Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

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I Declare
by Charles Carreon
June 11, 2019

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“I had no need of that hypothesis.”

-– Laplace, on the absence of God from his explanation of the solar system, to Napoleon

”It is the duty of every person to develop their own hypothesis of the nature of their own existence.”

-- Charles Carreon

It is a blank canvas,
our understanding.
A yawning chasm of unmeaning
opes before us
ere we fill it in
with the brush-strokes
of our imagination.
What shapes shall we draw there?
What lineaments accord
the shape of our experience?
A nihilist scrawl
ill serves the opportunity.
To copy what others have written
is naught but a schoolchild’s exercise.
Nothing but our best approximation
of truth is worthy of the moment,
our moment,
the breath of life upon our lips,
the torch of the ancients
in our hands,
the cave wall beckoning,
the earthen paints set out,
magic waiting to be made,
true magic
free of falsehood
free of gain,
a gift back to the universe
that made us from itself,
a declaration in the darkness,
to echo the infinite’s call.

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Of What Hypothesis Are You Capable?
by Charles Carreon
June 12, 2019

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YOU ARE REQUIRED TO READ THE COPYRIGHT NOTICE AT THIS LINK BEFORE YOU READ THE FOLLOWING WORK, THAT IS AVAILABLE SOLELY FOR PRIVATE STUDY, SCHOLARSHIP OR RESEARCH PURSUANT TO 17 U.S.C. SECTION 107 AND 108. IN THE EVENT THAT THE LIBRARY DETERMINES THAT UNLAWFUL COPYING OF THIS WORK HAS OCCURRED, THE LIBRARY HAS THE RIGHT TO BLOCK THE I.P. ADDRESS AT WHICH THE UNLAWFUL COPYING APPEARED TO HAVE OCCURRED. THANK YOU FOR RESPECTING THE RIGHTS OF COPYRIGHT OWNERS.

Waste not this moment of freedom
Making wagers against imagined odds
Playing with the figures
of demons and gods
Imagining terrors,
hoping delights
Ignoring the sun and stars
for glimmerings and faery-lights
Arm yourself with experience
and set your intentions on inquiry
Delve into the well of comprehension
draw forth inspired expression
Intuit with all your might
will to draw it all a-right
Shape it to your honest measure
Let its form give you pleasure
A mirror and a glass
To better know and count your treasure,
The treasure of this moment,
This living day,
That only a fool would give away
By making some other time more dear
By turning away from the present in fear.

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Kindness, Freedom, Honesty, Courage
by Charles Carreon
June 12, 2019

NOTICE: THIS WORK MAY BE PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT

YOU ARE REQUIRED TO READ THE COPYRIGHT NOTICE AT THIS LINK BEFORE YOU READ THE FOLLOWING WORK, THAT IS AVAILABLE SOLELY FOR PRIVATE STUDY, SCHOLARSHIP OR RESEARCH PURSUANT TO 17 U.S.C. SECTION 107 AND 108. IN THE EVENT THAT THE LIBRARY DETERMINES THAT UNLAWFUL COPYING OF THIS WORK HAS OCCURRED, THE LIBRARY HAS THE RIGHT TO BLOCK THE I.P. ADDRESS AT WHICH THE UNLAWFUL COPYING APPEARED TO HAVE OCCURRED. THANK YOU FOR RESPECTING THE RIGHTS OF COPYRIGHT OWNERS.

Inner ideals like these
Take expression in heroic forms
That stand against the humbling forces
Of time and things,
That challenge the joy of our spirit
And tax us with sufferings.

So Hercules and Vajrapani
equally serve the imagination
That wishes to strive
Against the heavens
And earth, to show what
Humanity is worth,
To us, to ourselves, we who strive
While alive.

But stories too often told
Make mice of men
Who once were bold
And worship of the ancestors
Weakens the present generation
If it takes not up the challenge
Of its own time

So take your place in this great
procession,
Guide yourself with confidence.
The footsteps of past generations –-
We cannot walk in them
Any more than we can
wear their sandals.
What was past is dust
And the present is upon us.
We cannot wait for Great White Brothers
Saviors, any species of others,
To rescue us from confusion.
To hope otherwise is delusion.
There is no bank of certainty,
All notions are but currency
Built on our own faith and credit.
The face on the dollar is our own
When we need more belief
We give ourselves a loan.

Virtues? Bring them out in yourself;
Don’t beg for them from on high.
To place them out of your reach
Is thriftless and unwise.
Let generosity strengthen your arms,
And kindness fill your eyes.

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The Jester Has His Say
by Charles Carreon
July 14, 2019

Way up high on his 10-ft throne
Kalapa's King sits all alone.
He times his breath with a metronome,
Occasionally throws his subjects a bone,
Scratches his rump and checks his phone.

Perhaps his lawyers have texted him
Perhaps the news has grown less grim
Perhaps the exposes are at last exhausted,
He thinks of the girls he once accosted,
And a furtive smile plays on his face.

He thinks how Pa would've handled this
With a cupful of vinegar, a gallon of piss,
He'd have sent them all to hell with a wave
And hastened to an early grave
While students hoarded each blessing he gave.

He thinks of his title, Protector of Earth
Imagines how he once encompassed its girth.
In his mind, at least, He offered a feast
To men and dralas, women and beasts,
Of self-conceived monarchs he wasn't the least.

But spiritual authority's not without flaws
Like gravity, secrecy's one of its laws.
Should samaya relax, hell opens its jaws,
And like Sogyal one slides into Yama's swift claws.
Across such ruminations, a curtain he draws.

Control over thoughts is the greatest of things.
From memories suppressed, nobility springs.
From infinite jest, freedom arises,
With a flick of a metaphor, reason is banished,
Like flushing a toilet, the evidence vanished.

Was he once foolish? Concede that he was!
Was he a sinner? Well, he copped a buzz.
Did he grope women? He thought it was fair.
Steal lots of money? Well, they left it there.

Still, it's mighty dull in Kalapa town,
With nothing but toadies hanging around,
Waiting for real estate deals to close.
His mother just died. He blows his nose.

The last book flopped, the next one won't sell,
On Facebook, he's jeered like a minion of hell.
They don't understand, it was all just for fun,
The Kusung delivered them, each tasty bun,
Like Daddy, he loved them, every last one.

by Charles Carreon
July 14, 2019

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Thanksgiving Day 2019
by Charles Carreon
11/28/19

Sitting in the parking lot of Whole Foods,
I feel the presence of Bezos
In the relentless industry of this store,
Open when Natural Grocers is closed,
Its tattooed checkers humbly dispensing
bland, dispassionate effort,
As if biding their time till the robots arrive.
On the walk outside the store,
A young man with high-water, cuffed grey cotton pants
Wearing an athletic-style leisure shoe in matching grey,
Completes the modern aesthetic with an unmemorable cap
And a bit of reddish stubble about the mouth.
Intelligence, refinement, and sensitivity
Are characteristic of these natural food buyers,
So also, seriousness, traces of self-absorption,
distance, withdrawal.
The Trader Joe’s crowd is more world-weary, light-hearted,
Athletic, up for a bit of fun.
But is Traders open?
“No” is the answer, I see as the empty lot rolls into view.
I pull through the lot and consider whether
the WalMart Family grocery might have USB-C cable
for less than the arm and leg required by Walgreens.
Arriving there, I see Dollar Store is open and well-attended.
Tucson, oh Tucson, you never disappoint
Seekers of random poverty.

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Tyrannophilia
by Charles Carreon on the occasion of seeking Doug Ducey's removal from office as Governor of Arizona
7/11/20

Ducey loves a tyrant
He thinks that Trump's inspiring
He's totally untiring
Even though his hero has proven he's a zero
Even though he's losin'
He tries to claim he's winnin'
And everyone around him
Looks like their head is spinnin'
Tyronnophilia!
I just don't feel ya!
The guy's an a-hole!
He's tryin' to kill ya!

Here in the Sonora desert
We get along fine
As long as you don't ask us to toe the line.
Ducey let the President rally at the church,
But now when we need testing
Trump leaves us in the lurch.
Waiting eight hours in a sweltering line,
Everyone can get one,
You can see that just fine.
Restaurants are open,
Unless they're not,
Ice is cold unless Trump said it's hot.
Ducey's gonna follow where the President leads
Over the cliff, to join the rest it seems.
We'll Make America Great!
We won't be late!
See you in a Tulsa for some Pizzagate.

The President ain't leadin'
We know he sure ain't readin'
About the killer virus
If he thinks he can inspire
By sendin' Federal Marshalls
To babysit the generals
Who fought against the Union
To keep the slaves in bondage
Oh yeah, that's awesome trollage!
Tyrannophilia! I just can't feel ya!
The pain of winnin' could just about kill ya!

And here in the Valley of the Sun
Not havin' too much fun.
Air-conditioning the living and the dead
World's worst Covid outbreak, the CDC said.
You know it didn't have to be this way
We could have been safe
If Ducey hadn't been Trump's dutiful tool,
Unconcerned about us or our lives
Currying favor with polite little lies.
Now we're rationing care in our hospitals
Casting lots for the last ventilator
Making caregivers slave in trenches of death
Listen to patients breathe their last breaths,
The weight of bodies layin' on their backs--
Is giving docs and nurses heart attacks.
Phoenix Arizonans breathin' their last
To make a President happy
Who just sits on his ass.
Tyrannophilia! I don't feel ya!
This kind of hero worship's sure to kill ya!

The crazy king has got into killin'
'Cause a real tyrant don't stop at stealin'.
Phoenix Arizona has never been smart,
But you know in a way,
It's a town with a heart.
It's bad enough here without Coronavirus
We hardly had it
Now it's about to bury us!
We're dyin' to feed a crazy man's trip
And Doug Ducey thinks the guy is hip.
Coronavirus! Don't wanna feel ya,
But it's a side effect of TYRANNOPHILIA.

Believing crazy shit is always risky
But stakes this high should make us uneasy.
When people die
You can't be breezy
Sayin' things are great
And the livin' is easy.
But that's what the Crazy King is tweetin'
Now the kids must go to school
Like a great big prayer meetin'
Even though the churches are spreadin' disease
Come sing with Jesus, you'll be safe as you please!
Coronavirus! Don't wanna feel ya,
But it's a side effect of TYRANNOPHILIA.

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FUN-TITLED
BY CHARLES CARREON
22321

I WAS AMBUSHED, BAMBOOZLED
IN THE WINE
JIMMY’S WINE
AND RAINBOW GAUZES FILLED MY SIGHT
FROM THE HORIZON CAME A HUMMING LIGHT
AND FROM MY HEART THE SOUND OF LOVE.
IT WAS THAT TEA-ROSE GARDEN
OF MY SOUL
OR A TENNIS SHOE IN A TOILET-BOWL
ONE THING IT WASN’T
WAS A CINNAMON ROLL,
WHICH IS ALWAYS NEEDED,
AND PRECEDED IN PAJAMAS,
BY TIBETAN LAMAS.

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Blues in C-Suite
by Charles Carreon
10/26/22

Everybody wants to be a CEO,
Because then you would be in the know
About when to buy stocks that are sure to rise,
And how to make money while everybody dies.

Oh wouldn’t it be fun to be a CEO?
Keep the rest of ‘em workin’ while you feel the flow,
Have pretty interns who think you’re swell,
And lawyers sending troublemakers straight to hell.

But only special people can be CEOs,
Like Ye, and Elon, and Jeff Bezos,
They want take off for the stratosphere,
Leave us here to work and drink cheap beer.

You know the thing about those CEOs --
They know we’re suckers who create their gold.
Their hired muscle and their wealthy charm
Keeps them the Pigs of this Animal Farm.

People think we need all these CEOs,
But c’mon now, they’re just a bunch of schmoes
Who put their pants on one leg at a time
Not ubermenschen of heroic design.

They take luck for genius,
Mistake greed for vision,
Flatter themselves they can show us the way.
Adding zeros to bank accounts
While the Amazon burns,
Providing for heirs
Who’ll be cursed to survive
In a world where all that was lovely and good
Fell to the CEOs.

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Librarian's Comment: Charles here attempts an absurdity, which is to write imitations of Shakespeare's Sonnets. The idea is to take the rhythm from Shakespeare's poem, and write a new poem using the same rhythmic structure. It is very difficult, apparently, though not impossible, although some might wish it to be. So here goes.

Shakespeare's Sonnet # 1

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak’st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

***

Charles' Imitation of Shakespeare's Sonnet #1

An antique melody brings fireside peace.
The mood that dusk brings comes by and by
Unwinds her from the spindled fleece,
Delivers her into the glimmering sky.
Pearly eye, compounded of mercurial dye,
Sweeps the horizon's expanse with a certain gaze,
Bringing comprehension to the wondering mind,
Certainty now, planted firm, unbetrayed.
Her song thrills the hearer at dawn,
The first to mark the sun's faintest rays,
In this perfect moment, time is gone,
And magics, thought lost, in sylvan bowers play.
Arise now, there is so much to see!
We shall the precious hours adorn with poetry.

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Shakespeare's Sonnet #2

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

***

Charles' Imitation of Shakespeare's Sonnet #2

When a ducat of decades have erased your pain
And turned your sweetness loose in space,
Your clever clatter will be down the drain,
Your chitter-chatter all in vain.
Reflecting, taking hold of what you had,
The trifling destinations of mercurial fame
Seem not so bad, but in the twinkling of a pan
We flush your ashes down the can.
What swill you swilled,
By what swells you were swollen,
None can tell, for the memory’s flash frozen.
An intimate of furious hours,
We return to the matter of twilight in towers,
The exquisite agony of sunset bowers.

by Charles Carreon
October 15, 2022