Modern Anthem

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.”

Liquor Store

Tyler R. Martin

Ringing in the liquor store and jealous
Of the booze these people buy.
87.56 for single malt scotch,
64.99 for the gentleman’s
Sweet sour mash,
A 48.26 small batch bourbon, all before
Old Uncle Sam’s greedy share.
And the vodkas, my man,
The oceans of Goose and Svedka
Coursing through the veins of America
Make my envy rise and mouth thirst
For the pure and safe sanctity of spirits
And the docile feeling connecting you
With the holiest of spirits and you feel God
And you…
Keep ringing soberly in the liquor store
While other people drop hundred dollar bills
On tequilas supported by that cunt Cloony
Who couldn’t understand the depth a true drunk
Must contend with daily.
Then the then true drunks step in and
You find seriousness in their slurs
As you decipher their need for a pint
And know instinctively that they will
Provide exact change….

New Chucks

Tyler R. Martin

I bought new Chucks a week ago
And now they’re dirty.
The white had sparkled and glimmered,
The black was stark, rich and deep,
The laces, pristine as fresh fell snow.
But now they’re dirty.
Now the white is grass stained green
And the laces dulled with dust
And stark black has surrendered
It’s rich deep dark to the elements.
A week ago I bought new Chucks,
And the world
Has made them dirty.

Just…Wreckage

Tyler R. Martin

Life is more a second to second, day to day, drink to drink,
Mood to mood, cigarette to cigarette type of deal with way, way
Too many variables for any kind of long to term plan.
Today I drove up on a car, two cars actually, splintered and savaged
In collision of scattered steel and warped plastic as if the two cars
Were melded into one fiery display of wreckage and carnage and blood.
The passengers, all of whom were burnt to a blazing crisp,
Were being carted away like slaughtered livestock in black body bags.
It was early, the sun was just rising and the sirens stirred the cold,
Crisp morning air. Both sets of vehicles were on their way somewhere
To go do something with some other people. Planning their day
Their week, their year, the rest of their waning lives.
They were moving forward onto the future, willfully blind
To the metaphorical brick wall boldly awaiting interception,
They never would have known it but
Hell
They shoulda just stayed
Home

Madness, So Mundane

Tyler R. Martin

Asking yourself what lies within
Winter fields and all that freezes in the storm, or
Perhaps burns in horrid heat, floods, drowns, or
Withers with age and decays under pain of time, or,
Drinks and smokes and fights over status disputes, or,
Reads to find reason and understand the empty void, or,
Revels in the combat against self and man and nature, or,
Becomes sickened by the gross anomaly of existence, or,
Breaks down in a grand display welled up from years, or,
Gives up and self inflicts a gunshot wound to the head, or,
Chain smokes for days on end without eating anything, or,
Breaks knuckles against the wall in puffs of white plaster, or,
Writes a poem about apathy and contempt for existence, or,
Drives too fast in a rainstorm with road beers and crashes laughing, or,
Admiring winter fields and all that freezes in the storm, or
Learning not only to live with hangovers but to enjoy them, or,
Trying to figure out what it means to really “live”, or,
Trying to figure out what it means to really “die”, or,
To die “nobley” and wondering what that even means, or,
Large swaths of star speckled skies over the desert, and,
Is there still a meaning to things arcane? Or,
Has all madness become mundane?

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?

O Solitaire

Tyler R. Martin

Playing solitaire on my phone,
Red queen resting comfortably
Under black King, black Jack’s below her.
Aces stowed away atop the board
Beside the clock with seconds ticking away.
I’m lost at two minutes thirty six seconds,
There’s no hint button so I restart.
After three minutes ten seconds I win,
My screen throws a little parade with bright lights
And red confetti and the a big:
YOU WIN!!! in the center of it all.
Then another victory after four minutes flat.
The next game, I concede defeat after only
A minute thirty nine.
The next is another crushing victory at
An impressive two minutes ten.
And there it’s is…. added up it comes to
Approximately fifteen minutes of my life
Diving head first down the drain.

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!

The Virtuous Mother

Tyler R. Martin


Please, just don’t sit and stare,
Please be unbridled and into the air
We will go there if only you could
Just be here, soul sound and unbound!
Gracefully proud and profoundly unwound!
We’ll go into the sky a feather of chance,
Corner of your eye and lost in the dance!
Don’t forget to fly freely and untethered
Embraced in wonderous white wings as
gorgeous feathers are withered and weathered!

And here you’ll dive and there you’ll fly
Where life shall swirl about your very eye
listen close to crushing waves crash by the bay
And feel the cool chill of the sea’s salty spray
As below the towns folk retreat from the flood
Unable to to counter the wanton surf’s rise
As the cold solemn sea smothers their cries!
But still, don’t forget to fly freely and untethered
Embraced in wonderous white wings as
gorgeous feathers are withered and weathered!

Tragedies’ no good for freedom, so soar above france!
Where perchance you’ll gaze below to catch a glace
Of fierce flames engulfing the meadows and fields
And gasp to discover the flames at your heels!
Sickened by a suffering from which once you were shielded
As you’re engulfed a reality which you have uncovered
That the free natural world is not a virtuous mother!
But still, don’t forget to fly freely and untethered
Embraced in wonderous white wings as
Gorgeous feathers are withered and weathered!