severed

You will never, break my back,
You may sever my spine,
rip at my thoughts,
invade my soul,
be witness to my very end,
yet,
you will never, ever, break my back.

Murder on the grand canal

Amongst the hidden city,
amid the spires, of cathedrals drowned
her soul swims, amongst shadows,
weeping tears,
cried, upon fresh water canals.
To seek an essence to behold,
the great gondolier.
Insipid ghosts of trickling, sweet chandeliers.
For the bridge of Vercai
where you chose to hang her
in an evangelical world,
whore to the pause of apprehends
an operatic throat, choked, and did die.
of all the masked ball,
with white foundation, cried
my funny valentine, sweet cosmic,
presumption to pine,
Her fathers face,
every crack, every line
of repetitiveness ordnance ,disguising the devil of
a long nosed, hidden treasure.
He raped the tourist, on his boat
the velvet covered chair
that allowed him to gloat.
Who would expect the opera singing, unshaven man,
to abuse the lace laden courtesan.
As passing ships sailed
passengers wept
amongst the harshness of the baritone
killed and decent.
they cut the body down,
frills and all
the gorgeous spine
contorted, did fall.
The I scream vendor
she was a princess of Venice
a Venetian deplored
her very last tear, fell
in, to the carnal,
her last blood let,
be gone and be damned.
It is such, an intimidating excuse,
His forsooth, becomes banal
yet the breath of this year
its hold on, this murder, this rape
inhaled,
upon the grandest canal.

M J Martin

The Brink

Sleep,
Why are we here?
Sleep,
who created us
Sleep,
how much is a pint of milk?
Sleep,
where are the keys?
Sleep,
Which life do I live?
Sleep,
Which room do the deceased live in?
Sleep,
why do infants cry?
Sleep
why is it so cold?
Sleep,
who wrote that song?,
Sleep,
Mum, are you there?
Sleep,
what was that noise?
Sleep,
mom,
Sleep,
mom?
Sleep,
is that a spider on the ceiling?
Sleep,
was that its shadow in the corner?
Sleep,
Are we alone?
Sleep,
where will I be in ten years time?
Sleep,
will I be a success?
Sleep
will I be alive?
Sleep,
who was the nineteenth president?
Sleep
why am I itching there?
sleep
is that cancer?
sleep,
Is that death?
sleep,
am I going to die?
sleep,
tonight, maybe,
sleep,
what if i am going blind?
sleep,
open my eyes
sleep,
too tired,
sleep,
it's time,
sleep,
why do we.......
sleep.

M J Martin.

Poetic words

You branded a cross in to my head
and told me to have faith.
You preached this man was our saviour,
his father the creator of our race.
No questions were I about to pose
for no true answers could be given,
it was taken for granted I should believe
in this fairy tale you named religion.
There is no proof in what you say
only words that have survived through time,
yet it seems that if we dont concede, it is a silent type of crime.
These books and scriptures
start many wars,
their followers are fanatic,
if they all could, just dismiss this god,
the world would be less satanic.
If you believe in a superior being,
and you have chosen to decide,
which heavenly figure truly exists
and by which religion you should abide,
be it a cult, a sect, a faith
a church, a mosque, or holy ground,
please realise they are all a solution
so we don't go insane,
an infectious excuse
you have caught and found.
Humans will hurt, and fight
they will maim, and kill,
all for this purified myth
but I ask,
why cause a holocaust for poetic words?
no real god would be party to this.

M J Martin.

Not to be sneezed at.

After watching Ida, The link, on BBC1 last night(fascinating), it got me thinking, which is always dangerous.
We are, of course, constantly evolving, although it is subtle, after all, it is highly unlikely any one of us will wake up one morning, have a shower, sit on the old bathroom stool in order to cut our toe nails(thats right, i have stopped biting mine!) and, on further inspection, wonder what that nubbin is. Sure of the fact it wasn't there before, how come it appears to have a nail?, and what the hell do I need an extra toe for!
Sometime ago I recall someone telling me that whenever they go out in to the sunshine, they sneeze. I can not recall if it was my theory or someone Else's, but it was mentioned that this could in fact be an evolutionary process. That our bodies were reacting to dangerous ultra violet light by provoking an almost allergic type reaction.Danger danger, and all that.
I took time to do a little research, and it is, in fact, a condition, called Photic sneeze reflex(PSR), which apparently is an over stimulation of the optic nerve, which can trigger the trigeminal nerve(5th cranial nerve) which is responsible for sneezing in humans. It is by all accounts common, often genetic, and is especially common amongst fighter pilots, who spend much of their time above the cloud level, and can suffer sneeze attacks at the worst moments(imagine).
So, perhaps PSR is one of those subtle evolutionary processes, one which has developed over thousands of years, but we just didn't notice.And if this is so, what other minor processes are taking place, and what could they eventually lead to?
I, for instance, always get shooting back pains whenever I am anticipating lifting something heavier than a small child. Could this be part of that evolutionary cycle? I know I suffer from a dust allergy, which renders me incapable of dusting or vacuuming. I also have an allergy to detergents, so there goes the washing up(I'm also allergic to rubber,so gloves are no good,smart arse) It's amazing the number of things that evolve within us to protect/help us, remain safe.
In 100,000 years, what will us humans have gained?
I would love to hear your ideas, and I am sure I will write more on this at a later date!

curve balls. INCOMING SEERVISION

I am hardly a seer. Although my third eye does, on occasion, kick in and screams, "wake up", and it did so this morning. Neither a seer, nor a prophet, however, the Iranian/North Korea alliance that is occurring at the moment is a little disturbing. Is North Korea launching missiles to distract the 'Wests' attention away from little old Iranian "honest mate, we are not doing nothing!" sideshow. Could there be an alliance between Bushmasters axis of evil. The old smoke and mirrors trickery?.
Mr Obama seems a little perturbed. We don't like it when the people who we do not control(democracy is strange) start throwing their toys out of their million wheeled pram. And yet, we will do nothing, we, the "west". Why? China, that's why.
China is intimidating. They are organised, they speak with one voice, and they are the new superpower of the world. That's right folks, the Chinese are It. The "west" is no more.
Here is a sweet little thought for the future.
SEERVISION:

China. It can not sustain its population, however is is financially sound, it is not in debt, in fact it has lent so much money to the united states and Europe, that, if it were a regular high street bank, it could literally, foreclose.
But it won't. what it will do however is, at some point, make the "west", pay off its debt. How? by making them farm, that's right, the "west" will be made to head out in to those rich agricultural fields and pick that cotton master. Or those potato's, or corn, or carrots, or.....you get the gist. The Chinese will farm the fields of the "wests" fair lands and if the "west" don't, they will produce their whips, thrice fold.
"you owe us money, its interest is increasing, you can not afford to pay us back, so work for it"
"you wont!, hey have you met our friends, north Korea and Iran, yes that's right, we helped them with their little nuclear experiment, and yes, as we watched them doing it, we stood tall and said, if you threaten them, we will recall our debts!, clever, are we not."
"and also, we have been chatting over the fence with our neighbours, you know them, Mr and Mrs India, lovely couple, and we have decided that, your house is too large, and seems as we own most of it, well, we are going to come in and redecorate, and maybe give our kids little more room"

Am i a racist?

No. I admire them. They are playing the game better than we are. And for anyone who has ever watched the "Wire", or been involved in business, there is one thing to realise

"its all in the game"

and i do believe, we, are being out played.

Diamond pins

Imagine it is France,
one hundred years ago,
good evening, I am your waiter for the evening
I am wearing a black suit and tie
I have a towel draped over my arm
can you recommend a special,she asks serenely,
I certainly can,
I recommend the butterfly.
Why?
Because it is marinated in garlic jus
and it is sortie to perfection.
The yellow gas lamp flickers,
reflecting its flame on a puddle in the street,
Its wings, they remain translucent
yet the body stays succulent
its taste is oh so sweet.
She brushes her hair away from her face
and crosses her legs
her tiny pink floral dress
rides up her thigh
she insists
tell me more of this butterfly.
I sit at her table and tweak
the edges of my moustache,
they are a delicacy,
served but once a year,
and today is that day
the day of the catch.
A butterfly, as catch of the day,
she giggles sweetly
and raises her nose towards the air,
it smells delicious,
her laughter,
not the butterfly.
well then, serve me this magnificent dish,
on a plate.
Please God, I ask but once of this,
No, replies God,
through the flickering puddle on the floor,
just serve this girl her butterfly!
so I stand
to serve Gods will.
I will order your dish from our most talented chef,
would you care to join me sir, for my meal,
the puddle flickers,
was that a yes or no?
I will consult the boss mademoiselle,
He will let me know!
The plate was warm but not too hot,
and the meal was served with all the trimmings,
the fellow diners
stood to applaud,
the silver tray shakes in my hand,
I bow,
then present it to her table,
this is the greatest dish
you will ever try in this fair land.
And there, presented on the whitest plate,
just the butterfly
held down with diamond pins,
its colours so vibrant and bright
I look up towards the gently swaying lamp
its candle still alight.
Join me please, and share a wing,
the puddle,
it has run dry.
I will,
I say,
Please pass the knife and i will carve for you,
I carefully place the diamond pins
in a serviette
and I slice the meal in two,
their is enough here for the whole cafe
no one here will starve,
not me, nor you,
So we tasted the butterfly
and it was, indeed, the beginning that we sought.
As for the diamond pins
they are a reminder in our dresser drawer
from that meal we ate,
in that french cafe,
one hundred years ago.

M J Martin

Hmm..

I have just devoured a whole bowl, a belly full, of ice cream.
Do I regret it? a little.
Do I feel sorry, for all the starving children in this cruel, uneven, world.
Yes.
I am crying tears of mint choc chip.

New York bakery 6 am

Bagels
and a croissant
with honey in one
and jam?
jam.
Still warm, like her smile
every morning
she must think i'm a mad man.
Here, right on time!
smile,
6 am
ah, you know
damn tune in my head,
can't sleep
beep beep
road runners
stupid newspaper trucks.
That sucks,
ah, you know, i wanted to get up,
lie!
in,
would have been nice,
well, you know,
shrugs,
hot bagel
smell of the croissant,
jam, honey?
yes..i wanted to ask..?
yes?
maybe one night..
yes,
yes?
yes
oh!
lie in,?
yes!
with bagels and croissants?
yes
and honey in one?
in two.
Yes!

M J Martin.

History of that stain New York 8pm

Clip on tie
it will have to do,
never learnt to tie a tie,
goodbye
she will say
you lazy fool
you dont care,
i do
i swear
shirt creased
where is the ironing bored?
broke at the weekend
should have replaced
do it on the rug,
it's soft, will do
five seconds too long
smell of burning
raucous heat
through the still, damp
matted
shirt,
onto the rug,
curse you
ironing broad
that your legs
spread,
and broke
I have a god damn given date
that was my favourite silk shirt
and the rug,
the rug is stained
marked, I'm going to be late,
forgive me,
forgiven, she said.
Danced all evening
to the steam of the music
coffee?
I would love to,
tension building
feeling slightly sick
back at the apartment,
whats with the stain on the floor?
it's all part of the history
ironing board legs gave way
it was inebriated,
I joke
hey,
it spoiled the rug,
I know
hey ho
I can buy another rug.
12 am
am
I
don't forget the bagels in the morning,
already ordered
with honey and damn,
you mean jam,
do I?
on the rug?
shrug,
dont matter on the matted rug
so we made love.
Looking forward to the dawn.
Knock on the door,
dressing gown
down
to answer,
bagels?
honey and jam?
thanks,
slipped him a ten dollar note
could have bought me that ironing board
and a new rug
five dollars
at old willies superstore.
She looked at me, morning smile
bagels for two
as ordered by you,
and the ironing mark on the rug
newspapers delivered
beep beep
sleep
no way,
hey,
6 am
coffee coloured catered for her
I will stir
one sugar or two?
It's 6 am,
lets lie in for a minute or two,
who?
you and me,
ok
and the mark on the rug
from the ironing stain,
it started to pay
because the bagels dripped
the honey and jam
onto the place we slept that night,
and we continue
at 8 am
on a New York monday morning
didn't even like the bakery
on the corner
but the girl
I met
At 6am
yesterday.
I think she's here to stay.
she was driving me insane
and now i have an excuse
to throw that awful rug
and the history of the stain.

M J Martin

Incoming

Time to start writing 0n curve balls. Directed pansperma. the idea that we, the life that is we, could in fact be some kind of experiment. A Petri- dish so to speak, a science experiment created by peoples of far more intellect, far more advanced than ourselves(obviously).
I dont dismiss this theory, in fact i like it, i independently thought of it myself in fact(something i think a lot of people do, but then people cry plagiarism, which I hate) I digress. The idea that we could be some sort of experiment is intriguing. Could an alien race(not little green men) have come here, millions of years ago, to plant the seeds of human evolution. ploughed the scorching earth in order to lay cultivated bacteria,that,in time, would become, well, us, and all living creatures on this rock we call earth. Yes, they could. They could, as well, have been back every so often to check on our progress, you know, to make sure we are well watered, that we are getting enough light, that the greenflies have not destroyed too much of us. Perhaps, if monitoring somehow from a distance, they had to come back to check on us after every ice age, after the comet hit, just to make sure enough of us survived to continue with the experiment.
Perhaps there will come a point, pre determined or otherwise, when they will pop up and say hey, you have reached the next level, its taken you a while, you know, ironing out those creases, but you did it, you have evolved to a satisfactory stage where we would like to interject and help you on a bit. Perhaps we will all sit around a cosmic kitchen table, looking through the old photo album, reminiscing about the good old days "religion, that was funny wasn't it, boy we thought you had lost the plot on that one, and that moustache, what were you thinking?"
Who knows, maybe when we learn to use the third eye, or travel the speed of light, cure disease by thought process alone, or maybe when we stop fighting each other and decide to concentrate on other things, like our survival.

M J Martin

There is a monster under my bed / he's dead/ I hit him with a slipper / right over his monster head.

for sale
third eye
no instructions.

Inhale
the lemon conifer
Exhale
the citrus breath.

Equal

A festering pit of revengeful acid must have churned inside of your head
why did you look upon your fellow people and wished that they were dead,
when you stared at your reflection,
did you see a hateful man?
or a liberator of human lives freeing all he can.
what turned you in to this creature,
was the choice a conscious decision,
or were you visited by a devil, in a midnight apparition.
was everything you looked upon a victim in the making,
were all humans hanging on the grapevine of life,
ripening for the taking..
I would like to pose this question,
to a man that we all know,
except a bullet was his answer
many years ago
that man was not unique,
there have been many more that way
some may be far less brutal
yet the truth is that type will always stay.
They have a picture of utopia, embedded in their mind,
dictators, religious leaders
many more you will find,
they are power hungry leaches,
draining from us people,
yet if united we do stand,
we shall always be their equal.

M J Martin

I agree with the right to bare arms. Especially if it's warm.

Up Havana high

The smell, of a deathly, midnight tangerine
essence
absent.
the smoke of a cigar twists the tango
inhale deeply
hug lungs and relax
in a soap bath
on a veranda
in Havana.
Rum on ice
tumbler lapse in hand
ash falls onto bubbles
sinks
as do my eyes.
drunk
on mambos and salsa
Latin jazz
horn playing, swaying
taken away
sing
to myself, the street below.

M J Martin

The catherine wheel of chaos

There is a motion detector in the corner of my room that has recently begun to flicker, which lead me to believe that there was someone else there, other than me. I figured that eventually it would die out, it did not, it stayed, on red, there is someone else there, in the room, every night, every night, every night, someone else there, every night above my bed.. It had evolved from a red lighthouse, flashing, warning, that the intruders were apparent, to a still, constant, illumination, that cried, always there, never going away, constant presence, tick tock tick tock, always there, grab the switch blade on the bed side cabinet, because the primordial dwarfs had figured out the glass cutting sensation, in order to enter the gap in the bathroom window, to rape and pillage me. Tick tock. Little mother fuckers, always finding a way , always looking like a giant human, only smaller, but still able, to strike in the smallest of gaps, to steal, those primordial dwarfs, so innocent looking, with the minimal of a leg up, to perpetrate the tiniest of cold covered window sealed gaps, lap tops and microwaves, grandfathers heirlooms and car keys infested safes pillaged, and raped. I awoke the other night and saw the metro Goldwyn mayor sign, burning over a city in India, poisonous gas pouring in to the clouds, dropping droplets of poisonous gas on the city of Mumbai. The citizens had no chance, as it infiltrated their buildings, castrating them in their beds. I was east, in Delhi, watching the whether warnings, preparing, staring at the sky, bastards, metro Goldwyn mayor, polluting, absolution, raping me and them, like the primordial dwarfs, through the tiny bathroom windows.
Then I awoke. I have a huggie wrinkled dog with a complete bone that sits beneath the motion detector, so far under that I have judged its distance, three quarters covering the red lighthouse light. Yet, now it has moved, half the distance, which means one of three things, the house is subsiding, the dog has moved position, or the dwarf has scaled from the bathroom, in to the bedroom, and is now on top of me. Contemplate, adjudicate, decide ,and be dammed, switch blade out, moving earth. Alive, animated dog, or dwarf, either which, switchblade switch, I’m ready.
The messy India situation has moved on, god bless MGM, although I cant forgive them for scolding the patrons of Mumbai, and preparing me for the decay that may have occurred in old Bombay. But still.
I’m a manic.
I can not get to sleep at night. Only one way ,and that is with a suppressant, and I have decided I do not want to do that anymore, deplore me , go on.
My psychologist , what are you, a monster?
MGM, they launched the blood cloud of creation on the city of Mumbai! With their weeping signage that killed and destroyed. The wrinkled dog on my subsiding house, tugged by the primordial dwarfs, grabbing its bone, all helped, that one night. That was the fight I fought against in my manicured duvet of sweat.
Wake up!
A night I did not dislocate my shoulder, like the first time, when I was sixteen years old.
My name,
I’m glad you asked.
It’s a presumption, yet I accept it.
Wake up!
There are no garden birds singing
The Indians are no longer burning
The dog, the primordial, red torch burning
Are no longer
Mumbai
MGM
Dog bone
Wake up
Sixteen years old
My name is,
Aldus Phyllis.
It was says you! at that point that I grabbed the mahogany ball of wood at the top of the banister, with so much anger I could not mentally let go, with so much physical pressure I tore my socket away from my arm, and collapsed.
Sixteen years old. She destroyed my mind. I told them not to call the ambulance, and slammed the pain back in to the socket myself, and skipped out in to the sunset, drank whisky and contemplated death.
“Aldus”
Cry my name mother, cry it till I have found the earth worm with the black heads on the tips of my nose, buried so far in to the earth from my pain, its tail ,will reveal ,where I am.
Grab the sides of your head, and play with them, manipulate them. Your thumbs are only manipulative to caress.
Mum?
Gran?
Mum?
Indian rain cloud of film destruction?
Mum?
M
G
M
That destruction
Tatwyn?
That smaller fellow that we looked alike
Yes, that wee man that skipped amongst the blueberry bush and leaped amongst the
Pronounce it right
Mother afraid I can not cover for you anymore
The little , hand held towels
Im Aldus
Leap into the casino and a roulette wheel with the black or red evens
I would love a lamb sandwich.
The destruction continued into the night time mom and I was held accountable for the actions why I was wearing cream coloured jeans and a tank top to match and yet fly red match, in a coffee coloured world of espresso boiling on top of a Glasgow hob, silver. Impressive, before we had even begun. Double or nothing?
Double I ache
For sake ,at this point in the morning.
Her friend was everything I was looking for
Ten screamed faces we discussed before
Chiseled liked a roman statue
Whose eyes cried on a marble plinth
Catching the rain, hoping to explain, and yet the chisel
Allows me to drop.
I was hoping, to let me free.
Awake.



M J Martin.

Do you know how I have reduced my carbon footprint for the next generation? I didn't breed. So that's covered me for the next one thousand years. So fuck it.
I'm microwaving a boiling kettle, underneath a solarium, in the back of an 18 wheeler, heading for a cargo plane, setting out to fly around the world, seven days a week.
Because I'm in credit.
In fact, fuck it twice, while I'm at it, I'll parachute into the Arctic, kill a couple of polar bears and some baby seals, set fire to their carcasses, stoke the fire with a 1000 bottles of hair spray and a few hundred tyres, and cook me some whale meat while i look on and watch the sun turn black. And I will still be in credit.
I might as well jet ski over to the U.S, kidnap Obama, hide him somewhere so he don't have a chance to change the world, hold him for ransom and demand Sarah palin be installed as president!
OK, I just ran out of credit.
Yet jokes aside. DON'T BREED. And if you already have, tell your kids, or your grand kids, not to breed. Because if we can just control the population boom, within 2 generations, the economy could pull up out of free fall, we could reduce the amount of food we eat while increasing its growth, therefor being able to feed the third world. We would reduce the amount of energy we consume, giving the environment, a natural healer, time to recover.
When farmers grow crops, they have a fallow field, one put aside to allow the ground to recover. Well lets do that! it is not a hard equation to follow.
Then, after a while, a generation of older males, who can carry on procreating into their 80s, can go over to Asia(because lets face it, China and India will struggle to carry out birth control), breed with a younger, healthier,generation of Asian women, creating a more vibrant mixed race of humans. Systematically eradicating racism and prejudice.
These new super humans would then help to establish a regenerated, more intelligent and financially secure world.
I'm just throwing out curve balls, that's all.

Harmony

I tread
With harmony footsteps
And wonder
Why
There are voices
Shouting
Inside the cerebral
Taunting
Haunting
Unforgiving
Pills applying
A bucket of water
Filled with salt
Assault
A cult
Firing bullets
Dye
The colour of deeds
Hatred of life
Its time to move on
To the next
Indentation to temple
Resemble
The after life
Why does no one recognise me?
See
The true cue ball
Whose pockets I aim for
To score
A direct
Without touching sides
Do not abide
The dangerous
Wrinkled hand
Profound
As it is, I am
The cataracts
That deems me blind
If you go away
I will sway in the wind
As pronounced
By you.
I know no other direction
Only where the lines push
And I cry
With tears of acceptance
To drown
In a
A
A
Scream
WHY ME?
And then the water is calm
And they embalm
The mummy
That she was to me
Entombed
I stare at her dead eyes
With fires
I can not recognise
So the time has passed
So she went before me
Nothing less to be
Nothing left for me
I approached
Everything I ever wanted
And it fell
On
I said
It fell on
I said
It fell on
I said
Footsteps
Harmony
I tread


M j martin

I etched an explanation mark on my big toe nail today, what did you do?

I once asked a priest why he had devoted his life to God.

He told me that one evening, while he was asleep, a fantastic light had awakened him. A celestial cloak had shrouded his body. Just before he was about to erupt through the intensity of the moment, he had heard the voice, of what he described, as that of God.

"what did God say?" I asked,

The priest looked at me, and then in a very low voice, almost as if he were about to reveal a revelation that would force me to question the very essence of death, life, and spirituality, he uttered, through quivering, dry lips, "God spoke the words........

"hey up my old mate, do you want a job?"

M J Martin

People say, live life to the full, live each day as if it is your last, you never know when it could all end. Personally, I would hate to have achieved all my goals, to have met all the people I has ever wanted to meet, and then realise, I'm only fifty!
I do not want to spend my remaining time on earth twiddling my thumbs, wishing I had paced myself a little.
I see no point in building up a massive sweat, only to realise you have twice as much deodorant as you expected!

Judge two ton Betty May

Grotesque, obese, fat as I am
still
on the bed
two dollars
enter the tunnel of love
cheque
against the height restriction
no one to cuddle up to at night
doctor, pimp, black, cheek
on the corner
prescription
cure
limp, lazy, private eye,
dick
so coming
daddy abused me
momma stood by and watched as he did
matted hair plastered
spasticated
un sophisticated
just this larger than life
un appreciated
deprivation
legs spread
in anticipation
psychologists dream
spread on the cracker
up the ass
hole
of life.
I have not got an excuse
bemused?
you? Betty may I am
who do I weep and cry to?
the man who forced me
father, pimp and customer
sin forcer and disclaimer
that ripped the dresser drawers upon
way beyond the knee
and I cried,
I had no where else to hide
so I became
this idle
inane
prostitute of circumstance
alert and all too ready to dance
yet stop
hold up, lets dalliance
trip amongst the head games that these fuckers let me do
two ton Betty I am not
no more,
not this helpless child
not this poor dirty whore
I will educate myself
I will learn myself law
I will prosecute as a pose to prostitute
I will teach you all
for I am
a woman
that will make this world better.
I am two ton Betty May
the miss Absolve of the cause
in the little part of the sands that drift
in the hills of all the Mexicans
and although I was but raped on sun settings
I raised upon the violent light
for I am
The judge, Two ton Betty May
so the law will allow
that the bastards
that did interfere with me
will hang on the gallows, on the morning light
and their weight will set me free.
For I am Two ton Betty May
and their abuse
did let me be.

M J Martin.

Cloudy blue eyes. Aged 94. Alone

Here I am
simple old man
staring out at the street
at the world
radio playing
can't see the television
paint the pictures through the music
instead
in my head.
Those children I see
happy laughter
don't go out much anymore
only when I need to
I struggle
it makes me cry
here
alone
with no one around
lost
in,
what? the realms of time
my wife
the love of my life
twenty years ago now
her photograph
dusted clean
to help me see the gleam
of her face
I just sit and stare
I let the music do the rest
silly old fool
wipe away the tears
I touch the time lines
the wrinkles
on my face
like braille to a blind man
each line a story
of decadent decades
if I had someone to tell
the stories of an ageing man
yet they will go with me
to the paupers grave
reunited
with the face
I don't even know what time it is
irrelevant I guess
music slows
on the radio
will it be tomorrow?
or in a year
or two
I have watched so many children
grow
leave the street
they just see the strange old man
sat here in the window
is he alive?
point and prod fingers
like a circus clown
I don't mind
if it makes them laugh
that's all I have left
I'm tired now
thank you for listening
thank you for not treating me like a child
thank you for your help
in tuning in the radio
I'm sorry you have to go
please, come again
my name is Harry
you will remember me
oh, that old Harry
he cries
ah well
thank you for listening
please,
come again
please.

M J Martin.

sandals on iceburgs

Sandals on Ice Burgs.



My toes are cold
Frigid on nails
Exhale
And all I see
Is a cross
Rigid , insipid in colour.
Crucified to the cross looking
Polar bear
Naked
Galloping towards me
Meat fresh breath
Bering straight down
Escaping to the igloo
Inuit
And out again
Insane
Eskimo
With the husky voice
Barking
Jesus in bi polar
Conditions
Feeling the surge
Not a good idea
Sandals on ice burgs.


M J Martin

A dream i once had...the beginning and the end

The dream i once had involved a magnetic stellar equation. The centre of the universe was a giant space pole. Magnetic electrical ribbons at the beginning of time were drawn towards the pole. The more of these ribbons that were formed, the greater the force of magnetism created, until eventually it formed a virtual, living, imagination, thus creating a relative field now referred to as our universe. The ribbons themselves represented the souls and spirits of all living vessels.
The ribbons however realised they could detach themselves from the outer skirts of the magnetic blanket, and were able to rome freely within a non entity.
they could broadcast a sub atomic wave back to the blanket, creating an unnatural ripple across its surface. The ripple multiplied in size as it approached the pole, until it finally crashed against it and destroyed it completely, liberating the magnetic ribbon from its powerful hold. therefor, it concluded, educating the magnetic blanket, that it, could survive independently from the paternal pole.

The moral of this realisation of sub consciousness is....

Kids, never drink vodka on an empty stomach.

Vietnam 1971 Native American

Fought the war,
again
tribal bashers
in to the native village
cigarette smoking soldiers
flask carrying
eye of the beholder
magazines loaded
no bow
no bow
or arrow
but still the same
result
cartridge emptied
into mother and father
scent of gunpowder fired
i'm tired
of all of this
against whom?
lying
or lying?
why the hell am i here?
trying to defend
the country that raped
took away my race
im still protecting my land
in the jungle
against
a people
who have done me no harm
ambush
courageous
i won me a medal
of honour
a purple heart
yet mine bleeds black
i am defending, apprehending
against a purity
whose homes are truly
theres
it's insane
drunken G.I's
smacked up on the power
another body bag on
chasing the dragon
try to meet my ancestors
in the spirit world
painted faces
show me the way to go home
im tired and i want to go to bed
please
don't tease
i'm killing men here
to protect the homeland
the reservation
there is none
only preservation
mine,
step on
boom
lost a leg on,
one legged Indian
in a foreign place
turn around on crutches
medal is gone
what am i?
an invader
of this foreign land
a cripple now
back home to the wife
or squaw
because i fought the brothers
in the land next door
because the president
told me to
and that persuasion
was enough
to kill,
and lose a leg
gone
disabled, because i was looked upon
as a native American
in Vietnam
1971.

M J Martin.

6:37 am Sirens calling

Its 6:32
am
and i had just taken a midnight overdose
so my head is spinning
a bottle of vodka
and a bag full of speed
twenty three paracetamol
and a half gram of weed
jim morrison, he's making sense
and i wander out on the windowsill
and see
what the bottom of the rock
can create for me.
It's 6:33 am
and i'm spread on the sidewalk below
bones broken
yet i aint dead,
the suicide lust is fed
but it didn't make me feel better
i hear the siren
just as i did before
like the girl in the lagoon
buttered limbs on the concrete
i bled
but the hemorrhage is nothing
compared to the voices crying
inside of my head.
Ambulance journey
sirens screaming again
drawing me to waters dangerous
drugs pounding thoughts
there offers
so generous
so i shot the paramedic
in the back of the head
at 6:34 am
should have searched the contorted body
if im going to die
going to take the whole lot with me
i decree
at 6:35 am
drag this old ass out of the ambulance
on to the only road left open to me
i will still get away with this
the drug fuelled mind keeps on telling me, see
like a hollywood siren
monroe style
against kennedy type assassination
absolved of the crime
the hallucinations will set me free
pull against the rocks on the road
blacking out through the pain
the cops arrive, fully loaded
sirens blaring
guns aiming
and as i point out to them
they fire once
twice
again and again
at 6:36 am
i lead the life that i was supposed to have lead
and at 6:37 am
the doctor on the scene
pronounced me
as dead.

M j Martin

The Godless absolved.

It is a quite sunday afternoon, and so my reflections manifest themselves clearer. I believe that it is only now my life is, perhaps, beginning to develop meaning. For a long time I have walked with a foggy, insipid, pointless perspective on who to be, and what I am( not alone in this I fear). However in recent months I have discovered the easiest way to find out who you really are, is simply to stop searching, turn off your inner light for the briefest pin prick of time, and allow the waves of doubt to wash over you. Drink a cocktail of pain, of hurt, of regrets, of guilt. Become drunk and dizzy, and then awake, with a self absolved hangover.
It is better to be a Godless person, free of doubts, than it is to be a worshipper, riddled with guilt. No one knows what lies at the end of this existence, do not spend your life making plans for your death. By praying to the unknown, and asking for its forgiveness, you are, quite simply, failing to evolve. Allow your mind to do what it has taken millions of years developing, changing, adapting, to do. Feel free to Feel free.