Tag Archives: Poetry

Most Of The Time

Most of the time
I’m clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the sign
Stay right with it when the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don’t even notice she’s gone
Most of the time.

Most of the time it’s well understood
Most of the time I wouldn’t change it if I could
I can make it all match up
I can hold my own
I can deal with the situation right down to the bone
I can survive and I can endure
And I don’t even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time my head is on straight
Most of the time I’m strong enough not to hate
I don’t build up illusion ’til it makes me sick
I ain’t afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind
Don’t even remember what her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time she ain’t even in my mind
I wouldn’t know her if I saw her
She’s that far behind
Most of the time I can even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was ever with her
Most of the time I’m halfway content
Most of the time I know exactly where it went
I don’t cheat on myself I don’t run and hide
Hide from the feelings that are buried inside
I don’t compromise and I don’t pretend
I don’t even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.


==Bob Dylan

The Starving Dog

When life puts a starving dog in your path

You have a choice

To kick its teeth in, out of revultion

Or to feed it


Deep inside each of us are a Black dog and a White dog

The White dog is love and comes from our memory of innocence

The Black dog is fierce and comes from abandonment, abuse and neglect


To heal spiritualy you must pick up the Black dog

And even though he snarls, foams at the mouth and bites at you

You must love him

For he is your Black Dog


I was a starving dog once


==Marty Wilde 2017

Im Dyin Lord

They call it depression
In the looking glass
I do not know
I call it the path

Emotional healing
And I can’t complain
I’m looking up ahead
An approaching train

It stops to get me
And I climb aboard
It takes me down
To the place that I’m…

Dying Lord
I’m dying Lord
Said I’m dying Lord

I’m Dying Lord
Emotional upheaval
Said I’m dying Lord

© 2015 Martin H Wilde


The Owl flies at night

Brings good luck to the player of the void

(Owl Song)


If you go where no man goes

You find what no man finds

He’s moving on like an Owl in the night

The player of the void


He sees at night, a diamond shining bright

The player of the void

He falls to the Earth, to kiss it on the lips

Then soars back to the sky


You’re here I know, been here all my life, waiting by the door

To the land of the shining silver plain, on the other side


He knows his pain is the cracking of his shell

And faces night with day

To face the dark with faith and grace

To live the passion play


He flies at night

The player of the void

And waits outside my door

© 1997 Martin H. Wilde


I took off from this place
Like a wanted man
I set out to put a face
On the this ghost I am

I crossed three thousand miles
Over the days I ran
I drove on forever
Into the barren lands

I tried to drive away
The addiction that im in
I tried to breath substance
Into this ghost I am

I bathed in down home culture
Big Easy in the Treme
Visited the future
At a Hooters in Meterie

I ate Mexican in Hondo
Watched Mustangs on the Pecos
Talk with a kid from Marfa
At a group home in El Paso

I tried to drive away
The addiction that im in
I tried to breath substance
Into this ghost I am

© 2016 Martin H. Wilde


Alone in a mist, the man and his horn, head down

The sun beams are near; the Gin will be Frankie’s in town

Walk on a slant, a capsule for you and your baby

You done this before, you’ll make it this time, you say


The peak is so close, you touched it before

You’re almost there now, it’s sitting behind the next door

The stage is your friend, when it’s alive, you shine

But it can turn, alien, lost, high and dry


Out here adrift, you hope for the magic to come

You think back again, the times you said you were done

The people, they smile, like creatures you know from somewhere

Impending doom, a lamb in the black demon’s fair


Get me through this, I’ll make good my time

I’ll carry milk and honey, in that old nursery rhyme

The sickness is strong, twenty-seven years’ old

Older than sunshine, I’m afraid I will fold


I remember Daddy’s voice, the Bacon and Eggs

I feel the fear like Satan, and I whimper and beg

A minute of reprieve, anything for my life

Twenty-seven years old, Bix Beiderbecke died


Alone in a mist, the man and his life, head down

The smoke in the room, AA meeting in town

Walk on today, a capsule for you and your baby

You done this before, you’ll make it this time, you say


© 1993 Martin H. Wilde

Lipstick from a Pig

As a pilot, one is trained to to respond to an engine failure by first establishing the most efficient glide slope. This is so that the plane stays up in the air the longest time allowing the longest opportunity to examine options.

This is how I view life – the glide slope established once one outlives the hubris of youth, in which all is up ahead and all is wishes and dreams.

Enlightenment occurs only after the makeup has been removed and all is dirt, air and life.

© 2015 Martin H Wilde