by Paul Martin | Aug 21, 2022 | Poetry
Worker slaving on the job,Strike a coming, boss a slob,Should I stay or join the mob,Love me, love me. Collie lying in a bed,Wished he had a piece of bread,Better off if he was dead,Love me, love me. Unwed mother in a shack,Baby boy whose name is Mack,Trying hard to... 
by Paul Martin | Aug 10, 2022 | Poetry
On the battlefields of nations, where the bullets whine and sing,And the smell of death is floating everywhere,There’s a special kind of courage which can make a boy a king,The kind that puts the stars into his hair. When a mortar has you zeroed in and flesh is flying...