The writings have called extremely vivid, direct, cuts to the bone, and even straight to the core of the topic.
I'm not calling myself the next Frost or anything. Today prose poetry is a automatic kill notice on an editor desk because it won't sell enough, unless your famous or established. Which rules out the new author trying to become established.
My Phoenix
Punching these walls of mortared stone
Beating on the doors of cold hard steel
All of my power and strength is waining
Knuckles now bloodied and fists broken
All of this waiting is forever tiresome
Opportunities of this field are mystical
Easy to tell me wait, it will all find you
When the dream haunting isn't yours
Play the rules and feel closed doors
Oppressive trends block new discoveries
Strenuous it becomes for every dreamer
Disgusted with an industry of old guard
They have burned all my true ambitions
Now laying at my feet as a pile of ash
My anger with your support of my art
Will rise a Phoenix to change the rules
Martin Quinn Morasch