetrate the stone,
When breath melts glacial ice,
When the libertine’s love quenches the fire of hate
Turning an execution to a celebration of wisdom,
Then the proofs of the learned are confounded,
The outrage of the nobles is silenced,
And the king’s knee bends with every other.

Intrepidly declaring that which disturbs the pious,
Shattering brittle icons with a mere notion,
Spurning lucre and the company of the powerful,
Buying resentment with pure intention,
Such a guru needs no apologists
Or lengthy homages,
No coterie of sycophants to praise his lineage,
No train of well-wishers and hangers-on.

At home anywhere, even among pimps and whores,
Friendly with the despised,
Despised by the powerful who are made irrelevant,
Such a lama is worthy of Saraha’s mantle.
Such a lama do I praise.
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