Death is such a beautiful thing

The Punk Poet

Several years ago I started up this blog as a means of building up an online community of punk poets. I have published a few poets in the interim. However, not as much effort has gone into the project as I would have liked. Nonetheless, I have a body of work of my own I have never tried to publish here. From the start, the blog was intended to facilitate both written work and audio work. My work is recorded, to musical accompaniment. And so it’s appropriate I publish it here while re-opening channels for other punk poets to submit work, despite the neglect of recent years.

Here is my first entry – it forms part of a new album released this year, called COVID-19, under my non-de-plume/performance name The Punk Poet. It was the result of COVID-19, and one of the quirkier compositions on the album. It is also quite clearly a song in the bardic tradition, and a piece of punk poetry. I will be releasing more from this and previous albums intermittently, while renewing calls for entries from other writers.

You can find this work and more on my site, on CDBaby, on Amazon, on Spotify, on Youtube – in fact, just google. It’s everywhere.

  1. Death is such a beautiful thing

CE Hoffman II is delighted to publish a new entry by CE Hoffman. Describing her work as FemmePunk Poetry, CE Hoffman also has a volume of poetry available at – Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948. We look forward to seeing more.
Blue Blood (My Fairytale) 
Once upon a time, bluebirds slit my skin.
I cried and cried
afraid to let him in.
We rape what we take
and sow our own sins.
They all lived happily ever after.

Matthew Strimaitis is pleased to publish another work by Matthew Strimaitis, US-based poet with a self-evident punk sensibility. Enjoy.

Luther’s Creed (Restart)

The Lutheran Doctrine

framed on the chapel door

Read lines from the two shot rambles

You track in pamphlets and shoe snuffed camels

under your feet

Boots, snow and sleet, in Germany

A warm Summer, Miami Beach, in futon sandals


Turning loops at the round-about

I’ll have grown up by the time you see me

peeling dead skin in the nursery

RX agents and optimistic patients,

Framed hopes on the polished floor

Track in notes from the doc’s preamble


I am a drugged up child, the clock strikes

and the first leaper laced with broken lungs and virus pool blood

said “I am a hooker, please help me”

And died away from a family in the hospital streets


Turning loops at the round-about

I hope to hear your sermon

The feeling of it behind me as I’m being directed ahead

Moving along past to one last exhibit

And being hurried a path, leaving behind buried fads

I hope that your sermon’s as clear as their song


Matthew Strimaitis is pleased to introduce Matthew Strimaitis. A computer scientist at the University of Wisconsin, Matthew has been writing since grade school, and started penning work for the Huffington Post while still at High School. You can find more of his work at

Pretty Okay

Dance in the grey, it’s a pretty okay

A foot in the bed of an earth stamped sandal

A tattered-torn anklet like an airplane blue blanket

Treading naked the road with no peachy display

A fence that holds hostage its border and name

Looking for rightness, a neutered excitement

Or a hope that is young, imprisoned for fun

And rationed out slim to make tangibly tame

Deformed rusty mold with a texture and taste

All diseases I own will be mine to parade

But I’m looking for hope to be mined to create

While imprisoned an intimate, minor mistake

Pair a leader, a leaper, deformity way

Raise your flock to feed off the disease that you make

Then a whistle and spark and they bury me shade

To live out a sentence embark in the fade

While a half hearted lightness in rags and indictments

Said “I would be fine living day after day

Wandering Earth with no plans of a purpose

Living my life as a pretty okay”