i see you struggling
with mean words
that maybe you
shouldn’t say-but you do
you do
you can’t help yourself
unguided
unthought
just nasty
just junk
i see its black junkiness
i see you puff bigger
and your thoughts being tied up
i see you wanting me to acquiesce
unfurling your tentacles
trying to trip me
nah
nah
not going to happen
sjm, 2/24/23
Author: stephenmartinpoetry
Big Trucks
When I enter big trucks
& I look at My students
I am proud
I don’t want to leave them
I don’t want to admit
That my Ego is stroked
When they learn something from Me
But I know why I help them
It feels good to be in demand
It feels great to chisel
At a problem like a sculptor
Seeing the end result
Before it manifests
In My students
I want to continue, but the pay sucks
It sucks at my Ego
Because I am being taken advantage of
Because my Employers know
That I like teaching
They use my desire like a pen
They write My ticket
And underpay me
Because I am transparent
They see the buzz I get
From My students’ success
And they plug the top hole with a cork
But now, I am fizzing
I’ve hidden my agenda in subtle notes
But I’ve been jostling Myself
On endless possibilities &
I’m ready to push upward
I’m ready to be poured into glass
That is not beveled at the top.
SJM, February 20th, 2023
Playing Guitar Alone
Fingers flat like tacky tics
Upon a neck
A rip of flagrant stumps
Of notes
On a fret.
A pause
A jest
A working knack
Tip a tack on the back of a nap.
I sing like a loot
I silly man making time stall
Rolling it into a ball
A cotton ball
With the insides of air
And all the while I think ahead
And boil a soup
Wondering if the broth will taste OK.
Women in Trucking: 3 Interviews with Female Truck Drivers at Different Levels in their Careers
Human Patriot Speaks Is Available On 3Speak (Hive Blockchain)
Waiting for an apple to fall up
I eat the round raisins
like dipped chocolates
inside a capsized shovel
[spilling softly the meat
of the streets
left hanging branches]
A ball gown designed
inside the spotty periods
between a & z—
a cutlered set of pie petals
reapportioned amongst the digital
inevitable.
So softly the weeping...
[kept inside waiting
golden &
solemn & chaste
like a special puppy]
Understand the concept
Of liberty
Without boxes
Rulers
Pops...
Instead a dangerous civility
Where transgressions meet brute force
& the certainty of what is right
[plus the time
future time
all the time
waiting for an apple to fall up]
Stephen Martin, 6/10/2021
Or Today
The paltry eyes of loons with spoons
attached to the whimble of sight
O night, the sighted beast–
Your shores of darkness
speak endlessly.
And, misrepresented all, we seek to
whither and waste our youth on
schemes and things;
underscoring our simplicities
while we bask, slack jawed &
undiscovered, in the mismatched
sock drawer of our lives.
But we, never giving up—
grab the cup, again & again
hoping to hold our breaths for long
enough, to wake from a sleeping grip;
for the lives we sell ourselves–
Short sales all.
O we, young in blood, innocent to harm,
drifting, ever drifting toward the fumes
of our demise;
how we despise our circling backs
bent after rigid courses we do not set!
How much longer? How much longer–
are the hours we flush?
And, the dreams are growing still
after every passing lawnmower,
after every new week of growth–
And what for? What for?
The children? The children?
they are grown into their castes before
their first diapers are changed;
their hope is a golden chain
unraveled like umbilical cords at their
mothers’ feet.
O we the wretched few–
What are we to do with tomorrow,
Or today?
Stephen Martin, 5/31/2021
‘Lambs Of War’ Featured In A Collection Of Stories From AuthorWorld Connect
At the beginning of the year I submitted a short story for publication in an anthology. It was accepted and is now available for purchase on Amazon.
I’m going to be submitting some poetry for the next anthology. This publication is being produced by a collective group of authors that you can connect with at AuthorWorld Connect. Submit your poetry or short stories for consideration in Book Two.
sisyphus no more
the grieving winds
slow the pace
of progress;
lighted bends
slick with your spittle
caresses of the wilderness
broken bodies
scarlet past
smoking my worries
in a manufactured liquid
uh! the seepage is disparaging
clues of newness
bisect tears
held at bay with bewilderment;
so slow the progress
so unorganized
so blue
the words are soft
like spoken kisses
drubbing at my staleness
prodding at my inertia
making a lull
tying a knot
pushing the boulder
is kind of exhausting
maybe i’ll let it roll...
watching passively
expecting nothing
just watching
and then i will pick my eyes up.
energy bed
electrons sizzle and crackle in the spent out beds of my pockets dynamos of pottables decisions, decisions and nighttime when the moon is my friend i back my guitar into a softened kiss speaking, but not singing feeling all the while and outside on my street a quiet repeat Stephen Martin, 4/15/2021