I am officially self published!

Compiled a chapbook of some of my older poems last night. It’s called “Rotten Man’s Throne”. You’ll find the link below!


“To Burn Words”

Tyler R. Martin

The cool thing about paper is that it burns,
It’s amusing to watch it fade and dissolve
In the crisp crackle of the flame.
Words, however, do not burn,
There’s nothing to char, nothing to
Dissolve in the air.
There’s really not much to them,
No physical matter, anyway,
Yet they linger, like ghosts,
Remaining angered in the ether.
Paper burns,
The words on paper burn.
All evidence of their
Existence floats innocently in the heavens
And no harm had been done.
But words, once spoke
Remain nonflammable
And best you can expect is forgiveness
And the ability to cope
With a dour relationship.

“A Look on the Bright Side”

Tyler R. Martin

Empty atoms, in empty atmosphere
Compose dark clouds over head.
Empty coffee mugs catch rain drops from above,
Clouds empty out like bitter hearts now void love.

There is emptiness in every single soul,
Empty actions, empty goals.
There is emptiness in the illusion of control,
Empty husks in hollowed holes.

Empty waves of skyborne static strike
Motionless, trembling Maple trees below,
Empty fires billow upward, smoke and burn,
As hollow husks blacken smolder and churn.

Empty friendships and empty lover’s words,
Seas of fractured empty hearts.
Empty holy books and porous works of art,
Empty efforts, failing starts.

“A Haze of Green”

Tyler R. Martin

As far as I recall,
It was a haze of green,
On cold North Country nights
So boozy and mean.

With stripes on their chest
And the worst God complex:
The serious sergeants who
Sputtered sobriety
By whom the simple were impressed.

The barroom battlefields off base,
All cater to us,
With eyes on our pockets,
In U.S Army they trust..
Braving scotch snipers, bourbon rockets,
We feel as though we must,
It’s where we gamble for glory,
And are all hitting bust…

Forged in formation,
The apathy of me,
The Army blind to its members
And sad soldiers too shitfaced to see.

Train six stressed months
For a mentally draining
Menial task,
Sweeping floors and self inflicting lumps
But that perpetual horror is all in the past.

As I can recall,
In a haze of green,
On cold North Country nights,
So boozy and mean.