The Lighthouse Is Not An Overused Symbol
In the middle of the city sat a lighthouse
and atop the light house sat a Captain.
On the body of the light house the Captain painted "I'm fine."
But etched in the glass of the turning light said "Help me."
And the Captain said:
"How much more overt do I have to be?
This isn't even a poem really, the lighthouse & I are extraneous."
But the Captain sat in the lighthouse and watched the light spin on.
One day the Mayor arrived and said:
"Captain, there's no need for a lighthouse in the city.
There are no boats and we have plenty of lights."
And the Captain said:
"I know, it was an artistic choice. The past six lines mean nothing.
They are just an example of the writer jerking himself off on the page."
And the Mayor said:
"Gross."
And the Captain said:
"I know."
The House on Ridge Road.
This is my substitute for pistol & ball.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Rice In The Hull
Draft
We keep it all inside and instead of pouring it on the page
we smoke it out and drown it down deeper.
Pressing auto-erotic biographies down in the bowels of what we could-a, should-a, would-a.
We keep it all inside and instead of pouring it on the page
we smoke it out and drown it down deeper.
Pressing auto-erotic biographies down in the bowels of what we could-a, should-a, would-a.
Thick
rimmed Gutenbergs picking and placing letters pushed into our stomach linings.
If this is a cry for help all I hear is a click and dial tone.
If this is a cry for help all I hear is a click and dial tone.
. . .
Godspeed & Badnight,
C.B. Franz
Friday, December 6, 2013
Story Yelling Deep In The Woods
If
all the trees in a forest fall
but
one still stands (with bad posture)
and
no one is around to listen,
How
long till it stops making sounds?
Stuck
sap surrounding precipitation
shoves
south and sours.
Needles
drop and halt in amber
still
it continues to make the sounds.
The
fallen logs say
“Lower
those limbs, grab the ground. Give yourself chance.”
It
stood, with appendages and appetite
It
cries “Sky!” which it’s shriek shook
Stirring
a fir far away, shifting it’s branches to look at a
Bristling
the pining pine peeking,
beyond
the sitting sticks sat some up right foliage
Peek
down to see the fallen needles,
amber
and green slivers weigh heavy on roots down below.
The
trunk tilted,
The
calling conifer caws “Clouds!” aloud.
and
not even the wind slows.
…
“Sky!”
“Clouds!”
Years
later the fallen logs sit stacked
nestled
in notches, cozy homes,
sturdy
havens of the fallen
circle
the bad postured, sap stick.
It
cries “Sky!” still.
Bouncing,
elastic sound back
and
forth back to the tree
“Sky!”
“Sky!”
“Clouds!”
“Clouds!”
Hearths
hum fumes out around the tree
sparks
that warm chests tests the sappy, pining pine.
Drying
eyes of that sapling catch
Amber
rises as bark burns, a lone arson site
Needles
to ashes, layers char.
The
sappy sapling shouts “Sky!”
“Clouds!”
to a solid blue, begging for saving blue.
and
not even the wind slows.
There
was boy in town who played the strings,
every
morning in the square he’d sing.
And
the villagers they’d, clap, clap, clap.
All
day he’d play and they’d say
“What
a treasure! What a joy, that singing, playing boy!”
One
night, the boy sat
twanging
upset strings back to content
when
a flash of fur flew fast.
The
boy cried “Wolf!” and ran into town.
Villagers
turn up noses, and cold shoulders.
Up
and down cobbled streets he yelled “Wolf!”
as
doors and windows
went
clap, clap, clap.
Screaming
and shouting he ran harping
and
pounding until one woman
poked
her head out and said
“What’s
all this yelling? Why all the crying?
We
like it much better when your songs you are chiming!”
Before
the boy could speak, the woman ran in, shutters shut creak.
Like
a rabbit he waits in a barren square,
He
pulls out his songs and begins to sing fear
to
the empty night air, an empty night song.
As
a flash of fur and one last shrieksang the empty night air.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Many apologies for how long I've been away. It's been a busy past several months, and I've been writing screenplays and also felt rather jaded and uninspired concerning my poetry. This is the first thing in a while that I've written that didn't feel totally awful and/or pretentious and/or whining. I know how frustrating it is when an author neither updates or produces new material on a regular basis, so I apologize again for that as well.
I hope to post more soon and update everything but it's currently 4:13 am and I don't think that'll be happening today at least.
Winter break is coming up and I should have plenty of time to get things back in order but until then...
Goodnight & Godspeed,
C.B. Franz
Saturday, August 10, 2013
You Roll The Dice, You Move Your Mice.
And The Rat Squeaked
A
rat sat on a marble,
and
like a microscopic Hansel sans Gretel
it
laid yarn from all the important points back to his marble.
To the pantry,
To the pantry,
To
the mouse hole, where all his mouse friends live.
To
the window, to see outside.
To the crack in the wall, to be outside.
To the leaky pipe for shower & scrub.
And so on and so forth.
Lint covered strands traced labyrinths cross scratched wood floor.
The last bit of yarn he tied around his tiny rat waist.
His finely woven interstate sat taught all around.
Proud of his project but tired of the process he curled around the marble.
Sun sat below the glass panes, putting all the room in darkness
and the rat fell asleep, comfortable in his well laid out fortress.
To the crack in the wall, to be outside.
To the leaky pipe for shower & scrub.
And so on and so forth.
Lint covered strands traced labyrinths cross scratched wood floor.
The last bit of yarn he tied around his tiny rat waist.
His finely woven interstate sat taught all around.
Proud of his project but tired of the process he curled around the marble.
Sun sat below the glass panes, putting all the room in darkness
and the rat fell asleep, comfortable in his well laid out fortress.
But
when morning came, when all bad news comes,
The
strings had torn and floated
around
the room, the place was a skew and the rat was disconcerted.
Which is how to nicely put it but frankly the rat was pissed
Which is how to nicely put it but frankly the rat was pissed
The
rat was scared and the rat was lost and the rat was steamed
and the rat the
frustrated and the rat squeaked a squeaky yell.
The rat felt alone.
But he wasn’t alone.
His marble rolled alongside him and spoke,
The rat felt alone.
But he wasn’t alone.
His marble rolled alongside him and spoke,
and
this was startling even to a rat with developed emotions & cognizance.
Marbles, though they have no mouths are very wise in their own way.
They communicate through rolling in patterns understandable to the most perceptive animals.
Walrus,
Walking
stick bugs,
Barn
Owls,
& some species of bats.
Baby giraffes,
& some species of bats.
Baby giraffes,
Pigmy
marmosets,
and
a type of hummingbird (who live strictly in Tibet).
And most pertinently rats,
And so the marble rolled and he most eloquently said
“Rat, I have known you for some time now and I would tell you not to fret but knowing you I also know that it would be a vain attempt.
Because you’re a worrisome mammal but I don’t hold that against.
Let me tell you why the fact that all your yarn is gone is for the best.
The pantry is always empty,
And
outside it always rained,
The
windows are too smudgy
And
those mice aren’t your friends.
That pipe was never leaky in fact it was always quite dry.
All your strings are gone but you haven’t noticed one thing,
That pipe was never leaky in fact it was always quite dry.
All your strings are gone but you haven’t noticed one thing,
and
it’s the piece around your tiny rat waist, the last piece of string.
It’s still intact, and holding on to me and I’m made of glass.
It’s still intact, and holding on to me and I’m made of glass.
Now listen very carefully because this next part is important.”
And the rat listened, even more carefully than before.
“I am an inanimate object, incapable of speech and thought.”
The rat squeaked.
“And more importantly we are both constructs of a sad man, trying to illustrate a forgotten point.”
And on the word "point", the marble exploded
and the rat squeaked.
And the rat listened, even more carefully than before.
“I am an inanimate object, incapable of speech and thought.”
The rat squeaked.
“And more importantly we are both constructs of a sad man, trying to illustrate a forgotten point.”
And on the word "point", the marble exploded
and the rat squeaked.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
My Convictions, More Fragile Than The Glass Around My Neck.
When The Dust Won’t Settle.
Recently I set the universe above my lungs.
And so it pulls into me the reasons for my being.
The day fills each one with a quivering panic
understanding an impending exhale; 2 ways.
Bumbling up the throat to spill on ground,
A result without substance, sopped up with layers disposable.
The latter, here is the why
A cluster of energy was set so righteously
resounding, something shall be heard.
Not in waves, seas are held to this earth no matter how deep,
but this proclivity is upwards and out
rudely it pushes past all that was known
forcefully, madly happy, tapping on the panes of a big, broad door.
Which was not there before,
(Having human eyes I set down something to be understood, so a door.
A fitting and overused metaphor but it will not change, it is a large door.)
I seek to heave at this man-made obstructure
to open something akin to a starry floodgate.
ONE,
I heaved,
TWO,
This time I HO'd.
THREE,
The force of a combined HEAVE HO,
ONE,
I heaved,
TWO,
This time I HO'd.
THREE,
The force of a combined HEAVE HO,
it cracked opened, silent and slow.
The dust that settled on the day God did now coats my bleeding brow
and hangs in the air. We have “un-settled” a hard weeks work, and in the dust I press my pointer so that all passing Gods and men will know the answer to “What is the name of the one who was here?”
or simply “Who did this?” &”What was it for?”
or simply “Who did this?” &”What was it for?”
“Did he know what he was when he opened this door?"
The question remains, and around the imprint they stand
the same pointers are poised, scratching omnipotent heads.
Here set a man, made to open a door.
Here set a door, made to open for man.
With entirety dangling under his chin,
He set to articulate, knowing the secret to the best questions.
The greats have not just one answer but when asked the right way, resounding (not like waves)
Upward & out each man has his own answer, from under which
more questions sprout. Creating mad force for a happy tapping on the panes of a big, broad door.
“NO SOLICTING.” It says
which was not there before.
Inquiring, tapper taps, more ever more:
Inquiring, tapper taps, more ever more:
"What came first?
The Man or his Metaphor?"
_______________________________________________________
This poems was an immensely pleasant surprise.
I just wrote it today with no inkling about it before hand.
I had been working on The Leper King Acts 1 & 2 but I haven't finished them.
And a few other unfinished poems, which is odd. I usually don't start a poem and
_______________________________________________________
This poems was an immensely pleasant surprise.
I just wrote it today with no inkling about it before hand.
I had been working on The Leper King Acts 1 & 2 but I haven't finished them.
And a few other unfinished poems, which is odd. I usually don't start a poem and
put it off for so long.
Either way I hope you enjoy this one, and I apologize for how long it's been since I last posted something with some meat on it's bones.
Good Evening & Godspeed,
C.B. Franz
Either way I hope you enjoy this one, and I apologize for how long it's been since I last posted something with some meat on it's bones.
Good Evening & Godspeed,
C.B. Franz
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Blogger Said I Needed A Title So Here Is Your Damn Title.
I apologize guys.
I haven't written you anything decent in over a month.
Almost had something tonight but nope, here's all I got.
I haven't written you anything decent in over a month.
Almost had something tonight but nope, here's all I got.
The Leper King
Today
a rat took my toe,
Not even good.
Sigh,
Often when angry/sad I just channel into writing and then it just flows
Not even good.
Sigh,
Often when angry/sad I just channel into writing and then it just flows
out like an angsty chocolate fountain but this just makes me feel like yelling into a quarry.
I don't even know any quarries personal.
Fuck.
Godspeed & whatever,
C.B. Franz
I don't even know any quarries personal.
Fuck.
Godspeed & whatever,
C.B. Franz
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
Nice Walkies
Less of a poem and more of a story.
I hope you like it all the same.
________________________________________________
It Had To Be Grand
And I sat with my blocks under the shadow,
and the cylinder rolled away, as they often do.
I went to get it (knowing the cubes would be fine on their own)
but the cylinder had rolled out past the edge of this shadow.
And I was scared.
So I left the cylinder,
But my block-castle was incomplete,
having only three towers on the four corners.
And I sat and I thought of ways the castle could be different.
To leave a corner un-towered was out of the question.
A triangle castle, maybe? But then there'd be blocks left over.
And a two tower castle is no more than a wall.
And I was discontent.
But I was still scared.
So I sat & I sat pondering my wooden castle.
Could I make just a house, with a neat wooden roof?
Would simply a tower make due?
No, it would not and I always knew that.
That's why I started a castle, it had to be grand.
"It had to be grand.", I thought again.
"It had to be grand." and I stood up once more just as I had before I'd sat.
And I was scared
And I was discontent
But my block-castle was incomplete.
I walked over to the edge of this shadow
and put out one finger, then two, then five.
Warm felt my hand, and what more I was alive.
It was bright and I held those five fingers above my eyes
And before me, well, well I was quite surprised.
A mountain of blocks, not just cylinders or cubes
but rectangle, pyramids, triangles: acute & obtuse.
This is better I thought, than under that shade.
"With these", I exclaimed "Oh the things that can be made!"
"I'll have a four tower castle, but not simply that.
I'll have dozens of castles three no, twelve times higher than that!"
And I walked out from under the shade, as they often do.
I went off to be grand, (knowing that, I too, would be fine on my own).
I hope you like it all the same.
________________________________________________
It Had To Be Grand
And I sat with my blocks under the shadow,
and the cylinder rolled away, as they often do.
I went to get it (knowing the cubes would be fine on their own)
but the cylinder had rolled out past the edge of this shadow.
And I was scared.
So I left the cylinder,
But my block-castle was incomplete,
having only three towers on the four corners.
And I sat and I thought of ways the castle could be different.
To leave a corner un-towered was out of the question.
A triangle castle, maybe? But then there'd be blocks left over.
And a two tower castle is no more than a wall.
And I was discontent.
But I was still scared.
So I sat & I sat pondering my wooden castle.
Could I make just a house, with a neat wooden roof?
Would simply a tower make due?
No, it would not and I always knew that.
That's why I started a castle, it had to be grand.
"It had to be grand.", I thought again.
"It had to be grand." and I stood up once more just as I had before I'd sat.
And I was scared
And I was discontent
But my block-castle was incomplete.
I walked over to the edge of this shadow
and put out one finger, then two, then five.
Warm felt my hand, and what more I was alive.
It was bright and I held those five fingers above my eyes
And before me, well, well I was quite surprised.
A mountain of blocks, not just cylinders or cubes
but rectangle, pyramids, triangles: acute & obtuse.
This is better I thought, than under that shade.
"With these", I exclaimed "Oh the things that can be made!"
"I'll have a four tower castle, but not simply that.
I'll have dozens of castles three no, twelve times higher than that!"
And I walked out from under the shade, as they often do.
I went off to be grand, (knowing that, I too, would be fine on my own).
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Soda Soda Simple Simple
All
One
day they called and said
“You’re the last man alive.
“You’re the last man alive.
You’ve
got much to do and not so much time.
Please
water all the gardens and
feed
all the dogs. They’ve gotten quite hungry
since
their masters have been gone.
Find
all of the bobby pins, put them in a jar
and
wind all the clocks, they’re off by an hour.
The
stores are all closed, please open them all
and
replace all the paper in the bathroom stalls.
The
cola’s all flat, please fill it with bubbles.
Next
to mow the lawns and when that’s done
wash
all the cars and
take
all the nickels out of the fountains just for fun.
Visit
all the cities, on all the skyscrapers all the windows need washed.
And when you get back collect all the black cats
And when you get back collect all the black cats
so
there’s no bad luck for anyone.
Pave
over the cracks, and push all mirrors into the sea.
While
your down there find those sunglasses I lost on a cruise
and
all the oysters have pearls,
all the oysters have pearls,
string
them up on laces
you’ve
pulled out of shoes from the Lost & Found
in
tourist-y places.
Next we’ll need you to check all the libraries
Next we’ll need you to check all the libraries
for
a copy of “Lord Of The Flies”, I have a report due on Monday.
Next week’s my birthday, so I need you to learn cursive
Next week’s my birthday, so I need you to learn cursive
and
write all my invitations and then on Tuesday-“
“Just a minute” I said.
“Who is this?”
Sunday, May 5, 2013
How Good Arch Support Can Make For A Bad Evening.
Rubber Necking OR
How Good Arch Support Can Make For A Bad Evening.
So long and say farewell
What were all the people for
whom I've met and forgot?
All the mis-communication for
over which we bickered and fought?
Why longingly stare if it's not to be requited?
Why even bother at all to only be denied it?
Question mark, question mark
Walk along the dinner table
stepping in each meal
Question mark, question mark
How does everyone feel?
My loafers in their mashed potaters
the heel is in the quiche
I threw my Seiko wristwatch on top of the cobbler, peach.
There's gravy on my dress shirt
as tightrope the hors d'oeuvres
Stale cut grass floats from my elbows down to their red wine.
And I hear applause, palm against palm they praise my callousness.
I bow for my audience, slipping on the embroidered table cloth.
I crack my head off the silver candle sticks
and the red wine stains that embroidered table cloth.
Mingus carries me out of the room, into the parlor.
Tweed & elbow pads pour bitters into crystals and talks.
"Quite the performance young man."
So long and say farewell
How Good Arch Support Can Make For A Bad Evening.
So long and say farewell
What were all the people for
whom I've met and forgot?
All the mis-communication for
over which we bickered and fought?
Why longingly stare if it's not to be requited?
Why even bother at all to only be denied it?
Question mark, question mark
Walk along the dinner table
stepping in each meal
Question mark, question mark
How does everyone feel?
My loafers in their mashed potaters
the heel is in the quiche
I threw my Seiko wristwatch on top of the cobbler, peach.
There's gravy on my dress shirt
as tightrope the hors d'oeuvres
Stale cut grass floats from my elbows down to their red wine.
And I hear applause, palm against palm they praise my callousness.
I bow for my audience, slipping on the embroidered table cloth.
I crack my head off the silver candle sticks
and the red wine stains that embroidered table cloth.
Mingus carries me out of the room, into the parlor.
Tweed & elbow pads pour bitters into crystals and talks.
"Quite the performance young man."
So long and say farewell
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Blue Canary
At 5 a.m. He Sang To Me
There's a small bird
singing in the corner of my room.
He swears:
"Nobody loves you.
Your bed will be empty till 2023, Noon."
"Nobody loves you.
Your bed will be empty till 2023, Noon."
Go away sweet song bird,
Such an asshole you are.
Orioles & one night stands.
Song birds & sideways glances.
Orioles & one night stands.
Song birds & sideways glances.
The naive ripe with brevity
these and a low center of gravity.
make up your modern romances.
"Your dim blue light & ink stench
will not save you from their jaws, clenched
ball point pens, masturbatory this is your current purgatory."
Such a well spoken asshole indeed.
Such a well spoken asshole indeed.
_________________________________________________________________
I scribbled this short little piece down at 5 last night, it's kind of reminiscent of my older stuff which focused more on the rhyming bits and a little self indulgent, then again all my stuff is "a little" self indulgent... Though I don't think I can call it my "older stuff" because it was neither that long ago and I'm not a famous poet. How pretentious we are.
Godspeed & Good Afternoon,
C.B. Franz
Godspeed & Good Afternoon,
C.B. Franz
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Poorly Timed Falls OR The Art Of When To Glance Back & Why.
Over-Under
Bottle Cap 1, 2
Bottle Cap 4.
Dancing around side halls to see you some more.
Wishing I knew you when fire drills
sent me up and down handrails
yours over mine, I thought over time
You'd catch me and I'd bounce right back to the sill.
But the stranger beat me to it
and you bounced back through to someone
who's probably no good for you
*click* *click* I knew it.
Put that ampersand I threw between our names
in the waste basket,
wrap my waist length jean jacket just above your hips
swish swish
Back & forth I stare from the audience
Etchings in a college ruled campus
Back & forth
Hello. How Are You.
Hello? How Are You.
We're fine.
You're damn fine.
and I cringe the for smallest second I know you were
with him. He wasted it.
Tossed it into that waste basket
Be my straightjacket, pull me out of the
room they missed when they padded all the others where she's
Wrapped in blanket in the back of my totalled car.
I thought this '93 Volvo would help me forget who you are.
Skimming books on the art of then, meditation,
clear my head and you cling to the stem
my-dully-obligated heart has to extend
no further than the hem of your dress.
I'd put that arch in your back
Even if you didn't lift the weight off mine. You see
Overall your overalls send me up those beige cracked walls
I've seen you matted against, I've seen us up against.
How I hoped the only thing separating us was that relations, tense,
but it's the fact that in my stifling defense you'll never know who I was
No, not at all.
Bottle Cap 1, 2
Bottle Cap 4.
Dancing around side halls to see you some more.
Wishing I knew you when fire drills
sent me up and down handrails
yours over mine, I thought over time
You'd catch me and I'd bounce right back to the sill.
But the stranger beat me to it
and you bounced back through to someone
who's probably no good for you
*click* *click* I knew it.
Put that ampersand I threw between our names
in the waste basket,
wrap my waist length jean jacket just above your hips
swish swish
Back & forth I stare from the audience
Etchings in a college ruled campus
Back & forth
Hello. How Are You.
Hello? How Are You.
We're fine.
You're damn fine.
and I cringe the for smallest second I know you were
with him. He wasted it.
Tossed it into that waste basket
Be my straightjacket, pull me out of the
room they missed when they padded all the others where she's
Wrapped in blanket in the back of my totalled car.
I thought this '93 Volvo would help me forget who you are.
Skimming books on the art of then, meditation,
clear my head and you cling to the stem
my-dully-obligated heart has to extend
no further than the hem of your dress.
I'd put that arch in your back
Even if you didn't lift the weight off mine. You see
Overall your overalls send me up those beige cracked walls
I've seen you matted against, I've seen us up against.
How I hoped the only thing separating us was that relations, tense,
but it's the fact that in my stifling defense you'll never know who I was
No, not at all.
Abandoned: All Those Who Enter.
Walk Outs Welcome
Walk pasts
Some
sort of critical mistake I'm making
causing
a lack of double taking
and
keeping in contact.
Sliding
off shoebox tops
flipping
through headshots
of
cancelled callbacks
reminiscence
mixed with sighs
Walk pasts
and
un-read texts.
Modernity
Modernity
only
limits your chances
of
a pity ffffff-….riendship
Polaroid
went out of business
so
we can’t shake each other
to
make the image of some past thing any clearer
Snippets
of lyrics left on doorsteps as steps away
a disappointed head case sees that his knocks
will
not move onto your doc-martin boots.
Like
cars during a black out at an ugly carnival
There
won’t be bumping any time soon.
Belly
button snap shots
jump
rope over morality
occasionally
tripping face first into bed
with
nostalgic tee – and sweat- shirts
draped
on office chairs & bar stools
picked
up the morning after
put
on the next night.
burning
eyes, flat hair covered by one
of
many hats covered by several of even more pins
collected
to assign a meaning to a barren skull
Exit
strategy
existential
crisis burying a second voice
down an ashen sink drain with fermenting friends.
And trapping that fox with the 16 stones I was given.
down an ashen sink drain with fermenting friends.
And trapping that fox with the 16 stones I was given.
Not
who they wanted but who they were near.
Turned
to mockery and cynicism out of fear
Should be living alone, locked in that shoebox he burned long ago.
Should be living alone, locked in that shoebox he burned long ago.
“Poetry?
Oh yeah, you’re really into that?”
Yeah
I guess so.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
3 Years Time.
(C)ash Only
Lonely
and lungs full
We
form smoke rings with
lips
pursed.
I
mention women
and
that’s the last of it.
black
and white squares
stand
under pairings
of
artsy fartsy thick rimmed
and
beautiful blonde dealings
through
films and tobacco
tattoos
and taboos
Meeting
in basement parties
Befriends
make out buddies.
Becoming
mean and spiteful
blending
into my surroundings:
a
cheetah finding his spots amongst ash trays
and
bargain bins, and pass go educations
When
I leave the house check the mirror thrice
once
more in the car window
two
more times on the way down the hill
and I catch a glance in the bus
I
don’t feel safe in this skin
I
mean I don’t feel a-t-t-r-active.
To
scan the room,
eyes
shoot to cleavage of
deep
v-necks and weekend matches.
This
time it was too rough,
ice
next time, yes we should get ice.
Il ne se passe.
Piecing
the ceramic
into
understandable sights
for
far away voyeurs.
And like bull to the shop
i'll
set my horns about the ground
to
wreck who and what I can.
Becoming,
knowing my friend
to
see what I need to be.
Hawthorne
effect sets in
Reflective rainbow oil spills off
urbania’s
streets to my lungs
Red
Hand
“Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do it.”
White
Man.
“Let me go.”
“Let me go.”
Red
hand wrapped tight
around
the cheek of soft
French
whispers.
Warm
rain and cold days
You
can borrow this hoodie
There’s
a story behind it
a
few for what’s in my pockets too.
A
lighter for no reason,
except
when I start smoking
after
a girl who does the same
“When
In Rome…” When In Rome.
a
black book for thoughts & occasional dreams
of
anonymous photographic queens.
The
title? There’s a story behind that too.
I
hide behind my lobes, and drown in clothes
and
those smoke filled lungs and juice.
I
hide in the fact
that
every little line
that’s
been written since your hiatus
hasn’t
been condemning you
but
to pick up where you left off
of
things that left me.
Year
1:
Friendship
Year
2:
Confidence
Year
3:
Morality & me.
Morality & me.
When
I was with you the writing stopped
which
I should’ve taken as
not
the first, but one of many bad omens
But
“Il ne se passe.” You'd say:
"It
happens."
_____________________________________________________________
Well, at least I wrote something on National Poetry Month.
Godspeed & Goodnight,
C.B.
C.B.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Czech It Out! I'm A Somewhat Legitimate Poet!
Here it is!
A mighty thank you to PressBoard for publishing and posting a bit of my work. I've posted the two poems "Rockwell" and "Infini-tea" on here before so it's nothing new for you regulars (if there are any regulars...*cricket cricket*). Anyways this is very cool for me and much appreciated!
http://pressboardpress.com/2013/03/06/two-poems-by-chris-franz/
Godspeed,
C.B. Franz
A mighty thank you to PressBoard for publishing and posting a bit of my work. I've posted the two poems "Rockwell" and "Infini-tea" on here before so it's nothing new for you regulars (if there are any regulars...*cricket cricket*). Anyways this is very cool for me and much appreciated!
http://pressboardpress.com/2013/03/06/two-poems-by-chris-franz/
Godspeed,
C.B. Franz
Antiquated Biofeedback
The In-Laws
Want
to watch the world fall
and
think of ways to build it up,
know
all the ways to cry?
What
will you think when others die?
Hell
fire & Skeletons.
Be
my Helter Skelter.
Is
there a line between eroticism & artistry?
Will you make both me?
Understand my hypocrisy
Will you make both me?
Understand my hypocrisy
when
I say this world needs to change
then
stay home to watch TV.
Know
I have a dozen tattoos
no
intention of getting a single one.
Don’t watch while I air guitar
This
world is my own,
know
I can’t let you into all of it.
Can
you follow that
I’d
love nothing more
than
a mattress on a loft floor.
but
that hope carries a past.
“Awesome”
is a phrase
from
my Jesus-lovin’ days
and
I’m not sure where they went
I
had a family back then.
And
to keep them happy
I’ll still go on Sundays.
I’ll still go on Sundays.
I
want to save this world
and
I know so little beyond.
I
don’t know what’s wrong
and
I want superpowers.
And I’m telling you all this
And I’m telling you all this
because
I know you don’t exist.
An Analyst
Chapter
One:
Hemingway
Miller,
Mamet or Hammett
never
found themselves on the chaise
Cummings & Eliot
Sylvia
and Levy had their own way
but
never needed to talk about Daddy
(No,
yuck. I don’t even know that for sure.
plus
there’s too many allusions. It’s like
Saturday
Night
Saturday
Night
Live
on
Prozac.)
and
I feel as though
if
Franz should be the one they’re alluding
then
with hard liquor &brooding
That’s
the way to do it.
New
Yorke tunes & pathetic scrawl
I’ll
publicize the worst, almost all
except
I must stay (husshhhh )
cause
that’s oh so (husshhhh)
Stalling till I kick it cause
Stalling till I kick it cause
post-mortem
is where it’s at, man.
Leftovers
He hadn't counted sheep for weeks
Until he heard your name
Two syllables bounced ear to ear
As he desperately tried to wrangle
Ewes turned black with fear
Over a section of wood fence
And they fell as his head tilted.
A hypothetical made possible for him,
He understood what he had done
And what he was doing as he looked through
Texts to exes
He only has one ex.
Less sex, more drunk sunken thoughts of
flirtation
At occasions with women & boys where the
main attraction
Isn't a fraction of how hard he’s pressing
his back against the wall.
Leaving smashed and paranoid for home so he
won’t face the
potentiality of understanding that acquaintances like
Dirty Dancing 2.
And
friends can amend but they won’t tell him of their future
Because
now he understands what he’s done.
It’s
a slippery slope and he’s got his ski’s on.
Because
he wants to get his fling on
A
kiss with a girl he’ll never miss at the home of
A
friend with a girl he adored a love requited then withdrawn
Breathing
in smog from a bong in a toy house of a little sister
To
forget two syllables
And
start thinking about sisters and leftovers
Spit
shining sloppy seconds to swap spit for seconds
At
a showing of “Friends With Benefits” without any.
Taking
the TP with him to the dining room seat.
In the basement there’s a VHS of “Titanic”
Playing
and they watched the whole thing with no interruption
But
I’ve never seen “Chocolat” the whole way through
And
I don’t intend to.
_______________________________________________________________
My, my, my it has been a while hasn't it? This is actually good for us though, we needed some space didn't we? To be honest I wish I had posted sooner and to be even more honest these poems aren't all that new. I was flipping through the Word Doc. where I keep all my poems and I found these three little gems and was surprised that I hadn't posted them. To be honest I think the needed to breathe a little, to age a bit. I hated "An Analyst", I thought it was too pretentious & forced when I wrote it but now it's pretentious and forced but I like it.
My, my, my it has been a while hasn't it? This is actually good for us though, we needed some space didn't we? To be honest I wish I had posted sooner and to be even more honest these poems aren't all that new. I was flipping through the Word Doc. where I keep all my poems and I found these three little gems and was surprised that I hadn't posted them. To be honest I think the needed to breathe a little, to age a bit. I hated "An Analyst", I thought it was too pretentious & forced when I wrote it but now it's pretentious and forced but I like it.
I also have some good news!
The site PressBoardPress (Pressboardpress.com) , which publishes short stories and poetry, has selected a couple of my poems that I submitted and are going to be publishing them tomorrow/today (Wednesday, March 6th) at Noon! So now, I am almost officially a published poet somewhat. Next step is to ACTUALLY be published on good 'ol fashioned paper and be sold to middle aged house wives in grocery stores in paperback with hyper-realistic sexy covers.
Anyways I will be posting the publishing tomorrow when it is out and letting you all know again.
The site PressBoardPress (Pressboardpress.com) , which publishes short stories and poetry, has selected a couple of my poems that I submitted and are going to be publishing them tomorrow/today (Wednesday, March 6th) at Noon! So now, I am almost officially a published poet somewhat. Next step is to ACTUALLY be published on good 'ol fashioned paper and be sold to middle aged house wives in grocery stores in paperback with hyper-realistic sexy covers.
Anyways I will be posting the publishing tomorrow when it is out and letting you all know again.
This is also the reason I am posting three hot from the oven poems for you all because I wanted to have some new and interesting material for newcomers (Hello to all you fresh young bluejays!) who see the PressBoard posting and come to check the site out.
Well that's all I have for you tonight and as always
Well that's all I have for you tonight and as always
Godnight & Godspeed,
C.B. Franz
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