Tag: trippy poem

Perhaps All Thats Pretty isn’t Pure

~ Bourbon, cigarettes and syllables ~ 5 Comments

Tyler R. Martin

Seeds that which from heaven fell
Have all now grown tall and
Blossomed red like flames of hell,

Blue buds blossom in hot red cinders,
Expand to meter wide maws
Of spiraling fangs and thorny fingers!-

They yawn, savage snarls to the heavens.
Thick stems grow miles high and
Ooze sweet smelling sludge which beckons!-

Prey as they approach in a tentative fashion,
Fragrant pheromones, chromatic colors
Feign the mercy of a nurturant mothers passion

And thorns, dark razor predator’s talons,
These dagger’s dense honed edges
Like savage claws of gallant onix dragons!-

Are hidden from view in a pretense of virtue,
Shielding prey in secure arching maws
As stems assume a guise of a sentinel statue!

Then, in their horrid hunger, their friendly facade fades,
Terrible thorns collapse in a crushing embrace
And their prey is shredded! By onix blades they’re flayed!

A trusting beast has perished by maddend masses
Of the fierce and gluttonous flora
Consuming those creatures so pathologically passive!-

For miles and miles these maws traverse,
Smothering landscapes in death,
Petals wilt as a poisonous pollen disperse.

I Wrote A Riddle

~ Bourbon, cigarettes and syllables ~ 6 Comments

Tyler R. Martin

I exist a once when darkness convalesce,
And do what I will at no man’s behest.
From granting wishes at my very best,
To causing mayhem, trouble and distress,
Both by way of existential dread and of a tiny biting pest
I can shake even carefee birds from their little nests.
What am I?

“Ebony Sky”

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Tyler R. Martin

Well the sky’s gone ebony now,
The winds pick up when it’s dark,
They’re all from the north now,
With each gust as the limbs bow
And the trees are all stripped of their bark.

The hurricane comes from Atlanta,
Now the rains are here to stay.
Season of terror here in Georgia,
Now those storms will have their day.

All the stray cats seeking shelter,
Fishermen have hunkered down.
All winds are from the north now,
Every hunter wears a frown.
The rivers have become whirlpools,
We’re at the Apex, by the sound,
The sky’s gone ebony now
All the fish are set to drown.

“Midnight in Maylla”

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Tyler R. Martin

It was the first night since yesterday
On a midnight in Mayalla
And all the street lamps
Shuddered in the breeze.
It was the first wind
To gust the city streets,
To rattle the bones of buildings
And just slightly bend the beams.
And it was the first chill
To haunt Bose boulevard
And chatter the tarnished teeth
In the mouths of wary wanderers
Who trek the narrow streets.
The first wind of the year
(As does every year)
Marks the beginning of The Season
And not a soul of Mayalla
Was unaware of the approach.
This wind would seem but a triviality
To those unacquainted with Mayalla,
But a badness with it came
And Dread tumbled with the leaves
And shook even the corpses
In their graves.
And with the wind
The Mayalla sky grew
Cool and yellow
As the sun receded
Toward the horizon’s brink,
And there it shimmered
For what seemed a moment
As dark dusk rose
And the light
Began to sink.
For in this bitter time,
The beast did arise
To claim it’s yearly offer,
Baring it’s fangs
In form of winds and rain
As the howl of
The winds
Return His call with
It’s refrain.
So, to quell the beast
And all manner
Of His plagues
And proxies that he summon,
Will be brought forth a man
For the grand honor as he,
Screaming fit
To wake the dead,
Is bound to the great tree
For the wolves to ravish
And drag away his head.
All to please the Beast they serve
And pray he chose, for
One more year,
To leave Maylla in the peace
That it deserve.

“no stones to throw”

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Tyler R. Martin

I have no stones to throw
I seldom like to speak
I don’t have much to say
I offer no critique.
I don’t have an opinion
No, I sure don’t vote
Don’t care for your pitch
I’m leaving for a smoke.
Thanks guys
But the God I have is fine
Please come back later
If mine steps out of line.
What kind of fucking survey
What do you wanna know
Who had sent you here
Wanna do some blow
And who has stolen my drink
To drunken myself I wonder
Slowly building steam as my
Blue sky turns to thunder.
And still,
I have no stones to throw
When my glass house is cracking
And there’s nowhere else to go.

“Wine on Sunday

~ Bourbon, cigarettes and syllables ~ 11 Comments

Tyler R. Martin

Sick in a rut
So tired I just dont give a fuck
Bored and bland
Rest on Sunday as the almighty command
Uncork some wine
Taste the blood of one divine
Rolling a joint
Suck it down cause what’s the point
Broken mirror, white lines
Short dandruff of one divine
And I still don’t give a damn
It’s deamed the blood of holy lamb
Drink it up, drink it down
Toast to Jesus, lift his frown

“Secret Keep”

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By. Katie Wolffer

Am I awake? Or am I asleep?
An unturned piece inside of me
Come with me to the secret keep
It’s a vulnerable place that very few see
It’s only for us
Just you and me.
Millions and billions of stars dot the sky,
It’s nothing compared to the depths of your eyes
Those eyes. Dark green moss
With the shiny accent of gloss
The black middle, an endless abyss
We look into each other’s soul. Infinite bliss
In our secret keep where the lake glimmers,
The koi swim and their gold scales shimmer.
My moss-eyed baby goes to look at the fish
In our lake, we make a wish
The koi are hungry they didn’t have their breakfast of flesh
I want to give the fish something fresh
In our keep, where I sit and watch the fish eat.