Much Too Busy Today

Tyler R. Martin

The world is bustling and busy today
The streets buzz with movement like
Small bees blindly peppering the hive
Of a barren black asphalt honeycomb
Upon which all the bees do call home

Yesterday the world was bustling and busy
Planes did glide like great ivory kites in air
Trapped unable to break the bonds of nature
Attached by gravitational strings to the ground
Forever destined to exhaust and to return down

Tomorrow the world will likely be bustling and busy
The highways will tremble with innumerable commuters
Who will crawl single file to their respective ant hills
Bearing with them the many fruits of their daily labor
And adorning their ant hills to compete with their neighbor

There are so many poems unfinished today
So so many words I have not yet spoke
So many paragraphs in prose not yet wrote
So much half written wording fumbled in dismay
Well I guess the world was bustling and busy today

Thinking about my podcast

So below I’m going to post a link to a crappy video I made here at home about the introductory episode to my podcast which will air this Wednesday. If that statement sounds convoluted, I understand. Watching the video, running about 15 minutes, might clarify. I just made this video a few minutes ago and didn’t edit it, I just posted it on my fledgling YouTube channel in manner that will likely give my producers a collective cardiac arrest. The actual podcast, I am fortunate enough to admit, has been and will continue to be, filmed in a wonderful studio., with all the green screens and effects one could ask for without detracting form the point of the show (poetry and Philosophy). This video, however, was filmed on my 300 dollar laptop, at my dinning room table after a few glasses of Johnny Walker Black (a delicious beverage by the way). But regardless, whatever disagreement arises tomorrow morning, the video will remain, for reasons I describe in the video. Please watch, subscribe if your interested and enjoy. As always, thank you to anyone who enjoys my work, you truly keep me waking up in the morning and this podcast is dedicated to you.

The Cardinal in my Yard

Tyler R. Martin

The cardinal in my yard won’t sing
He just stares.
He stares blankly at nothing while I stare
Blankly at him.
It’s cold in January in New York
And my grandfather’s grapevine
On which he sits is bare and branches
Shiver in the breeze.
Nothing moves in my backyard today
Aside from an infrequent neck twitch when
The cardinal hears something.
He stays very still but the bright red is
Nothing but a beacon in the dull brown
of the grape vine.
Good for getting laid, I suppose,
But a bad target nevertheless.
He puffs his feathers in the cold
And I watch him and
I think we’re both wondering the same thing,
That is:
When the predator finally comes down on you
Is that day worse than any other?
Simultaneously sicked by this thought
The cardinal flew away and I put my
Boots on to go to work.

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.”

To Avoid Choas

Tyler R Martin

Smoke screen of a thousand cigarettes,
in a place where tomes of madness fell,
Where silent nights go on forever
And your own thoughts become a hell
In this self imposed abyss of blackness
Where the torrents of dark rum swell.
Through this shroud I cannot see
Imprisoned by my ending…what tragedy
Has God in store for me?

But, by now I should have figured
And deciphered all the plans,
By now I should have noticed
I’m weakened only by my hands.
Engaged with my goliath
I cannot submit to my demands,
For through this shroud I cannot see
Imprisoned by my ending…what tragedy
Has God in store for me?

To gaze upon a dark horizon–
The horizon glows as day becomes alive
And ask yourself the solemn question “why
Was it only the darkness which I derive?
For is day’s illumination always so bitter
That tis only in deep abyss that I survive?”
For through this shroud I cannot see
Imprisoned by my ending…what tragedy
Has God in store for me?

And there’s a comfort in seeing nothing,
Yet, still darkness fails to quell the woes,
And my locked doors still feel so fragile
And it is this I fear life’s horror knows;
So i meditate on each second passing,
As outside a terrible chaos softly flows
For through this shroud I cannot see
Imprisoned by my ending…what tragedy
Has God in store for me?

High Thrones

Tyler R. Martin

Upon these tomes my mind did grow as upon high thrones I rot!

The knowledge I seek, as I wade through words meek, 

Seem just to be what our world has forgot!

As today, all those long lauded libraries lie in wretched ruin,

Each of their modern bookshelves are beleaguered with lies,

For each great book silently sits, disregarded and abashed,

While the reek of those chaste and contemporary collect flies!

With those tombstones my mind did grow as upon new thrones I rot!

The knowledge I seek, speaking to masses weak,

Seem just to be what our world has forgot!

Like, to be sicked by these vile throes of envy 

Is to be a grand, gorgeous steed sickened by its herd.

Or, for a dusty black crow to begrudge a blue jay,

Is for its own intrinsically noxious nature to be inferred!

While I roam my mind does grow while chained to dead thrones I rot!

The knowledge I seek, absent all thoughts unique, 

Seem just to be what our world has forgot!

For, we all must one day wander in this wild woodland,

To realize what a sane, solemn reflection can readily reveal;

That ponderings upon life’s suffering must be fixed firmly in hand,

And that efforts toward perfection are simply hatred you conceal!