By request, another poem.

What would you like it to be about?


Hmm... lemme think... how about... Oil Fish of Death!


When the ocean floor should rumble,
and from it oil spills,
you might anger the wildlife
and for it, they shall kill.

your business is not down here,
the sea is for the fish.
and though we eat them in the norm,
tonight you are the dish.

they swarm to land in masses,
mutated by the leak
with tiny legs and breathing air,
they feast upon the weak

but be not fooled, for our strongest defense
is not enough to stop
the millions of fish that come to walk
and punish for your flop

sharks and rays and fish combine
their forces tried and true
an octopus joins in the assault
and spills oil all over you

so think twice before you drill again,
about the outcomes that may be
and remember that you have no right
to be poking around in the sea.





Worst poem ever! (although, probably the best one written in 30 seconds)

The Cry-less Banshee

she floats above the ground, surreal

a goddess of the night

the banshee's wail a true defense,

it fills men's souls with fright

alas, this siren has no scream

she cannot speak at all

the townsfolk hunt her, confident

without her banshee call

she hides from those who seek her out

outcast by her kind

the mob would burn her flesh to ash

should they ever find

one eve an angel does appear

and offers an exchange

"should you use your strength for good,

i shall return your vocal range"

the banshee accepted, blithely

and none a bit too soon

for on a hill her pursuers stood

weapons glinting in the moon

she screamed her first, the angel's way

and watched the seraph fall

then she turned towards the men

and wailing, killed them all

I dunno, I just wanted to write another poem. <3

TRUFAX

One lonely, chilly April eve,

in not too far a place,

someone did come, you wont believe!

The Devil showed his face.

He stepped from flames and into sight,

and pointed at a man.

A man who cowered, blind with fright,

and pissed himself again.

Again, for Satan had been here

more than once before.

The devil had all times been clear,

"I gave another chore,"

"yet still it seems my task mistook,

with no regard for me.

For the last time, work on my book

and no more poetry."

The man he promised to get done,

the assignment he had earned.

He knew it not to be any fun,

sitting in Hell, bored... burned.

So henceforth ye shall ne'er get

a poem on this site.

I've got a bunch of other shit

I really have to write.

Here be a blog.

Yes, I am going to blog, on top of my packed agenda of other useless shit I do. Better yet, I am going to primarily use this blog for posting short stories and sorts of the free kind. The best part is, these stories will all be typed directly into this blog, which means they will be completely unedited and all-in-all, terrible. First, below, you will find the first poem I have written in over 20 years. Mostly because let's face it, poetry is rather lame. However, if you come back for more after my shitty poem, you will be treated to the first episode of my first true project for this blog: Hippies vs. Zombies: The Undead and the Brain-dead. It's going to be a fun ride.

BUT FIRST: A bit of a disclaimer. I am a writer. I have opinions. I am more than likely going to say offensive things in every post, possibly about you or your mom. I say fuck, A LOT. If you are easily offended, and killing yourself is not an option, I suggest you read some other pussy's blog. However, should this sort of thing excite you, then by all means, read on.

And now for the main event:

Sad Kraken by J Gilliam Martin

Leagues and leagues beneath the sea

there a hungry kraken be.

Buried half-below the sand,

longing for a life on land.

For hundreds, perhaps a thousand years

the kraken cries his kraken tears.

Til came the day which he did move,

and slid from his slumbering, kraken groove.

Towards the surface, he did rise

heretofore unseen by eyes.

A ship did sail in his monstrous path,

soon consumed by monstrous wrath.

Tossed in violence amongst the waves,

those not eaten, found watery graves.

Alas the shore, he reaches mud,

his mouth agape, teeth stained with blood.

A village glows in lights and steam,

upon first sight, the air lifts screams.

The people arm themselves for fight

(though some protest for kraken rights).

A mass of tentacles destroy,

the tiny town, as though a toy.

Alas, tanks and bombs prevail,

and the poor kraken turns his tail,

to once again sleep in the sea,

sad and alone, for eternity.