Hands & Heart Full OR Morning Class

9:40am

please please

please  forget

                    when I spilled

              flat diet pepsi

                     in front

                    of you.
                I was late.

                   you are cute.

                     flustered.

on the floor of the lobby I must’ve seemed like such a little freshboy.

               stu    crazy                         straw        stupid stupid.

What               pid        a way               lid cup      to start the day

Threading The Fuse

No Farseers

Because tonight,

i'll lack the pen

to yell what i feel at those who'll listen.

The past surrounds me

and i move

with it to darker days.

And the music will ring out and take me back,

to lesser days of lesser pains and running ink.

I'm no killer, but to be an arson would be fun.

Can't i watch sparks fly without getting burned?

But boys who play with fire often leave with hands full of ashes.

Children learn not to touch the stove, but i guess we aren't children.

Those kindergarten songs burned with the bridges we crossed,

wood burns faster than blood,

so we'll build on that and sink to our waists,

but still breathe.

Barely can one ever swim, but it only gets deeper.

So wait an hour or a year, find your heart, cry my dear

in the crimson waters. We'll wade together

but i'll wait if you want.

I'll pour the amber liquid and light the match.

I'll burn down this town to find you.

For i can burn the words, but never the persons.

For this is the song, oh this is the song of Free Arsons.

La Douleur Exquise Or Pardon My French

" I decided to stop pitying myself. Other than my eye, two things aren't paralyzed,

my imagination and my memory."

Felt Pen 

Take away the distractions and what am I?

Just a frightened little reference to something you can relate to.

When you get to brass tacks you find the log in your eye

and they’ve taken the spring from your step

stopping

at every ledge, place to lean to check the sheen of

Pushed in push pins in your sole &

walking on the heels of every

nice, decent, semi interesting, semi attractive girl who talks to me

or doesn’t.

And then I sit down and wait a year because then I can add

to the bad collection

of needles in my arch
I will see my own idiocy when someone’s coming after me

or at least it seems, whatever my vanity leads me to believe.
And on the days of the week I think

“I don’t want to be so weak, I want to be confident and honest

And sweep them on my feet.”

A stunning girl

I can’t have 
steps into

my home

and I shut up like a clam.

What do I say, with a glass of orange juice in hand?

I wish I could say interesting things.

And the universe, she likes to teach me things

And with each thing I think I’m an ass

Which I am.

Oh, what I am.

La Douleur Exquise, what a wonderful phrase.
Suspicion made certain would let the wide awake lie.

Your shoulder in my hand, with a man,

Could I have done something were the head with the man?

Return, I’ll clean up.
Until then

To sprint around with mason fisted jars

after every pixie & dame

who piques my gaze.
Perks of being a solitary coward

allow me to stare from a distance.

Your dress is so inviting.
Cut off my hands,

You can take them in a box.
to hold every now and then

I’d be luckier than most men. 

Reality

I tell you this,
my sometimes friends,
do not trust words written in pen.
Do not believe the sights you see

Or the things you hear from listening

Do not trust your art

And do not trust your friends

Your loved ones

And acquaintances

Do not trust anyone you can or cannot see

And most important,

Do not trust things said by me.

And even more important,

Do not trust yourself, never ever trust yourself.

For the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer

And who is closer to you than thee? 

14

We never made it to this day,

On it I felt awkward.

Obliged to meet you at your locker door

Now,

5 months till the day I worry.
I waited with baited breath

As all my school chums go steady

And I pin myself to that indulgent title of “Lonely”
“Little Miss Depression”.
To be pitied, how lovely.
I wanted to be wanted

& left alone.

Sgt.

What a concert of a woman.
Commuters I’ve seen

a dozen on the street

But she’s

A patched burlap green girl

I want to understand what she does

Why she taps her foot to her songs

Is it the same reason I tap mine?
I want to strong arm to the front

For a meet-and-greet

Be impolite to get the best seat,

See front seated be up front

With her & know.
I like when my friends don’t understand

Staring.

Flailing, time signatures

Through hair whose name I have yet to have.

You seem nice

And I hope that’s not the case.
I hope you’re diabolical

And over mint chocolate chip

I can tell you my brave new world.

This used to be a discolored ballad

Let me show you waterworks for colours.

Let’s worry about nothing

and whisper sweet somethings

What is your name?

Infini-tea

Dressed to the toe

So people look

Let them look

Can’t tell if they’re impressed

Hope it turns you on.

All who wonder will lust

This wonder,

Of impending pressure

On a house of discontent

And the dress on your habeas corpus

Let the lost eyes wander until they're caught.

To not be charged till the touch.

Seconds are not choice

But one man’s treasure

Is another man with similar tastes venture.
Captial T, Treason

Any thing less wouldn’t be quite grammatical

Don’t mind my stuttering

It means you've tied my tongue

with the idea of yours. 

My, my, my, my.
It has been quite a long time since I've given you lovelies anything to read.
Well here's 5 relatively new poems.

It's been so long, I have so much to show & tell

Movies, art, poems, music etc. etc. but that's for another night, I am quite sleepy.

We've got a lot of catching up to do

Godspeed,
C.B. 

Ahhhh-ahh. Ahh-ah. Ah-ah.

A little bit of what I've been listening to lately. It's not that a lot is on my right now but... feels like 2 or 3 half finished ideas and thoughts are just spreading out like spilled milk. No use crying over really but I don't know what it is. I'm shameless about my "clever" thoughts.

Godspeed,
C.B. 

(Saw Ghostland this past Sunday. One of the best concerts I've been too. It was so much fun, many reccomends.)

Matchstuck Men & Other Freaking Clever Titles

Just Vague Enough To Work

½ the time my clothes don’t

Even feel comfortable

But I think people will think
I have something.
Just jokes people want anymore.

Jokes & agreement & difference, they want me to seem

Cool.
When I say difference,

I mean difference agreeable

Comfortable.

Fitted, lookin’ sexy, difference.
Difference we can market at social gathering
You’ll be a hoot, you old night owl.

You old wordplay, sell out single.
I ran out of jokes and people got mad

And I got sad

So jokes, no more jokes it all feels so fake

We all say that. I’ve run out of originality.
I ain’t marketable any more

I’m vain, mental masturbating prophet without profit

And money managing skills

And the idea that rhyming will make the poems better.
I can’t even get mad at you for not respecting,

Understanding,

Not making fun of

Me cause I have no clue who I am.
It’s all defined by what I own and what I listen to.
What a sad life.

My death will be shitty at this rate.
I’m trying to be artsy,
I look up things to impress.
But there’s a method to these matchsticks

It’s not just a name I came up with.

*That'll Do, Ego. That'll Do.

Brilliant

I think I’ll be famous.
Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.
I will much dispensary income.
I dream of being rich, you know.
I want nice things, I want access to nice people.

Pretty people for proper pennies.
Has a nice ring to it.
Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.
I haven’t had much attention lately.

No, not much at all.
I will not tolerate such ridicule.
No, sir.
I think I’ll be famous.
Yes, that’ll do quite nicely.
Hmmm…
I want people to understand but think I’m mysterious.
Isn’t that sexy? That’s sexy, I hear.
I’ll write and talk in an accent. Isn’t that sexy?
Pretty people for proper pennies.
I want to lose weight and become a

Pretty person for the proper pennies

And the proper strive

And drive

And ambition

Words that don’t rhyme

Put apply

To the situation.
To be honest

And simple
No that won’t do
That isn’t very sexy, no not at all.
I think I want all the attention

Can you own a spotlight?
I think I want all the attention
I know, but thinking makes you seem like a nicer person

Plus it’s vague and you know how I love that.
That’s sexy, I hear.
Why suffer for my heart when I lie in the lap of luxury?
And forget about my own rules about poetry?

Write lines like essays and write so sloppily.

(Imaginary)

Day dreaming I’m the best at everything

And loved by everyone

Whilst talking to no one

Because my own doubts are more fun

Than a reality of my vanity

On my vanity is mirror

Obviously

It’s a vanity

Insanity

I must suffer for my art.
Because I want to be famous.
and wear nice clothes

And be called a genius

I like nice clothes

Cause then I look nice

Nice neat nice new clothes.
We all must suffer for my art

I must be different so different

Ideally ideals the retreat on opposition

Are best for the position

Of a famous, person yes well liked.
Liked by all the people,

No child left behind
I want people to wish they had a mind like mine.
Yes.
That’ll do nicely.

No Post On Sundays!

FINALLY.
You happy? Because I am.
Yes, I've finally gotten around to changing the design and cleaning some things up around here and catching up on all the pages etc. etc. etc.

It's not the most triumphant return, I really did want to have some new poems for you guys & gals however I haven't written much lately and what I have written is a bit in the rough and not quite ready for posting... plus I didn't really want to write anything for the sake of having new poems because then it's forced and it ain't no good just like my English.
Though I did post a couple new poems and a song just before posting this so things aren't so bad, ya see?

If you're new to the blog then WELCOME! As far you know nothing has changed at all and it's always been like this. You can go on your merry way, galavanting around the pages like a young bull in a candy china shop.

If you're not new than...things are pretty much the same anyway. New look but all the pages and set up is pretty much the same. I tried experimenting with other dynamic views but they were confusing and not user friendly at all.

You might noticed I have deleted some of the posts. If you're wondering where my one little essay on the "Free Arsons" went, I moved it to the 'Other Writing' page and all the songs that were included in that are under the music page. It's all still here so no worries.

In other news; the "Poetry" and "Music" pages are both caught up and are up to date with everything I've written or posted.

In other other news: I would seriously love some feedback on the new design and just the design in general. If the pages or font are hard to read, the pages and set up are all cattywampus, links are working etc. etc. etc. please let me know either in a comment or via twitter or email! (The 'Contact Me' page is also up to date since I have changed my twitter name)


*This is a lot of reading I know but quit whining. You came to poetry and writing blog so...yeah.*

Along the lines of design stuff THE BACKGROUND.
Because I have a very wide screened laptop what I see in the blog and what you see are probably a little bit different. Therefore I would like to know if everything still looks alright on your end. On the background there should be "The House On Ridge Road" text on the left and in the upper right hand corner of the screen is "Writing & Poetry by C.B.".

Please let me know if you can or cannot see these. Now I can't change it for everyone's dimensions but if it's really messed up I'll try and see what I can do.

*GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSPPPPPP*

Seriously, thanks for at least reading this far. You're awesome and thanks for coming to my blog. Please read and be merry. I'll also accept praise along with those criticisms just f.y.i. because I don't want it to be all rain clouds over here.

Thank you muchly. I will be back with more poems and videos hopefully now that everything is sorted out. You're awesome sauce with a cherry on top and as always
Godspeed,
C.B.
                     Here's some shweet music to brighten your night/day:

*Powder Keg: The Musical

My Clothes

Smell of gasoline,
They cover me.
That’s obvious and when I rhyme

I’m thinking of songs

A beat that keeps my mind on one thing

Not you, or the past or my social faux pas

Or the failures in things,

Or the color of eyes and feel of skin

Or I miss it.
Sobering up would be a lot easier

If I had ever even been drunk

Which would be nice if I had no scruples
Can I have those?
Am I allowed while I’m living this life

Where it bothers me if I even have a thought

Of the thoughts that don’t exist that someone might

Have about me or my friends or my hair or my clothes?
Vanity.
I don’t know when I started caring so much about so little.
You know we used to be naked. 

Fodder

I’d rather be somewhere else

Since home is going to be just a firing squad.

Friends turned to enemies

And enemies stay the same.
How to save my mind & friendships with one fell talk?
I can’t be myself anymore.
I plot my escape and return.

When I predict how you’ll react

I play out fantastic nightmares in my own head.
Vanity,

Pride,
something.

Can’t tell if I’ve changed or all of us have.
I wish I could be straight forward.
More honest.
I’ve forgotten what a real friend is.
But I remember how to avoid them.
My anger rises,

Days I think I’m going to lose it

And other days I just think the same quieter.
Stagnant people

Strangling me

With jokes that aren’t funny

Times together when I feel like running

Cause these days we all need to something to aim at

More metaphors? So many, hand me the ipecac.
Cannon fodder for an igniting hatred.

See aren’t we having fun? We are
Now what is my mind doing?
Ruining with this vanity.
(TO BE CONTINUED) 

Taipei Realizations

If fortune is in my favor,

it's stuck in a cookie

in a neon, paper latern scene 

soaked in America, consumed by we.

Common Sense

Thomas Paine

I always forget

how much I hate

The common man.

You're average or rather

Less than.

For someone who wants

to entertain the masses,

a king among men

It sure does hate "people"

People plural are awful,

gross,

bitter cookie cutter,

unique beings.

People are not unique

works of art

Just sloppy finger paintings

by an omniscient

forget-me-not

toddler.

Short & Repeat

I’m So Very, Very Clever Aren’t I?

The poems I write are sad,
So sad and whiney.
It’s because I am sad and I have time.
And no one has stopped me.
No one has yelled at me and said
“EXCUSE ME SIR! BUT YOUR POEMS ARE TERRIBLY DREADFUL.”
How so?
“PATHETIC I MEAN, IT’S A PITY PARTY FOR THREE.”
Me, myself and-
“I, YES NOW YOU SEE. I CAN INSULT YOUR POETRY
BECAUSE I AM YOU AND YOU ARE ME.”
I see,
And the easiest criticisms to swallow are mine
So stop me,
Goddamnit someone stop me,

Stop me,

Stop me,

And promises, of mine even easier to break.
And I’m off track.
And repeating like a broken

Like a broken-

Cliché.
And even saying clichés are cliché is cliché.

I have a few words to say about this album and fun.'s recent booming success... but for another time.

How I Don't End With Me or Not The Why But The How

Here's Looking At You Kid

Why didn’t anyone jump in
like in the movies -

A heroic thing

- Like in the movies

To save me?
I didn’t want to swim back up

It was dirty

And grimy,

Tip toed feet know

I don’t want to keep sinking

Why is everyone on dry land yelling?
Why is everyone on the boat yelling?
Why am I not yelling.
It’s not the why but the how.
How is easy

Land,

Short, definitive
And it stops.
why is the water I’m sinking in

Water is like the thoughts

They don’t move with,

But around you.
How didn’t I swim back up?
Wh-…How do I shift the blame?
How can I move again?
Why don’t I just sink to the bottom.

It’s a calamity chaos,

And oyster, I’m a pearl

Looking for myself in the world that is mine.
Because the world ends with me doesn’t it?
It doesn’t

So that’s how I find out,
How I don’t end with me.
How I will continue with the world.