The Bum’s Lament is now available for purchase

Tyler R. Martin

The Bum’s Lament is a series of poems I had written while languishing in a crappy studio apartment, no money in my bank account, no job, engulfed in depression and nihilism and bathed in alcohol and cigarette smoke. This book is an early attempt of mine to explore my own suffering and, in doing so, strives to understand the suffering of all of humanity throughout the finitude of the human lifespan. I was attending school at the time of this writing, a local community college, and was stricken by the lack of depth in analysis which the classroom setting could produce. My life previous, and my current life as well, exposed me to the dark pit that is the natural universe and, unlike my peers, the surface scratching that the modern academic setting yielded to me no recourse to understanding. This book likely will do no better, however, it is a genuine attempt with nothing held back.

The Real Intro aired today!

The real introduction to my podcast Bourbon, Cigarettes and Syllables aired today! Link included below. Let me know what you think. Criticism and suggestions will be greatly appreciated!

Every Wednesday here after Ill be posting a video where I’ll be discussing the topics talked about today in the introductory video. Primarily boxing, poetry and meaning in a nihilistic world along with many other topics. Watch subscribe and comment please!

Another Cigarette

Tyler R. Martin

Light another cigarette,
The world won’t care in the morning,
Just another butt in the ashtray, another
Glob of flem in your lungs.
Light another cigarette,
The dog’s asleep on your couch,
He watches your house and he won’t mind
If you light another cigarette, and
Light one for your girl too before you wake her up
To smoke one with you and maybe crack two beers,
She’ll enjoy that, you know?
Amazing how she sleeps through the music, dog too,
But they’re used to it and a nocturnal man needs his nicotine,
His muses and his music, all at maximum volume.
Light another cigarette and
Type out a poem at two in the morning,
Two in the morning is undoubtedly a poet’s time,
Its unavailable to the cogs of society, so we snach it up
And light another cigarette without the slightest inclination
To go to sleep in the immediate future.
So you finish your beer…then finish hers…
You light another cigarette and look out the window.
If you’re lucky you’ll see the sky and the smoke looks so pretty
Against the star peppered abyss of heaven.
So light another cigarette and sigh,
“Perhaps, if I am lucky,
I’ll do this every night
Until I die.”

Another Dead Bird

Tyler R. Martin

My dog, with a dead bird in his mouth, was waiting for me

This morning on the stoop of my home’s back door.

I stood in the doorway, waiting to let him in, hung over, 

Bleary eyed, still naked at six AM, drowsy and half asleep, 

Desperately wanting him in the house so I could grab 

Another hour of sleep without fear of him pissing on my floor.

And there he was, staring up at me, ears up, tail wagging,

Dead bird in his mouth and big blue eyes popping from

Their sockets with excitement. “Put it down!” I told him,

“Fuck you,” his eyes responded, I looked down at him,

Dead bird in his mouth, gray sloberry feathers hanging from

His jowls, tail wagging very rapidly. “My bird,” his eyes said.

Fuck it, I lit a cigarette and let him and his dead bird inside,

Head high, tail wagging, he trotted into the house, almost skipping

Towards my bedroom to show his prize to the hungover blonde 

Still comatose in my bed. I sat at my kitchen table smoking,

Head back against the back of the chair blowing plumes of smoke 

Into the stagnant air and waited for the inevitable screams.

“to be pointless”

Tyler R. Martin

Woke up today thinking I’d probably die.
Poured coffee drank it down, coughed, then
Cracked a beer, lit a smoke, contemplated life;
Found it pointless, but, on the heels of that,
Contemplated that death is also pretty pointless,
So I cracked another beer scratched my gut
And said I’d try again tomorrow.

Never Much Better

Tyler R. Martin

Went to bed a babbling incoherent mess
And didn’t wake up much better.
I had been up the better portion of the night,
Carton of Indian reservation reds,
Bottle of Jack from the local liquor joint,
Reveling in some strange semblance of
An almost spiritual degree of thought.
Racing through my booze soaked brain were
Thoughts concerning this and that,
Contemplating the whiskey on my breath,
The smoke clouding my lungs,
Reviewing the various variables in relation to the value of my words.
Who would marvel at the malice inherent in me as I do?
Who would gaze upon the words issued from me upon the page
As if they exist with some degree of eloquence and tact?
Who would ever view me as more than a boozehound hack with nothing of substance to say?
I had awoke to an empty bottle and an angry hungover angel beside me,
Ashes assembled in neat concentric circles on my coffee table,
Window open, A/C on, blinds billowing in the breeze.
And I awoke sweating with my thoughts still damned,
Damned to the same degree as before, just now clearer, more coherent
And now coexisting with a pounding headache,
Still baffled just as much by potential of interest some might show my savage mindset,
Damned still to consider the frailty and meaninglessness of me.
I had went to bed a babbling incoherent mess
And didn’t wake up much better.

“Morning Ensues”

Tyler R. Martin

His dad’s ashes                 up on the mantle

Empty wine bottles            litter the rug

And there’s a mirror           above the dresser

For the poet to oggle         his own ulgy mug

A shiny Zippo                    he likes to flip up

Watching flames dance     up on the wall

And with just one flip         lights a cigarette

As his bottle makes him    ten feet tall

Old mellow music              hums in the background

Each puff of smoke            smothers the room

With each sip                     the wine’s less bitter

The sky is brighting and     morning ensues

“won’t come back”

Tyler R. Martin

I’m so alone and it’s deadly cold
In upper state New York
Surrounded by my friends by side
But they’re as frail as chalk
They melt away in the rain
And frown as the storm comes down
And in dark and thunder times
They fail to come around
Dark and drear in the lonely nights
The skies are cold and black
Dark and drear as its always here
I’ll leave and won’t come back
Leave and won’t come back