Poems

Here are some new poems I have written.

"Bleeding rose petals on a Valentines night sidewalk"    

                                                                                                                By: R.K.Martin

Bleeding rose petals on a Valentines night sidewalk,

falling one by one,

lined before my screaming eyes.

Every red petal a piece of a breaking heart,

slowly beating,

slowly bleeding,

footnotes of a dying soul quickly fleeting.

Pools of blood reflect dreams swiftly broken,

those petals strewn,

like a trail of mocking tokens.

Of love lost,

and caring words unspoken.

I wrote this after seeing a line of rose petals strewn across the sidewalk of my school on valentines night, hence the name. I didn't feel particularly emotional when I decided to write it but the visual struck me quite strongly. I guess in a way it captures my fear, that I'd never tell some one I loved that I did so. I would be afraid that things would end badly, when it could have been avoided if ones feelings had been truly shown. So I always try to tell some one how I feel.

"Foot-Where?"

By: R.K.Martin                                 

As I descended my stairs,

I quickly realized,

my feet were quite bare.

This surely was not fair,

for I was not aware,

that when I checked down stairs,

my shoes wouldn’t be there.

I did not dare,

to make my mother aware,

of my missing foot-ware,

for it would surely elicit,

her dreaded death glare.

I thought this was too much,

too much to bare,

Not to know where,

That foot-ware had gone.

They seemed to have vanished,

 in to thin air,

in a scent foul not fair.

I searched here and there,

for that illusive pair.

I looked through the cupboards,

the stove, and the washer,

the sinks, and the toilets,

and even the dogs hair.

I eventual found them,

with little time to spare,

I was finally ready,

to go to day care.

You can laugh now,

but we will see how you fair,

when your mother gives you,

her dreaded death glare,

do to missing foot-ware.

I would like to say I dedicate this poem to my mom, who put up with my incredibly annoying habit of some how losing my shoes. I've gotten a few people who have compared it to the works of Silverstein and Dr.Sues which flatters me to be compared to them in any light. I particularly enjoyed writing this poem, though I did lose some sleep doing so, as I kept having ideas that wouldn't let my go to sleep till I wrote them.

short stories (un-named)

Snow floated down like millions of battle ready troops, ready to waylay their position. Kristofs empty stomach leaned against the sand bag bunker. His machine gun lay in front of him, two-hundred rounds at the ready, not nearly enough. His hands felt almost frozen to the metal that he grasped with a death like will. He wouldn’t dare rest for a moment, though his fellow soldiers did not feel the same, smoke wafted across his pale mud splotched face, while laughter danced past the ears. At six feet three inches he was a splitting image of his older sibling. He had brown eyes, though his brothers of all but blood swore they were black as night. His face was decorated with many fine lines, wrinkles only a soldier could bare. Times dark shallow writings of one too many battles, one too many deaths…

 His older sibling rushed freely into war against the enemies of Germany, he died two months later. Kristof never spoke of his elder brothers concluding hours, though he knew them by heart. He read that letter every evening shortly before his post ended in the dead of night, just as twilight reached its darkest hour, though never awaking to see that dawn. His brother’s friends described him like a triumphing hero. A warrior of old marching into bloody battle, falling before the endless onslaught. The laughter had died now; it had already been hours as a third of the company had gone to sleep.

Kristof relaxed as he quietly pulled out a worn piece of paper, unfolding it gently he began to whisper to himself noiselessly, the actual darkest hour of his many nights only moments away…

I have no name for this yet, I hope you enjoyed this little teaser. give me as much criticism as you like.

R.K.Martin

Hi, my name is Ryker Kyle Martin, I am nine-teen years old from Glendale Arizona. I am an aspiring author, and that is the point of this blog. From here on out, I will be launching a short story series in the inspiration of Sir Arthur Conan Doyal's work, Sherlock Holmes. This will NOT be a mystery series, rather stories told in the point of view of one of the two main characters, in which will always be the same person, unless I really have the desire to do otherwise. For anyone familiar with the Sherlock Holmes series of shorts, this would be exemplified by Dr.Watson in whom, (from what I've read) was always the main point of view.

The actual stories will not start for a while, but all my brain storming will be available here on my page. On this blog I hope to cut my teeth in my art, and entertain anyone who takes the time to read my work. Thank you for coming to my page, and enjoy yourself.