Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

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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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:18 am

I Became a Luddite, by Charles Carreon



Machines are the slaves
Of the modern day,
No need for men to labor
At a poor man’s pay
Microchips used to make me
Feel all right
They powered my iPod
And the tunes were tight
Then one day there came a money crunch
And a Chinese robot ate my lunch

And I became a Luddite
Overnight!

I used to carry my guitar
In a gunny sack
Go to Circle K
For a midnight snack
Hot dogs, pudding pops
Were really cool
I ate that shit
Like a fuckin’ fool
Then the doc said I had colon cancer
In a New York minute I had the answer

And I became a Luddite
Overnight!

I used to have a girlfriend
Her name was Rita
Then I got a computer
And I ceased to meet her
All night deep in Internet
Seein’ silicone chicks
Havin’ cybersex
Then one day I got my credit card bill
And I was a Jack without a Jill

And I became a Luddite
Overnight!
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:20 am

I Don't Love Lucy, by Charles Carreon



Image

Well who is Ricky Ricardo?
The plastic Latino
Married Lucille Ball
And played Cubano
In a Music Hall.

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.

Your buddy Ethel is a laugh and a half
But I think you’ve
Got an incredible ass
Let’s get Ricky outta the way
I’m four years old
And it’s time to play

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.

Hollywood is an incredible place
You’re like a clown with
Makeup on your face
You’re like a bird
Lookin’ weird and proud
You make my uncles laugh out loud.

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.

I don’t love Lucy
No, no, no
She isn’t funny
Let me go
Stuck in the living room
She makes me twitch
Now where the hell do I feel that itch?

Lucy! Lucy!
I don’t love you
Not because of all the things you do
They say you’re funny
But I know you’re not
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.
Lucy Lucy
I think you’re hot.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:20 am

Idle Musing, by Charles Carreon

Honestly now,
that's how I'd like to take it,
bit by bit,
One thing at a time.

Like an idle chipmunk,
watch the morning,
the undersides of the leaves lit brightly,
the sky perfect blue.

If there were an infinite number of angels,
and one blew a trumpet,
Would all the others clap?
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POETRY

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

Idyll, by Charles Carreon

The lazy boy is in love
with the milkmaid.

Her skin is as fresh as cream,
her laughter is enchanting,
her hair hangs down in beautiful strands.

She is laughing at something
he said.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:22 am

I Got My Buddhas, by Charles Carreon

I got my Buddhas over here.
I got my rock stars over here.
I got my politicians over here.

I meditate here.
I rock out over here.
And I listen to CNN.

Don't mix my meditation with my political persuasion.
Don't mix my rock and roll with my wisdom.
That guy's all right but he don't bring salvation.

You keep buggin' me with all this confusion.
You gonna have ta' get on your knees
And say your Act of Contrition.
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:22 am

In Town, by Charles Carreon

In town the earth is paved
strips of green maintained with effort
Fertilized, trimmed, shorn of luxuriance
Spaces on the sidewalk reserved for trees
chosen, doubtless, for their tractability,
Their tendency, proven to the planners,
to grow without buckling the sidewalks.
Cars -- the city is made for our cars
air for their carburetors
asphalt for their wheels
filling stations for their thirst
And the town is full of the sound of their effort
Which is the shifting of gears
the purr of a late model import
the husky rumble of a healthy domestic
the emphysemic labor of a degenerated sedan
with a dead cylinder, missing loudly
as it accelerates down the main drag
Sit at a street window and listen
to the systole and diastole of traffic's pulse
regulated with changing lights and
the unheard clicks of unobtrusive grey boxes
Accelerating and braking all day long,
rubber tired, gas powered, water cooled
well-upholstered, shock absorbing thermostaticly
controlled steel envelopes with chromed
adornments ferry the vulnerable cells to and fro
carry them here and there on strange
fleshly errands ... breathing and seeing
creatures of skin -- soft eyes, rouged cheeks
and businessmen's hats and neolite heels
inspire pity in mechanical hearts
--- they turn off with the ignition key
and do not notice when the officer fits
a parking ticket under one eyelash
They sit outside in the rain as people
sweet to each other nestle up in restaurants
and fill up on sandwiches and cold drinks
They sleep under the hood while high heels
wander through the mall and from store to
store over the sidewalk by the dripping trees
in their reserved spaces
Their batteries run down helplessly while
their lights stare blankly at a wall, and
when their owner comes back they just won't
start.
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