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Best Poems Written by Paul Martin

Below are the all-time best Paul Martin poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Paul Martin Poem

Whiskey and Black Nights

empty headed,
just me
and Jesus 
drinking jack,
both trying
to forget our name,
both victims of the insane.

Sitting watching,
soil turning to mud.
rotting seeds
and black roots,
we pray.
the rain it never stops.


In silence we drink,
as eternal sorrowful clouds
cries its tears,
upon the wandering souls below.

Don't come here,
looking for shelter from your sins,
or forgiveness for your failures,
our blood runs cold,
just whiskey and water
flowing in our veins,

and when the treacherous sun,
rises upon the dusty morning.
the black crows on the wire laugh.
as man crawls on his belly again today,
and Jesus kicks a beer can down the road.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

Everything Is Temporary

everything is temporary.
the future will be the past.
all them certainties,
are going to fade away,
and you’ll have nothing to show
only a morbid mind,
obsessed with death’s cold hand
and voices echoing from long ago.
everything is temporary.
what are we going to do?
but dance and laugh
drink and cry.
even your unstoppable greed
will not be a place to hide.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

The Road To Damascus

I join my fellow travellers 
On the road to Damascus 
The guilty the ignorant the egotists 
With our ashen faces 
And threadbare skin 
Confined and self absorbed 
We walked mostly in silence 
But some dare to speak of destiny 
of been no other way 

We can see Damascus in the distance 
Beyond the mist perched upon the hills 
But the road is long and many fall by it's side 
And nobody weeps for the defeated 
Their bodies picked cleaned 
by eternal hungry vultures 
Who turn honest men 
Into money making machines 

Oh they had me for while 
Got me chasing television dreams 
Driven demented by the fallacy 
Of a corrupt and plastic reality 
Yet Damascus always waited 
So I take perilous steps 
Towards that beacon of light 
Hoping like my fellow travellers 
To be anointed in it's enlightenment 
Washed in its salvation 
and forgiven by it's redemption 

So I tie the laces of my tattered shoes 
and swallow the last of my pride 
And follow the road 
That can have no end.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

The Lonesome Fisherman

I'm tired of fishing for truth, 
and catching only, 
Worm eaten boots 
And plastic flim-flam,
of egotistical minds, 
This river is polluted! 
With a million fallen dreams,
 And spineless fish, 
That cannot see, 
So I raise a glass 
To the strangers. 
To the outsiders. 
Who swim in isolation. 
In deeper darker waters.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

Sounds of the City

The city rattling,
Feet trampling,
Faces focusing,
Engines purring,
Drivers sighing,
Music drifting,
Ads whoring,
Johns buying,
Click Clack,
Shoppers yapping,
Money swearing,
Tills ringing,
Workers wishing,
Cameras spinning,
Wealthy plotting,
 
And me weeping for eternity.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

Insomnia

(FOR THOSE WHO CANT SLEEP)

Morpheus you traitor! 
Why have you abandoned me? 
And Left me to the mercies 
Of my destructive mind. 
The cruelty of silence, 
The ceiling, 
Engulfing walls. 
The constant drip 
Of some faraway tap. 
This bed of sorrow, 
This trap of regret,
 and those forgotton voices 
That linger within my soul.
 Oh please Morpheus! 
Won't you lay, 
Your cool hand 
Upon my brow, 
And wash away today.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

Gambling Man

I am a gambling man
broken by the world again
I’m not what  i am
but who cares where i stand
jealous eyes and the lonesome rain
is all i have for my enternal shame
swanky cars,ruby lips
and thin cigars
happy people with happy lifes
parade like peacocks in their empires of lies
my sinful soul will never fail
I’m seldom wrong and i’m never right
so bound my feet and tie my hands
and just throw me into the fiery pits of hell
if jesus has the will
maybe he can forgive my rotten heart

Details | Paul Martin Poem

Fighting Rationalism

The rationalist must reduce, 
It's in their nature. 
Pragmatic logic insists, 
On conformity of thought, 
Anomalies will not be tolerated, 
Measurable verifiable data, 
Equations balanced, 
Algorithms written, 
Formulas deduced, 
Universal laws obeyed, 

But shadows still linger, 
The face behind the face, 
Unconscious chaos, 
Irrational processes, 
That feeds the soul. 

Ah but we have no soul,, 
For logic deems it thus, 
No individual light, 
Only predictable 
Chemical reactions. 
And biological impulses, 
And our bones rot into 
Infinite night, 

Not for me, 
Give me wisdom
Beneath cool moonlight, 
And wild gypsies songs, 
Give  me anarchist poems, 
And the strange happiness 
Of religious folk, 


Give me anything, 
But your sterile world 
Washed in monotone grey.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

Summer Days

Masses of sunburnt grass, 
Sway with delicate ease. 
Seduced by the composer   
Of the soothing May breeze. 
  
Swallows parade, 
Pirouetting, 
Swooning,   
With humpy gluttonous crows 
Giving weary approval   
From tops of telephone poles.   
  
The summer silence, 
Bestows dignity upon this land. 
As downtrodden seeds, 
And wild limitless weeds 
Claim their ancient ways, 
  
My mind is light, 
To hot,to drunk, 
To care about the darkness of man, 
And all his little subplots. 
  
I turn on some baroque,   
Wishing to dream 
transcendental dreams.

Details | Paul Martin Poem

The Short Way Home

Evading feral branches and pools of stagnant stuff.   
I'm taking the short way home ,  
Greasy grass and soaking anarchist weeds saturate my feet,  
I'm frozen to the bone  all to take the short way home.   

Through hawthorn trees With vampire's teeth,  
Whose thorns delight in biting soft drunken meat.
   
Their existence justified beneath the silent moonlight   
And soon I am out moaning bloodied and shivering   
To start the long traipse through dank sludge  
My shoes disappear beneath the earth to be reunited with the land   

So here I stand bleeding and barefooted.   
With the frost rattling my bones,   
All to take the short way home.  
Is that the wind or some ancient spirit weeping With laughter.  

In the distance beneath the shadow of a bungalow   
I see the wall I must scale   
Each step is heroic an act bravery   
That only foolish men with frostbitten toes can only know   
Is it hour or ten minutes I cannot tell   
Trudging through no man's land this self inflicted hell   

My clothes are destroyed head to toe in smelly  stuff   
As if I was wrestling on a pigsty floor with a horny and frustrated boar   
Oh how I could sing for joy as my muck encrusted hands finally carcass   
The cold hard cement of my neighbours wall   

With the will of Genghis kahn or one those ancient warriors.   
I heave my aching frame over thinking victory is mine,   
Only to hear the crunch of shattering glass and I scream words unsuitable for delicate ears, 
For I landed in a bin of empty wine bottles and rusty tin   

I hear a click and see a porch light been turned on,  
"whose out there I got a gun"   
"don't worry about it"i nearly cry   
 "it's just your average drunken fool  
taking short way home.