Month: December 2019

“Babble…all too much”

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Tyler R. Martin

Too often do I see,
Prose with absolute ambition.
And all too often it fails to surpass
The faintest intellectual expedition;
Or reveal the workings of human condition.

All too often do I self-reflect,
And see my own ink and paper’s
Existential rendition,
Pierce no enlightened veil–deflect
Or embrace no spiritual admission.

Far too often,
Do I bawl and stress as a tactless tactician.
Utilizing irreverent nouns and verbs
For a rhymeless commision,
Only, in spite, to scrap the stanzas in dismission.

Ever too often,
Do we strive to attempt
The seizure of language to reveal our disposition,
Only to find the glare of a cruel, empty void,
Utterly lacking our desired exhibition.

Much too seldom do we:
Embrace apathy and disillusion,
To which the resulting liberation,
Compounded with inebriation
Will frequently culminate in:
An improved mindset for exaltation….

“Just a Glance”

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Tyler R. Martin

I love your sweet and affectionate side,
My pretty little puppy with a wanting stare.
Just a glance into your beautiful eyes
and you and I are alone together
Drunk in love, without a care
Where I’m in heaven when my lips meet yours and I’m in pain when it ends,
My heart breaks when you leave me in agony
And your tender presence my fragile heart mends.
I’m ok with that feeling, it doesn’t scorch me in fear,
Baby, I love it all…..and I’ve never felt that way before….
I love you so since
Everyday, more and more

“Charming Me”

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Tyler R. Martin

You smile sweetly,
I love you--its disarming-- 
I’m worried that you find my behavior  
Alarming. 
I see you--you look down, 
I hope you find my self destruction  
Charming... 
“Stream of consciousness”: 
Intellectual code for drunken babble: 
It's all I got. 
Perhaps you'll mistake it for something deeper 
With far more magnitude 
Than just my intoxicated drool, 
The product of my chemical induced solitude…
I smile, you look down, 
I'm drunk, you're annoyed, 
 I frown.
I say, “I wrote you something”-- 
Then gauge reaction. 
Not sure what to do, 
Perhaps another 
Jack and Coke will 
Spur some action...

“Rubberneck”

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Tyler R. Martin

When I was a kid
I made plastic fly traps
Out of empty soda bottles.
My uncle showed me how
To cut a small tapered hole
In the side, and fill the bottle
With chunks of meat and water.
The meat rots, stinks, drawing
Hungry flies who come to eat
And meet their bitter end,
Drowning in the water.
The meat works well
To draw them in, but the rotten
Flies, trapped earlier in the summer,
Work even better. They rot
And stink and draw exponentially
More hungry flies to fulfill their
Cannibalistic urges. Despite
The irony of feeding off
The misery of your peers
Only to succumb to the same fate,
And in turn be fed upon yourself,
The hungry flies swarmed the trap.
As more died, the stink grew
And more were drawn.
This is what clouded my mind
As I sat in a meandering river
Of traffic on a highway which stunk
Of death as commuters rotted away their lives
Slowing down to watch an ambulance
Loading a dead body into it’s back,
And to stare dumbly at a
Tow truck dragging away
A battered, bloody minivan…..

“Tuesday/Wednesday”

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One a.m

And something doesn’t feel right,

My head’s a buzz, bed feels small,

Another lonely night,

Seventh one in all.

Two a.m

Can not find a rhyme,

Records spin and spin,

Flipped The Doors for the ninth time…

Before grabbing Nirvana from the bin.

Three a.m

And I’m sorta sick of describing how life is fucked.

Cigarette burned my thumb,

Laptop died, but the poem sucked

So I’m really not that bummed…

4 a.m

Now no point in sleeping,

Drank the last beer,

And felt those feelings creeping

(“Am I a fucking hack?”)

That tired old fear…..

12 p.m

Punched in the gut,

Brain won’t fit my skull,

Seek out the hair of the mutt

To make the throbbing a bit more dull.

1 p.m

What the fuck did I write?

How incredibly delirious.

What did I do last night?

Why am I so furious?

2 p.m

Vodka goes down smooth,

Today, can’t stomach beer,

Desperately need something to soothe,

And the liquor store is near…

2:15 p.m

I mean, on second thought

What I wrote

Was pretty fucking smart,

I really hope……

~Tyler R. Martin