Tag: political

Episode 6: God’s Spire

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Tyler R. Martin

The sixth episode to my podcast aired today and, like all the other episodes, I was very happy with how it came out. I discussed a wide range of topics, and took a rational, yet likely controversial stance on gender dysphoric individuals based on an email my Boxing Gym received last week. Hopefully my thoughts will be received in a manner in line with my actual intentions. Per usual, I elaborate on my ideas concerning individuality, spirituality, the outlaw’s war with life, the need to be combative with authority, Nietzschean philosophy, my own personal war with existence, mother nature and the existential necessity for lack of safety in pursuing enlightenment. All of this stems from a poem I wrote titled “God’s Spire” from my first book, Rotten Man’s Throne…you can find a link to purchase it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08541HSXH/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_9YMTS5FE2QA6D2CB04VX)

Poem and link to video included below:

God’s Spire

If God should sit upon a spire,
High above perceptions grasp,
Then am I worthy of his wisdom?
Can I echo a perfect past?

If God should sit upon a spire,
Then must I purse my lips and pray?
Am I worthy of his fire?
Must my sins be scorched today?

Spending years in agony,
Wondering if I’m to shine,
Or will I rot with his derision?
Am I worthy of his time?

Cause I am crawling, I am crawling,
Encumbered weary deaf and blind.
I am crawling, I am crawling,
Crawling through the chasm of my mind.

Cause I am crawling, I am crawling,
Engulfed by a doubt not defined.
Cause I am crawling, I am crawling.
Crawling through the chasm of my mind.

If I should sit upon a spire,
High above all that’s divine,
Must I justify His judgement,
Or is his blood no longer wine?

And if I’m to sit upon a spire,
Must I forego my sacred right,
To be embraced by his forgiveness?
And to wander through the empty night?

Spending years in agony,
Wondering if I’m to shine,
Or will I rot with his derision?
Am I worthy of his time?

And as I sit upon the spire,
High above pure entranced masses,
It leaves me scarred and broken, bitter,
But divine despite the lashes.

Will it be worth the holy battle,
Against myself and all mankind?
To overcome all that represses,
As I’m crawling through the chasm of my mind?

But a Cell in the Beast

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Tyler R. Martin

While all around the protests scream,
Wood signs swing in thick fog of mace,
A murderous mob’s collective fangs gleam
Upon a single, mangled, stupid face.
Fires ravage a business built by many a year,
In minutes eaten, blackened from within;
In one Body, no single Cell harbors fear,
Nor does a single Cell bear collective sin.

No one Cell gathers any guilt from the smoke,
Just a collective Body warmed happily by heat,
While pests within structures flee and choke
And amass upon the carnage of the street.
In tribal masks the Cells upon pavement dance
Upon these streets in a primitive display.
Around the fires their Body’s Shaman prance
As the infidel contagion look on in stark dismay.

Modern Anthem

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Tyler R. Martin

It’s been a bit of time since Salem,
Joey McCarthys been long dead,
But their vile deeds live on still…
Can’t get that through my head…

They say that I’m still guilty,
I embody all of mankind’s sin,
For all misdeeds of my fathers
Condone the shoddy shape I’m in.

So dispense with your ambition,
Do as they say not as they do,
You had best recite their anthem
Or you know they’ll come for you:
“So persecute them for their gender, persecute them for their skin,
Raise up all your gilded pitchforks and we will burn them for their sin,
Lets all get on with the witch hunt, in every single state and town,
We’ll uncover all who don’t agree and we’ll tear that fucker down.”

You know that once I was a soldier,
But know that that means nothing now,
Once the Service deals its justice
No real defence shall be allowed.

Did my training at Fort Jackson,
Lived at the borders north and south
And at each place I was stationed
Was told to shut my privileged mouth.

So dispense with your ambition,
Do as they say not as they do,
You had best recite their anthem
Or you know they’ll come for you:
“So persecute them for their gender, persecute them for their skin,
Raise up all your gilded pitchforks and we will burn them for their sin,
Lets all get on with the witch hunt, in every single state and town,
We’ll uncover all who don’t agree and we’ll tear that fucker down.”

Voyeur by the Shore

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Tyler R. Martin

What a brilliant display I witnessed today

As dawn broke in the great sea’s front line.

And what a scene, like from a glorious dream.

Which I had dreamt once upon a time

And so gazing this morning upon murky sea

It seemed conflict had encountered our shore

As shining steel ships faced off in the distance

I prayed for viciousness, bloodshed and gore!

And all at once a gleeful group had gathered;

We, by the shore, with the waves lapping near

To witness the hell rain and the scorn splatter

From the certain safety of this distant pier.

In a moment, cannon blast broke loose in a fiery blaze!

The crowd laughed and shouted in a heated cheer!

While sea rocked and ships swayed in a thrash!

We watched from the safety of this distant pier.

The ship’s explosions echoed in the salty sea air, 

Viciously trading volleys of a thousand hot spheres,    

A cataclysm of chaos, shrapnel, cannon blast and blood

And we watched from the safety of this distant pier.

The ships began to sink, one after one after one;

And yet, we on the pier, felt fevered joy, not fear,

As splintering ships sank in the smoke and flame

And we cheered from the safety of this distant pier.

“Bomb Shelled Suburbia”

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Tyler R. Martin

Old tired towns along the east coast,
Rusted trains roar by in the night,
The oceanside’s littered in rubble and dust
And only the stars provide light.
Back streets bomb shelled like Beirut
And shattered city’s a hell of a sight.

Shredded sunk war ships have distance,
But their submerged hulls reflect sun,
Bombshells still exploding on long island sound
Scream the battle has not yet been won

Soot’s repainted suburban scenes
Under clouds cloaked in toxic haze
Bullets rattling off, each an echo of the last,
And seem not to cease for days.

Hope you enjoyed the poem! If you did, my chapbook is available on Amazon for 1.99 and if you message me I’ll definitely send you a free one! I’d love to get some reviews on my work. I’m new to selfpublishing and trying to promote myself anyway I can! There is a link below

Check this out: Midnight Mourning by Tyler R. Martin https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0878SXJBM/ref=cm_sw_r_sms_awdb_t1_iU.MEbDX2GJ4V

“Burn The Polack at the Stake!”

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Tyler R. Martin

When has poetry become political?
And poets devoid of emotional depth?
Why has color or creed or cock you suck or don’t
Become more about the syllables and structure and sentiment?
Does minority status a poet make? Or degree of social justice theme imbue a poem with worth?
Do you care about my sexual orientation when you read this poem?
Do you scoff at my lack of melanin?
From here I can hear you thinking
“How could Ty ever be a poet? Ty is white and white is wrong and I betcha he’s never sucked a cock,
he’s got to suck at least 50 cocks before he gets published, and some of those cocks better be black!
Hell! He’s nothing but a miserable, white, drunk! He doesn’t even take political stances! And if he did they’d likely be incorrect, his social justice score is in the tank!
Holy fuck, he might even be a natural blond!
Forget the thought of publishing, Ty, you Nazi fuck, you alcoholic, misogynistic piece of shit,
Your intolerance is intolerable!
Burn the Polack at the stake!”