A selection of my poems from over the years. Feel free to use and share if it blesses you!

WHAT DOES EVIL WEAR?

What does evil wear?
It’s easy to spot, of course.

Evil wears swastika patches,
clipped mustaches
In goose-stepping show of force

Evil brandishes Marx’s manifesto
At peasants doomed to die
in service for the cause;
Evil sings praise to Mao’s little red book
to dutiful applause.

Evil looks foreign
in tight-wrapped turbans
and long loose robes.
Huddled close in ancient mountain caves,
Flickering torches cast an evil spell.
Masterminds of sordid terror plots;
Strange tongues uttering
fervent curses
against the infidel.

Where does evil live?

Evil lurks in
left-wing think tanks,
Soros managed funds,
and Democrat convention halls
Evil dwells at nondescript
abortion clinics
with soft bright music
And pale sterile walls.

Evil lives In Hollywood. It roves
through secret back room bargains
and Satanic blood-rituals;
Late-night gatherings
at Bohemian Grove.

Evil is scantily-clad,
seductively posed
at a red-light traffic jam.
It’s late-stage,
open air debauchery
in the desert at Burning Man.

Evil looks like gray-haired,
billionaires with crooked grins
on Caribbean isles;
Black-mailed elites
shape-shifting
through mazes of redacted files

That’s what evil wears.

But one time,
a man in a Soviet Gulag
said that the line between
good and evil starts
not in
classes, parties, or states
but right in every human heart.

And now the rot within the
white-washed sepulchers
spills out before our very eyes

For evil wears neatly-pressed
navy-blue suits,
cuff links,
flag pins,
and fancy matching ties,

Evil is dashing with youthful promise,
waving to ecstatic crowds,
Snake oil for the cameras-
Evil is brilliant, bold and proud.

Within the corridors of power,
Evil cozies up to capitalist corporate shills,
then wipes up blood of innocents
with extra hundred dollar bills

Evil takes communion
on Sunday morning,
Trumpets family values at noon;
And on Tuesday, plans
a rendezvous
with the mistress
in a five-star hotel room.

The Filet Mignon wasn’t cooked to spec;
the caviar didn’t agree-
(There won’t be a tip on the check tonight)
We must hurry back
to the chamber to vote
against this welfare spending spree.

Evil narrates the Lord’s Model Prayer
as subtitles
in some strange movie set
beneath a jarring backdrop of
hypersonic missiles,
machine guns,
and 5th generation fighter jets.

(Forgive us our trespasses
as we seek to destroy
those who would infringe
upon our manifest destiny.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
in step with American hegemony)

And the old prophet’s hands
are shaking
as he strides toward the
chamber of the king;
For the Word is fire in his bosom,
But speaking truth to power
is indeed a dangerous thing.

You are the man!

The camel hair-clad Baptizer
seems to be testing fate;
But crowned adulterers
must be confronted
even if it ends with
his head on a plate

What does evil wear?

The Nazarene
went full scorched-earth
on the vipers who fenced in the law
But weightier truths ignored;
Laying on the backs of common folk
atrocious heavy burdens
that they themselves hadn’t borne.

Spices tithed,
tassels lengthened,
phylacteries enlarged-
He called them fools and blind.
and in the presence of God Himself,
They died,
still looking for a sign

What does evil wear?

O God!

You warned us of those grievous wolves
in skins of lambs
who creep in from the night,
and that even the
prince of darkness
loves to dance
In a garment of shimmering light.

For evil wears religious garb-
Before the flock
speaks high and holy liturgies.
But under the sanctuary
later that week-
perverted old priests in curtained closets
with confused little boys on their knees.

Evil crosses its t’s and dots its i’s,
wears broad-brimmed hats;
Adorns itself in pastel, modest lives.
It preaches long and loud enough to
Dull the conscience and to
mute its victims’ grieving cries.

Evil wears spiritual jargon,
tee shirts
and designer blue jeans;
swaying with the rhythm
of a first-draft worship team.
Friday night is a long way off,
and the spirit is moving
with the fog machines.

What does evil wear?

We can scope the heavens
We can mine hell’s depths
We can search our whole lives long,
But we’ll never find the answer
when the question’s premise is wrong.

But there is the one that pierces deep
between the spirit and soul.
The WORD
divides between marrow and meat-
sharper than a two-edged Sword.

For there, intentions and yearnings exposed;
no creature is hidden from sight.
For we all stand open
and naked
and known
before the Righteous Light.

-JGM (March 2026)

Young Again

A hopeful lament of a father’s heart

Cradled with tenderness, nourished by love,
Hedged in and protected from below and above.
Unmarred by rejection and oblivious to harm,
He connects with each face– and is instantly charmed.

Barefoot exuberance, lights in her eyes;
Skipping and singing– gasps of surprise.
Frizzled-hair happiness, strawberry-stained cheeks,
Innocent reverie– pure joy when she speaks.

Eye-opening wonderment– There’s a world to explore 
He’s drinking in knowledge and begging for more.
How vast is our galaxy? How deep is the sea?
His pursuit of the universe– unbridled and free.

But the joy that I feel, as each milestone you pass,
Is mingled with sadness– life travels too fast.
For Eden recedes with each calendar page,
And infancy’s innocence dwindles with age.

Into the shadows of self you will creep;
You’ll hide from the Voice, and you’ll curl up and weep.
Then cowering with shame in this old Adam’s world, 
You’ll be driven from paradise by a cherubim sword.

I pray that the wilderness leads you to Him;
That in stumbling and knocking, you’ll find refuge from sin.
That the spark in your soul not succumb to the night,
For the burden He offers is somber– yet light.

This living and dying, as we know it today,
Whispers a future that will take us away
Where the garden stays green, and the connections we’ve had
Will then be much deeper – and infinitely wide.

I shall be young again! Oh, I shall be safe–
Enveloped in Love’s eternal embrace.
I shall be young again– yes, I shall adore
The face of my Savior– I’ll slumber secure. 

I shall be young again, I shall be free;
Running through clover fields – skipping with glee.
Yes, I shall be young again, childhood restored;
My questions all answered in a clean, fresh world.

Let the wave of Redemption swallow up all decay! 
May these pangs of corruption give birth to new day!
Deliver creation– as You promised of old!
Let me be young again, Oh– let forever unfold!

– Jared G. Martin
2024 A.D.

In Heaven, a Hush

In heaven – a hush! And not a sound
Is heard from the holy choirs,
And the seraphim in garments of white
Lay down their golden lyres.

For their eyes are fixed on the battle below,
On a stricken, unseen soul,
Where the powers of Night and the God of Light
Contest for full control.

Then out from the miry clay he climbs,
Expelled from the slippery sod,
Cleansed from the stains of  hell-born wrongs,
And into the arms of his God.

In heaven – a shout! A cry of joy!
Oh, the music swells and rolls,
And the blood-washed saints by the royal throne
Bow down to the Savior of souls.

–Jared Martin
2009   

Voices

He backed me up against the mountain’s jarring face
And sneered.
“Look down, you coward look!
Where is the One who said He’d give you wings?
Where are those trickling streams
And phantom pastures decorated with the fancy things
Called faith and trust?
Where is the path that leads toward the sun?
The bridge that spans, the victory won?
Look yonder, gaze, and be afraid
For there are lonely valleys, lurking traps made
Horrible by a hosts of evils. Foolish man,
From here I see the smoke of countless fires that rage
And dead-end streets and sinking sand.
The world is dark, and you are lost.
Weep!
Weep bitterly, for Love will break your trust.
Beware!
Beware, that Stone will grind you into dust.”

He took my hand in His, and led me to the precipice.
He smiled.
“Look yonder, child, beyond your fears!
Your feet lift slow, your eyes blink fast
To hold the flood of helpless tears.
But I shall raise you when you fall. Have faith and trust
My footsteps– this is nothing new to Me,
Not long ago I trudged the same old dust,
And stood atop this very cliff and heard his twisted, beastly glee–
Ignore those lies.
For quiet pastures rise from sinking sand,
And tranquil waters quench the ravening flames.
From here I see the gleam of mansions! And the crown
awaits the child who’s not ashamed
to grasp My hand and follow Me.
Trust!
Trust Me and surrender—persistently I knock.
Rejoice!
Rejoice, and fall upon the Rock.

-Jared Martin
2017

April and I

I am alone with April’s evening bliss,
Her cool, inclusive night about my head;
Alone to watch the fading sunlight kiss
the greening mountains with a touch of red.

And out from nowhere comes a stir of wind
That tugs the curtains with a playful air;
It swirls in silent circles, out and in
And leaves exquisite footprints in my hair. 

How many former evenings of this sort
Have come and gone with none to view their grace?
How many nights did my unrest distort
The wonder of a twilight’s warm embrace?

I bow my head, while April’s evening air
blows back enchanted days⎯and breathe a prayer.

-Jared Martin
2009

The Gate

I saw a rainbow in the sky
And thus reflected from my eye⎯
An awesome wonder.

And then within a flash, a thought,
Unique and somewhat novel wrought
An inspiration:

I saw beyond this natural view,
Beyond the clouded tints of blue⎯
The gate to heaven.

For all I know, at Christ’s return,
Behind His majesty shall burn
The final rainbow

-Jared Martin
2009

New President

He stands before the camera’s staring eye
To face a nation’s varied, waiting gaze;
Alone, to take a country’s balking reins,
Alone, to navigate this murky maze.

He waves with careless hand the cheering throng
And strides with certain steps to meet the throne;
But underneath, a solitary sense 
Of doom has come–Afraid to be alone.

Atop ambition’s highest wrung he clings
And teeters on the slippery slope of fame;
But though secured in popularity,
Alone, he must live out his name.

The boastful pledge, the silver-spangled vow,
And glittering promises alike have flown;
He now must stoop to face reality
And bow beneath the yoke–alone.

He stands before the Greatest King of earth,
His favored deeds and policies to own;
Yet though with teeming millions at his back,
He finally reports to God–alone

-Jared Martin
2008