[link]
By Josh Haney@horrorpunks.com:

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect of this. My good friend Mark had talked this book up to me, and I was certain that there was no way that it could be as good as he said it was. I like poetry as much as the next writer; I’ve even dabbled in it myself a few times, but an entire novel length book of poetry? I figured there was no possible way that it would keep my attention (as anyone who knows me can attest to). But I’m here to tell you that I was not only rapt with attention but also enthralled by the lyrical prose of Troy Usher’s Blood Stained Pages.

The book is subtitle The Scars Of Humanity, and further broken down into two chapters, Scribed In Sickness and Bled Til’ The End, and each of those contains roughly fifty plus poems! Just let that sink in for a moment. And these aren’t your average rhymes and couplets; these are brutal and sometimes poignant verses dealing with the darkest sides of society and human nature. With titles like From A Frayed Thread To A Fitted Noose, Buried At Birth (How Was I To Know) and My Needle, My Friend to give you an idea, this is hardcore writing straight from a child of the atomic age. Sure, you could attempt to compare Usher to other poet’s, maybe a member of the Beat generation, but his stuff transcends that. If there was anyone at all who even came remotely close to Usher’s realization of the state of the human condition it’s poet/serial killer G.J. Schaefer, whose poetry was really thinly veiled confessions of his crimes.

I honestly don’t even know how to describe what I’ve read; they could be lyrics for the most intelligent of rock bands, a suicide note, musings on the decline of western civilization, or a ghastly combo platter of all three, sickly sweetened with the acrid almond taste of cyanide.

There are many striking stanzas hidden away within the depths of this work, and any attempt to paraphrase them would do a serious disservice to both their author and the works themselves. I will, however, tell you the three that have wormed their way into my brain and refused to leave…The Exploding Man (Because The World Needs A Hero), Call This A Mercy Killing, and last but by no means least Evil Finds A Way (Follow Me). For whatever reason, these stood out like the veins on a junkie’s arm, but feel free to judge for yourselves. Poetry is a very subjective thing, and great poetry is even more so.

Put away the mindless drivel for a few moments and read something that bites, something that grabs you by the balls, something that makes you think. It may not be long before doing so will be considered a crime.