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Ken Martin Poem
The golden road of Oz, sunny beachfront dossier from the calling of the sordid mask, did the mask of Dante peer, into the crump and dough with breadcrumbs in the sunlight bog, for the death of sorrowful faces, the mask does not befog, into the intern when not Hansel, but he bet on the witch, or did Gretel from which gather, that neither pervaded but one was accursed, the morning benumbing of footfalls and sparrows.
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
The tree of the knowledge of good and evil
The tree of life and death
The green apple is poisoned red
The spools of light spoilt on murky depths
Este morning star
Esterification bedrock brooks
Limb for limb
Right eye to the left
Commodiously windswept
Wynn takes the cake
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
It appears the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, they aim to spread ignorance and they'll start from a seed, I saw the apple cut in half and what I did find is fairly funny so funny I might lie and say: if these two halves make a whole, then such wisdom like no other will be imparted for sure. I didn't think much of symmetrical finds after these apples fell and were worthless in time. The apple, the apple, the apple, the apple, I do indeed see farther than most and none of these apples disjoined for seeding make good hosts, the apple, the apple, the apple, the apple.
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
Lucifer: "finish that piece a quaint and approximate supplicant is not meant for the heather dowdy pulled up invectives that do not roundly gather."
Uraeal: "I should often belay that quaintness the fury of galactic storms like Katrina was winning."
Aurora: "Peakish and defied I see now with both pellucid guise and under the remittance we have stolen now appraise."
Helel: "The roofed and pillared steeples, these greet en-masse the stippled and fearful."
Kate: "Darker than that and I now protest, the cure has been found it stands abreast, to the northern wind now gather the horses the divine have horticulture."
RK: "Tepid I know, such an illustrious thing, that faces such perfect darkness and creates a new slung over crescent."
arophc varuag: "Comely and prince that true love never went to the abyss."
PW1: *Notices that he is to return, and erupts from the sorrows to act a folly before returning*
DR Dragon: "Aimless parades should colors simply melt like a witch's wet brace?"
Zeus: "Contemplating the never have I then a realm to squash the pumpernickel source should it ring the wrong bell."
The forbidden one: *Disembarks from his journey, considers rejoining these the rest.*
---End of act 1---
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
Worth every penny although the pennies were made of adamantine freely smelted in finite charnel kilns, so vested and vain, that cruel shadows balked not against the weekend of endless paraduece though not one such thing was found since the recompense. It's another world, another word, another facet of divulgence but it ends here. This line the last: by inauspicious supplicants the temerity folds over more than eternity, it precludes the none of the course, CCTV look at last for the last time, monster of the manifold, final breath, look your last.
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
Celeste the star dealer, shan't see thy stones while hidden amongst them, that which can't quite compare, and so the par Ra blooddrop stone withers and moans and groans for old irons that beat beets into gnashed up fire-up pyres, and lends that teardrop once in time, the par for the course, the greensward vine.
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
Formed through pure delight caught by the kites which clung to the rays of sun and brought down light on the merry cusp of villages imbrued were carried bunches of berries of diversiform hues, in baskets tucked under the arm and woven to bare the tastes of heirloom berries that oft unsavory have now ripened and March brought April to enlighten.
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
The stanza was written in trailed off silver, circle over circle was wound to form silvery words, embossed around them though the palace sheltered paintings of razor-thin wings bespeckled with blood imprisoned sonnets that zip and fly with the hub, palatial and so endearing, the disembodied whispers are like paint peeling.
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
Spacemeat. The light cone enfolds the individual effectually creating a ghost through geometric topology. The negative of the person, the "ghost" is a result of the lensing of the original person's light cone interacting with a tertiary lightcone that predicates it's future on the subsequent intermingling of the light cones. The result is essentially apodictic insofar as the consequential nature of the topological result is the determinant by which the conclusion from the incipient portion of the status aforementioned is solidified. Spacemeat.
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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Ken Martin Poem
If it is right now
In last is bread and butter
Before first was bread
Copyright © Ken Martin | Year Posted 2026
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