Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

POETRY

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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POETRY

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

Hot Mamas, by Charles Carreon

Well it's hot weather
In the middle of spring
We got together
Now we got to sing
Hot mamas in the cool spring night
Hot lamas to hold them tight

Now psychic interaction
It's got to happen
And when old souls meet
Reality gets flattened
Raise the energy way up high
It will come down to earth
In the middle of the night

Yeah, it's hot weather,
As hot as can be
I'm burning up
With a sweet disease,
I'm on fire in the middle of a lake
Don't know how much more
of this enlightenment
I can take

Well everyone takes risks
And everyone gets dissed
And when they do
Everyone gets pissed
But my automatic action
Is to hold my fire
So get your ass away from me
and suck on the wire

It's a hot season
Without reason
A diseased operation
That flourishes on treason
A file-destroying worm
With an eye on self-protection
Instantaneous replication
And no hope of resurrection

It's a mean hour
In a hideous day
Why you wanna see yourself that way?
Why you wanna rip a hole in the sky?
A place to get out when you have to die.
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:31 am

Hotel Babylonia, by Charles Carreon



Image

I was born down in Texas
Silver spoon in my nose
I tasted sweet senoritas
Hey you know how it goes

Then I went into politics
Man, I sure got it right
Made lots of money
Made even more friends
It was a fool's delight

At last I came to the castle
With the doors open wide
And I concluded without much ado,
Heaven's safe, but the profit's in Hell

Then I opened my Bible
And it showed me the way
There was voting on the Senate Floor
I thought I heard them say

Welcome to the Hotel Babylonia
Such an ancient place (such an ancient place)
There'll be no disgrace
Plenty of guns in the Hotel Babylonia
You can find terrorists here
Any time of year

Alberto is so helpful
He has explained so clear
How it is that I'm invincible
How the story ends

How they give me the power
How we do what we will
One voted to stay my knife
The others voted to kill

So I dialed up the Congress
"We need money and time"
They said take everything you need
We're drinking Jack Abramoff's wine
And I hear Achmed Chalabi calling
From far away
There's so much money here
that we can make
Come and we can play

We're living it up at the Hotel Babylonia
Such an ancient place (such an ancient place)
There'll be no disgrace
Plenty of guns in the Hotel Babylonia
You can find terrorists here
Any time of year

Baghdad's one big blister
Filled with murder and crime
And I've spent everything the world will earn
Until the end of time

And in the prison courtyard
We strung up old Saddam
But he died like an iron man
and on YOU TUBE he lives on

Now I try to remember
How I got to this place
I'm naked as a jaybird
Facing some disgrace

"Relax," says Maliki
We are glad to deceive
You'll be here another twenty years
Don't even try to leave

We're living it up at the Hotel Babylonia
Such an ancient place (such an ancient place)
There'll be no disgrace
Plenty of guns in the Hotel Babylonia
You can find terrorists here
Any time of year
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:07 am

How Shiraz Spent One of Her Nine Lives, by Charles Carreon

(with apologies to Don Marquis)

New York Times 11/11/04 wrote:
On another occasion, the snipers tensed when they heard movement in the direction of a smoldering building. A cat sauntered out, unconcerned with anything but making its rounds in the neighborhood.


'Can I shoot it, sir?' a sniper asked an officer.

'Absolutely not,' came the reply.

Once was a cat named Shiraz
Lived in the city of Fallujah,
She had nine lives
and here's how she used one.
She got up one day and stretched
and the people were warring as usual,
Blasting away with AKs, RPGs
and those nasty 500 pounders
That pummel the earth
and upset your digestion,
But Shiraz went out,
anyway,
Because
she wanted to catch the sun
and
While she was catching it
she fell into scopesight
of a sniper
of course Shiraz knew about snipers
because she was a cat
and a cat is a sniper,
in her own way,
if she knows what's good for her
and in a city like Fallujah
a girl grows up quick
especially if she's a cat
So Shiraz sez
"what the fuck!
Or Iraqi cat for that,
I'm going out to take a shit
Stretch in the sun
even if some scumbag human
sniper ventilates me,
I've got nine lives
and I'm gonna spend one,
I'm wishing there's a newsman
out there watching my
sweet Iraqi ass"
and there was.
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:11 am

I Ain't Hatin' Satan, by Charles Carreon



Image

Well it’s two-thousand seven
Feelin’ pretty far from heaven
Unable to rise
Above the debate
Degenerating into
Senseless Hate

Lily-livered preachers
And Southern Belles
Shack up together in Baghdad hotels
They schlep salvation in their private hells
Built by Halliburton
Cause the sacred sells

Now listen God Almighty
Got some questions for you
Why do the KKK love ya
And the Jews do to?
Is banking always sacred?
Isn’t oil, too?
Are you in it for the money?
Are you cut in, too?

I read an expose on you
It told me what you’re trying to do
It told me who you’ve bought
And who you’ve sold
The deals you cut in the Age of Gold

And I ain’t hatin’ Satan,
He didn’t do anything wrong
He was put up to it
Set up
Taken down
Like Saddam.

Why do you bless the virtuous hypocrite
Give ‘em wealth and all the rest of it
Leave little children dying
Mothers crying
Planet burning
Species dying

And I ain’t hatin’ Satan,
He didn’t do anything wrong
He was put up to it
Set up
Taken down
Like Saddam.

If you can’t control your creations,
If justice doesn’t exist,
Then wherefore are you God Almighty
What type of game is this?

And I ain’t hatin’ Satan,
He didn’t do anything wrong
He was put up to it
Set up
Taken down
Like Saddam.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:14 am

I Am Attached, by Charles Carreon

Image

I am attached --
to the earth, by the weight she
 gives my body
I am attached --
to eating, by hunger
to breath, by the mysterious
desire for air
I am attached --
to my mate, by the need for warmth
and companionship
 to my children
by genetic strands and webs of delight
to other people,
 by being like them
to mountains and streams and
deserts and winds and ocean waves
 lamplight in the dark
 Moonlight at midnight
I am attached to
 the web of being
so completely, look at me
 and you everywhere in everything
We are attached.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:17 am

I Ask You, by Charles Carreon

He lived and died anonymously.
He had no friends that he could call upon
When he was in trouble and he often was

He drank incessantly as a true expression
Of his confusion, and could not spare a minute
To reflect upon causes or consequences.
He picked his acquaintances carelessly,
According to convenience, and thus was often
disappointed by their poor sense of timing.
He declined to follow through on things,
and his idea of a good sense of closure
was leaving.
When his mother died, the last person on earth
to have any interest in his whereabouts
disappeared.
When he died, it was like a star went out
that nobody had been looking at or ever noted.
And I ask you do you care?
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