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A Phoenix Fiction Writer Rising From The Ashes of Nonfiction




Links to poems



A  Collection  OPoems 
by Michael T. Martin



My elusive guide,
I hope will
Admire my work.

To You
I build these
Stacks of words
Like a house
Of cards.

Some men build
Tall buildings
And big bridges.

All I build
Are these stacks
Of words.

With Erato's help
Maybe that will be enough.
With your approval
It's all I want.

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What am I if not a poet?
Here I am writing
Writing, writing.
Short poems, long poems.
Soft poems, angry poems.
But to what purpose Erato?

Sometimes I cry in desperation
Lying on my floor in despair.
It's almost as if I had
Run and run and run
Until no more would come.
And I had fallen to the floor
My boundless mind prodding
Me to go on but the
Rest of me not listening.

Then What am I? Erato?
Writing poems
That no one else
Cares about.
Masturbating my mind.

Sometimes I cry
At the insult
Of my own existence.
At the nothingness
Of being something
That only I claim to be
But what am I if not a Poet?

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You're a hippyI
Yes, I'm a hippy.
You're a tramp!
Yes, I'm a tramp
You're worthless!
Yes, I'm worthless.
You're good for nothing!
Yes, I'm good for nothing
Call me names;
I confess.

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I look back on my life
With many women figuring
Into the past events and
One, only one, can I say
Really loved me. And the others
Played with me and I with they
And I drove a red sportscar
And played with women
Choosing from dates and
Picking up singles at
Expensive bars and playing
Games in bed with women
I met the day before
And they flattered my ego
And fed my lust and
Fell in love and smiled
But I remembered that
Those most sought after were
Those with money and cars
And clothes and everybody
Loved Mick Jagger because he
Had a million dollars and
Stood on a stage and how I
Walked on the grass in the
Park with a dollar twenty
Seven in my pockets, alone.
And now I've pitched it all
And I'm back to being poor
Because I couldn't really
Tell whether it was me
Or my money they loved
And now I'm here alone
And damned if they aren't
Wherever my money is. Except,
Except that one who really
Loved me except she married
Somebody else because I
Wouldn't marry her and
Marriage is security
And what more can I say.

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Help Me

Caught and trapped by taut and tether
Fell in warm and wintry weather
Not for one and not for nether
Left I am with all alone

Hearts are won with long and narrow
So I'm told of cupid's arrow
Chills my bones down to the marrow
When I want on what I am

This is something undistinguished
That perhaps should be extinguished
Or at least its moral languished
Left to die at ardors door

Where am I to run for plunder
Frightened as I am by thunder
Leaves one to but scarcely wonder
Where I am and what I've done

Frost is fallen deep in winter
Where my heart is all a-splinter
Shot apart too far too hinter
Days have left me on my own

Just to say my mind in closing
That which brain is now proposing
Lost among the jaws and nosing
Till I'm left and left alone

How should I one lone discover
That which mind can darkness cover
Will I find another lover
Or will darkness still my door

Here is all I'm left to ponder
Lost with hours still to wander
Lost with walks and ways to saunter
Lost among the worlds I've known

Yet if nothing comes tomorrow
If I'm left to beg and borrow
If I'm lost in sin and sorrow
Will I find my special more

Help me be but till tomorrow
Help me to tomorrow's door
Help me but to be tomorrow
Help me to that - nothing more.

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Grass striped yardlines
Center stage lights

Knicker padded color clad
hurry run colliding

Pretty girls leggy smiles
motions coinciding
"Go team, yeah team" jounced hair
"First and Ten"
Pretty knees bouncing breasts
"Do it again."

Ball moves crowd approves
Bulky man back, throws,

Popcorn vendor strains to see
spiraling bladder, colors close
Bulky bodies downfield falling
striped men's whistles scream

Motion subsiding "Popcorn,
Soda, Ice Cream"

Grass striped yardlines
Center stage lights

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"What happened?" said my conscience
"It caved in again." said I
"Again?" said my emotion
"Yes." said I
"What are we going to do?"said my initiative
"Start over." said I
"Again?" said my frustration
"Yes." said I
"The same way?" said my innovation
"No." said I
"Then how?" said my determination
"Slower this time." said I
"Again?" said my resignation
"Slower." said I
"Again?" said my motivation
"Again." said I
"Slower!" said my procrastination
"But better." said I
"Better?" asked the congregation
"Better." said I
"What happened?" said my conscience

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Each day is primeval to tomorrow
93,000,000 sunray miles
In a whirling world of nights
And dawns, and days and dusks.

Desert shrubs and meadow grass
Growing greenery leaf-like lives
Growing and sowing and dying in frost
Till the seasonal dawn awakens the spores.

Somewhere the men
Have gone crazy this morn
And slaughtered a billion
Blades of this host

Somewhere a crazy mashed mixture
Of mud hardens in sweating
Forms new to the men
But not to the sun.

Somewhere a gaping gouge
Uncovers, in depths of soil
Long unturned, a remnant,
A bone or an imprint.

Of monsters to men
Monstrous to men
That once slaughtered
Flowers with each morning's meal.

Monsters that millions
Of seasonal dawns
Ruled o'er a land
Of clover's clever quiet.

That once gazed the morning
In petal touch warmth
And felt peace, and secure
93,000,000 sunray miles

In a whirling world
Primeval to tomorrow.

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"They are finally going to take Manhattan out of pawn."
"Yes, you know, of course,
that Manhattan was pawned
by the party of the first part,
hereafter known as the Pawnee,
to the party of the second part,
hereafter known as the Honkee,
for the sum of assorted beads and baubles."

"Never has there been a greater swindle."
"And It's the spindle that's making all the noise."
"What noise?"
"The noise of the engines."
"What engines?"
"The Pawnee."

"The Pawnee?"
"I can't hear you over the noise."
"I can't hear you over the noise."
"Sorry, I can't hear you over the noise."

"What noise?"
"The noise of the engines."
"What engines?"
"The Cherokee."
"What key?"

"Asia Minor?"
"That's where the engines came from."
"What engines?"
"I can't hear you."
"I give up."

"Don't give up the ship."
"Don't give up the ship."
"What ship?"

"The ship the engines came over on the Mayflower in."
"The Mayflower?"
"The Indians didn't come over on the Mayflower."

"Sure they did, the Mayflower and the Santa Maria."
"No, Buffalo shit."
"Buffalo shit?"
"Right, that's the shit the engines
came over on the Mayflower in."

"The Indians didn't come over on the Mayflower."
"Then it might have been the June flower or Wheat Flour."
"The Indians didn't come over on a shit!"

"Well they've been in a world of shit ever since."
"Ever since what?"
"Ever since the spindle went bad."
"What spindle?"

"The spindle that's making all the noise."
"The spindle that's making all the noise."
"Sorry, I can't hear you over the noise."


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