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“She Regaled A Ghostly Truth” (A Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

And so, she then she turned & said to me:

Do you see what is real & free?

Is It true that stuff you feel –

Became the biggest facade of them all?

————————————————–

And again she turned around & said:

That pain you’re inside is the planted seed,

Reaped from a world told but not true.

You’re to move beyond that wound and flee

————————————————————

As then as her glowing image faded,

And her spectre’s wisps drew up & through,

I knew that that all I held so close,

Had merely been the frontal view.

“Jerry & Sam Successfully Negotiate Their Way Home ” (A Skit or Short Story)

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by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Two drunkard old timers are wobbling back towards home from the pub together & see something that makes one of them become startled.

“What’s that?” Said Jerry to his mate Sam & pointed at a black scorch mark on the ground.

“Oh Jerry my man!, That was our old mate George – it’s such a pity – ‘e couldn’t contain his excitement & ‘e just self-combusted”

“Oh yeah Sammy!, I remember ’em, ‘e walked with a limp used to live for the beers before ‘e got married – what was ‘e so excited about Sam??”

“Well Jerry, ‘is wife had finally relented – after a decade of locking ’em inside, she finally relented & said ‘e could go down to the pub for a few beers with ‘is old mates – so by the time ‘e was ten meters from the pub, ‘e was so revved up ‘e self-combusted! All that’s left of ’em is that black scorch mark in front of us!”

“Aw..that’s a terrible…terrible way to go Sammy – ‘e didn’t even get to the pub, didn’t get to say hi to us, ‘e didn’t even get ta wet ‘is whistle at all!”

“Well Jeer – that’s how many of the blokes are going these days matey, things have changed! They’ve even got a new name for it – I saw it on ol’ Georgie’s death certificate – it read “death caused by overexcitement brought on by toxic marital henpeckery”.

“What are we gonna do about it all Sam?”

“Well Jeer, you get the Janola & I’ll get the scrubbing brush.”

“You idiot Sam! That’s all that’s left of ‘em, we gotta show our respects to ‘em, not scrub him away.”

“Right you are Jeer – what was I thinkin’!? Let’s just stand ‘ere next to ‘im & ‘ave a can of beer & ‘ave a minutes silence.”

“You mean a minutes silence AND a gulping of the beers, Sammy.”

“It’d be disrespectful to Georgie if we didn’t! In fact Jeer – we ought to empty a can of beer on ‘is black scorch too as a sign o’ respect!”

“’ey let’s not go overboard Sammy – have you seen the price of a pint lately! Let’s just spill a few mouthfuls for ‘em from each of our beer cans, & after all it’s ‘is own fault for marrying that jailer henpecky Mrs of ‘is”

“Your right Jeer! To ‘eck with ’em – let’s just nod at ’em whenever we walk over the scorch while comon’ & goin’ from the pub!”

“Not even that Sammy, fetch the Janola lad – looking at that scorch is now is just making me think of that yellow belied boob – let’s erase our so called chum Georgie or should I say “Georgie the scorchie!”.

“Yeah great idea! ‘e always kinda annoyed me anyway…..but Jeer… there is another way to look at it all”

“What’s that Sammy?…& this better be good”

“Well Jeer – that scorch mark will be bloody ‘ard to get off, even with Janola & a stiff bristled brush, it’ll take us ‘alf an ‘our at least – maybe an ‘hole ‘our!”

“………………………er…….Great bloke that George was….great bloke….Sammy…Let’s go buy a can o’ beer each from the ol’ off liscense, ya’know…that Supermarket down there…& one for our pal Georgie, we’ll be back ‘ere in no time to honour ’em & ‘is scorchmark!”

“Jeer, you’re a gentleman & a scholar man! – I agree Great guy that Georgie….we owe it to ‘im & ‘is scorch mark to spill him a few glugs – ‘eck maybe even spill a couple of cans on the ol’ scorchmark”.

“Settle on Sam, we didn’t like ’em that much – ‘e’s worth exactly one can of spilt beer, bought from the off liscense…that supermaket…once a week – tops.”

“Right on Jeer, we’ll let’s walk to the Supermarket, it’s only two blocks away”

“…..Two blocks!…Is it that far??? …..er…Boy that George was a total bastard – no wonder ‘is mrs didn’t ever let ‘em out – am I right or am I right Sam?”

“Totally agree Jeer – let’s go back to the pub & forget we ever met that scallywag…‘Georgie the scorchie’ indeed!

“I bloody agree Sammy! We can raise a glass to ‘is Mrs too! Lively lass she was! Full of joy she was! Never ‘urt a fly that one! ‘ow far away are we from the pub now?”.

“About two and a half blocks Jeer”.

“The off-liscense Supermarket’s ‘alf a block closer Sammy…come to think of it….George wasn’t really that bad all in all, & his Mrs was indeed a bloody ‘enpecker!”

“She was a total jailer warden Jeer! Doing that to that Saint of a man! Lockin’ ’em in like that for year after year! Let’s get some beers for ‘em & us, & we’ll be back tipping it in remembrance over ‘Georgie the scorchie’ in no time!”

“Yep Sammy, I reckon ‘alf a can will do ‘em well enough!”

“Right you are Jeer, as I’ve always said your a gentleman & a scholar”

“Shaddap & get your wallet ready Sammy!”

“….ah….yeah…no problem Jeer…ah are we sure ‘e wasn’t a bastard Jeer?, I mean I haven’t paid the overdue rent this week yet! I’m bloody skint!”

“My shout then Sammy – after all a mate’s a mate!”

“Boy that George was a great man! Jeer Let’s honour Georgie & his scorchie! I mustn’t have been feelin’ so well just then, you know I never doubted old George the Scorch for a second!”

“You’re a strange bloke Sammy, always changing ya mind like that – buy the way when can ya pay me back for the cans of beer I’m about to shout us all?”

“Might be a couple weeks Jeer – I mean I ‘aven’t paid the electric yet either!”

“That George was a bastard! Screw him, screw ‘is blimey scorch too! I’m off home Sammy!”

“I’ll follow your lead Jeer, I know you’re always right! Always ‘ave been! I’ve forgotten about George already & his stinkin’ scorchmark!…PS Jeer matey, when we get to your place you’ll have some beers for me won’t ya?, I mean that fridge of yours is always full – you can spare a ‘alf a dozen or two for your ol’ mate Sammy can’t ya?”

“….Look Sammy, I won’t have you talkin’ badly of ol’ Georgie, not now, not ever! Now I know you’re not feelin’ so well, so you prob ‘ave been imagining things, ‘earing things all funny like – now let’s get those cheap beers from the off liscense Supermarket for me you & our blessed Georgie the Scorchie – God bless ’em! & nuts to that damn ‘enpecker mrs of his too!”

“Never doubted you for a minute Jeer! I’m feeling much better all of a sudden! As I always say – gentleman & a scholar you – ‘e was a great bloke that Georgie, bloody pity ’bout ‘is henpeckery wife. God, I feel like a beer though….I mean we outa get a few extra in in Georgie’s honour, I mean three beers between me you & George the Scorch is bloody nothin’”.

“Look Sammy, I keep tellin’ ya – George was just an OK guy, not good not bad – just ok – three beers is what me, you & ‘e needs…..look at a stretch maybe ‘e’s good enough for me to have three, you to have two & him to have one…ok!?”

“That’s a deal Jeer!…I mean, yeah….you’re right ‘e was just kinda ok wasn’t he, not good, not bad – just ok– same for ‘is Mrs too. Ah that cheap off liscense supermarket beer is just what an ok man like Georgie needs right now! It would really ‘it the…er..I mean…. it would ‘it ‘is spot, ‘is scorchmark, if ya know what I mean Jeer!”

“Thanks Sammy mate…I got ya fella….lets go. By the way, ’bout time I properly introduced you to ‘ol Georgie’s widow soon – I mean after all -she’s an ok kinda lady, I mean – what’s the worst thing ‘at could ‘appen t’ya???”

End

“My Comic Book Days” (A Poem)

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Sometimes I wonder….

Am I what’s left after making the decision many years ago to not to do myself in?.

For there a few stints of bed-riddled-ness when I was younger.

It would have been easy to seriously contemplate ending it all.

But for some weird reason I always had at least a kernel of hope,

To stave off the dark reaper, the destroyer most grim –

Pick a name.

Perhap’s I mostly keep myself alive for the hobbies.

The 60s-90s Rock music, The writing, The coffee-houses.

Yes that all seems so glib,

But it’s amazing how those things can keep you going,

Even when carrying such a wounded soul,

Even while being left holding a quiver full of broken Cupid’s arrows.

Even after this process repeats with the next long-haired spell-caster.

For I probably wouldn’t try a short haired one – call me old fashioned.

But then again, who am I kidding? –

The Port O’ Love has long been closed indefinitely –

This wasn’t so much a choice per se,

More of something external that chose to wash over me –

These the oh so quiet waters of self-preservation.

Or is my entire life just an ode to undiagnosed ADHD?

ADHD that was masquerading as Depression?

I’m sure all the Docs know this & that’s the swindle –

I am convinced there will be a shady medical profiteer’s book called:

“There’s nothing more profitable than misdiagnoses”.

But here I am at middle age – 46 almost 47.

Still Alive & fighting each day to not become what I used be:

“Self-destructo”

That guy unfortunately squashed a lot of my chances to be young & happy.

Though he did provide plenty of empty drunken highs along the way,

So, I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.

I guess a wise man would simply be grateful for it all & soldier on,

& be happy for the bonus wisdom squeezed out along the way.

And I guess this is our fate anyway:

To live in a world that doesn’t really work,

With the real well-designed one,

Forever just slightly out of reach.

To the more troubled life, the thought is soothing.

And so as the sun goes down, now the comic ends.

And as always….

Once again by the end of the day, the city is safe.

……….but for how long?

“Muggings with a side of beer” (A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

Ask yourself: Is it The Economy or a just a Raid?

Think about it carefully.

But have a beverage on hand while thinking about it.

You need something to numb the pain of this kind of thinking –

Of how the world truly works.

The ability to choose a beverage, incidentally, Is also proof –

That although The Economy is in fact just a Giant Raid,

By the Rich on The Poor (& now even the middleclass).

There’s still pockets of joy sown into into the sneaky heist.

Sure – The Beverages all aids in their ability to Raid better –

I’m not disputing that.

Only a fool would.

But it’s still better to be offered a beer while being mugged,

Than to stand their without any stress relief at all.

They’ve thought of everything.

But a beer is still a beer.

So let’s raise a glass to our muggings,

With always a wry smile on our faces.

That’s our small victory,

It’s our little POW treat, If you will.

“The Boredom Interest Rate” (A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Over the last year or so,

The Boredom Interest Rate has been climbing dramatically.

Note: In my future formal reports, for simplicity, I shall refer to it as the acronym ‘B.I.R.’

When the B.I.R. rate was low, I could pretend I wasn’t actually bored as heck.

I could do this by putting on a CD, reading a little, or some casual Internet-ing.

I could use this slight-of-hand, because at low B.I.R. the increase in the principal amount of Boredom,

Stayed roughly the same.

Now with the B.I.R. rate skyrocketing, my brain sees these the smoke & mirror tactics for what they are -quant self-serving illusions.

Now I sit amongst that un-working chicanery, realising just how bored I have truly become.

Is this simply the inevitable curse I put on myself in training my mind so heavily for at least thirty years straight?

Is this the pain I have to endure for reading so many books?

For thinking so much?

Have I simply unwitting turned day-to day life into a prison for my mind?

With this boredom biting, I’m starting to see God’s warning about the ‘apple of knowledge’.

For ultimately it creates a shroud of isolation that wraps you in a cocoon of loneliness.

Unless of course, you are one of the lucky ones.

The lucky ones that have many others sitting around them in the same mental boat – or straightjacket – to readily share ideas with.

But even then, I’m not so sure those types are happy anyway.

At current, I have perhaps only a thin almost imperceptible sliver of that collegiality available.

I guess where their is a sliver, their is hope – so I should pray that the sliver is more than that.

Perhaps the sliver is the thin end of the wedge.

Perhaps the fat end of the wedge is hidden by perspective,

But is holding open the door to some kind of intellectual paradise,

To which I will soon be able to able to walk through.

But as I just alluded to, with the already collegial types – I am probably deluding myself – stupidly romanticising the so called intellectual life.

Yes, to be intellectual in nature is more likely a curse in an unthinking world –

And probably rightly so.

But would an intellectual trade their life for a surface-ly happy rich nouveau riche type without a bookcase?

No, this would not ever happen in a quadrillion years.

You see there’s another strange thing about intellectuals:

Don’t tell anyone this,

But we kinda love to be miserable.

Call it an inherent feature of intellectualism: self hatred.

Though in theory there is utility in this (so we tell ourselves anyway):

For some reason the right dose of misery works well for ideas & writing.

Perhaps that’s why we are loathe to trade the misery away.

Or perhaps I’m over-dressing it all –

Perhaps all it is is just plain comfort.

Plain run-of-the-mill, garden variety, predictable old comfort of knowing tomorrow will be much the same as today.

It’s a real psychic internal wrestling match:

The Comfort of Misery vs The Stress of the Unknown.

And the wise voice in my head is now telling me this:

Your problem with boredom is that you have an imbalance. You need a balance of the two to feel ok.

Wow that wise voice in my head, sure does know a thing or two.

If only I’d follow their sage advice more readily.

But if I did that, on top of not being bored, I also wouldn’t be a self-sabotager.

One day I hope I’ll finally let that Quinella come in a winner.

Surely one day in the distant future, I will allow myself a few small wins to creep into my life again.

The wise voice in my head has piped up again:

This is because your subconscious is still punishing you for supposed past misdeeds from decades ago, perhaps even way back to minor childhood.

The wise voice has some very good points.

I don’t know why I never force myself to truly take on the sage advice of the wise voice.

The BIR rate would become massively negative,

So, my boredom would evaporate almost immediately.

But I’d also be a different person overnight.

And I guess right now I’m not ready for that.

And so after all this self-conjured psychic appraisal – what of it all?

At least, if nothing, I suffer no delusions as to my current state.

For surely with a morsal of Truth lies at least a token of chance,

To someday throw at the wheel of (mis)fortune?.

For If I was also without Truth,

Surely what I’d have would be identically zero.

So yes, while this existential crisis continues,

There is still hope for me yet.

For one day someone might read these words and think to themselves:

“Wow he’s completely right”.

Here’s hoping.

“Musings On The Internet” (A Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith

he internet was a bad idea.

But the future will never know this.

The internet is too entrenched.

It has become our masters.

I miss the old-fashioned world.

You had books, beer, tv, house parties, pubs & sports & that was about it.

Simple.

We’ve gone down too far down the rabbit hole of complexity.

But there is no easy answers left on the table.

It’s not like everyone will suddenly take a baseball bat to their smartphones & computers one day.

Although I must admit,

“International destroy your computer with a baseball bat day” –

Has a good ring too it!

*sigh*

“Newsflash! We have found signs of life on Planet K2-18b!” (A skit or proto short story)

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Narrator: So the word on the intergalactic gravity wave data network was telling all the advanced citizens of the galaxy that those ape-like beings of planet Earth thought they’d sniffed out life on another planet. This made all the galactic tongues wag, as you might expect. Just imagine what the far far more advanced than us beings – the aliens- would have been saying to each other….I imagine it might go something like this….

“Evening SnoinkSnoik”

”Evening BlatBlat”

“Oh no SnoinkSnoink did you here the news? Those bums over at the Perseus arm of the Milky Way finally found us – drat drat & double drat!

“Well Blato me ol’ boy, don’t worry too much – at least they won’t be able to get here for another thousand years – they ain’t too bright on the anti-gravity”.

“You’re right again Snoinko – we at k2-18b can all thank our lucky stars about that”.

“Don’t you mean we can thank our lucky “sinusoidally rotating twin Roy Kerr blacker than black, black holes” – after all, that’s what drives our anti-gravity”

“Ah yes Snoink, but that would be a real mouthful say – oh wait I forgot, we communicate telepathicaly don’t we?”

“How could you forget that Blats?”

“Dunno I think maybe we are already getting dumber ever since they sniffed us out”

“Oh well, perhaps we should shoot ‘em with our death ray”

“No Snoinkster, we are supposed to protect the undeveloped cave man like life forms – remember the galactic charter?”

“Oh yeah, ok then Blatso, from now on it will all like “ixnay on the eth-day ay-ray”

“Yes lamentably ol’ Snoinkarino, it really does seem like you are becoming more like the Earthlings every second – I didn’t understand a word you said, I mean thought!”

“Well Blatsos, you’re right again! I am probably over exposed to their silly psychic mind fields – I did have a brief visit there over New Jersey the other month, the sunny weather was as delicious as the odd human snack I beamed up to my vessel!”

“Silly Alien, I told you to stop zipping about the galaxy so much, and be careful what you eat those humans are very high in fat these days!”

“Well excuse me for wanting a holiday once in a while & some time to myself, & what’s wrong with some fatty human snacks every now & then as a treat”

“Look what we are becoming, we are becoming what we eat! We have to stop all this silliness! And now they know we are here it’s only get worse! let’s rip up that pesky galactic charter & fire up the death ray!”

“here here Blatbrain!”

“No – not here – over there, let us not blow ourselves up again Snoinkenstein”

“Over there, over there, spread the word, spread the word, over there! (singing theatrically)”

“Oh brother! Now you’re singing their dippy songs – we really need to end this scene fast!”

“I agree me ol’ mate Blato-saurus – but how?”

“Let’s just stop thinking”

“Oh so we’re going to be 100% Earthlings now are we?”

“Unfortunately Snoinkeltoes, yes – that is now looking like our destiny!”

“Well, Blatzles, let’s just fire up the death ray then!”

“Right you are Snoinkletino”

“No worries Blatsoballs”

“I’m glad we eventually saw giant black almond shaped eye to giant black almond shaped eye”

“Looks like we’re back to being ourselves then eh?”

“Yeah – that Earth mind Virus got us for a few mega trillion nanoseconds!”

“True – now I forget what we are doing with the death ray are we using it or do the Earthlings get to live”

“Let’s flip for it”

Ok if I land on my six feet they live, if I land on my giant squid like head they die by giant intergalactic laser beam!” (he does a summersault & lands perfectly on his six feet)

“Ta da – I landed on my feet”

“Ok the dummies live to sniff our farts another day then”

“Let’s shut up our telepathy now that that’s all sorted Snoinkelbergster ”

“Oh Blatabus, You always think that! p.s. just call me plain old SnoinkSnoink next time would you”

“But that’ll be no fun Snoinkel-berg-ster-saurus-arino-meister”

“Oh dear…oh dear…oh dear oh dear oh dear….it’s worse than I thought…you’ve got a terrible terrible dose of Humanitis….I’ve changed my mind about it all now Blattles – Fire up the Death Ray!”

“Ok fair enough SnoinkSnoink, after all, It’s only fair & right charter or no charter it must be done!….but …er..there’s just one more problem…”

“What’s that Blatblat?”

“I can’t remember where I put it last”

End

“Willard died in ’35” (A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

The economy crashes when too many people blindly copy each other thinking they’ll make an easy buck.

The ruthless ones that control everything long term know this.

They’ve known it since the dawn of man & probably before that.

So they sit on the sidelines ready to pick over the carcasses.

It happened this way in 1929 1987 & 2008 & 2020.

I can just imagine some ancient fossilised vampire with his centuries old battlefeild skin all lined with the seeds of hundreds of years of faustian knowledge.

He’s both sitting & dwarfed by an oversize leather chair clubs & he’s pontificating to one of his fellow blood sucking kinsmen:

“Oh my Willard, isn’t it wonderful that the crash of ’29 is going to have its one-hundredth anniversary in a few years? I plan on making a killing like I did back then. Now where did I put my cup of virgin’s blood? It was here a second ago. There’s to many swooping seagulls around the graceful Buzzards round here Willard. Oh, there’s my cuppa blood – still warm too. But It’s always a bit sad to see the waitress’s wilt. But let’s hang on a few years till the real bloodbath in 2029 Willard…Willard?….WILLARD!??…oh silly me I forgot Willard died back in ’35 – partied too hard during the Depression, the silly schmuck!”

I don’t blame Willard for not being there – even a vampire has to have a few blood free days once in a while.

As Bertie the pontificating vampire had always said around the club during big paydays, “there is such a thing as too much of a good thing you know – that’s why we cut these big crashes in half these days – we were all to greedy in ’29”

Contrary to ’80s Wall St catch cry,

Greed is not good.

Alert! My Latest Short Story – “Trafficlight Dystopia” is provisionally finished.

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Hello faithful readers! I am your leader! That last sentence was a joke! Read the whole thing at the link below. I was very happy to complete this work, as it is my first short story for a while (a year? eighteen months? nine months? I am not sure as time morphs ridiculously these days!).

“Trafficlight Dystopia” (A Short Story)

This short story feels like it is actually half a short story & half a novella. . . they don’t have a word for that, as I think that still falls under the rubric of a ‘short story’. . .I don’t even know how many words it is, but my instinct says perhaps 7000 words, or at least 6000….maybe 8000 who knows!

Ok I just word counted – it is 8500 words! This after a couple of edits will prob trim down (if I want it to stay a short story) or gain words (If I turn it into a novella). I will worry about this later – the smartest thing is to do both versions, I guess.

As I have just finished this new work, I feel that it might be the best thing I’ve written….but of course every writer, be they good, hack, or crap does say this – but it does feel like it is a more meaningful one. Perhaps it is because this story, I would say, is also semi-autobiographical. That’s all I’m saying on the matter!

Anyway I hope someone out there enjoys it.

Outside the short story, I am just back from a half writers weekend/half family visit to Dunedin. It was good, and I had a party night at the Dunedin Social Club with the very quality host ‘English Joe’ (The Punk Band lookalike) Bartender. Those cheap beers went down the throat like a fluffy reverse endoscope (ok bad analogy).

I also caught up with family, which was nice. You have to forgive your parents in this world; this is what I have learnt. There might be exceptions, but they don’t apply in my case. Sons & Fathers have too much beef against each other….that should change.

I also visited the great little bookshop called “hard to find books” on Dowling Street. It’s a gem & I only bought 5 books this time – I limited myself.

I am now back in my small Central Otago town. I’ve got back to my bathroom renovation project – it’s an odyssey in itself! It’s getting cold. I need to make more cash in day jobs. Same old story unfortunately! The three cats (one is mine, the other two just turn up each day) are glad I am back, they have been demanding food. The little bastards! It’s good to be back in this good writing environment (there’s not much to do you other than write you see).

So you are all updated….I hope you read my short story & I hope it’s not too hard going. I plan to write a few more short stories, as I have a few ideas brewing from my Dunedin trip.

See you soon, happy reading & take care.

p.s. there were no paid promotions here by the way. I haven’t hit the bigtime yet for that!

Martin Anton Smith 16 April 2025 10:01 PM (nice & exact)

“Trafficlight Dystopia” (A Short Story)

“The Terrible T’s” ( A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

Truculant Trump Tariffs Test Transnational Trade….

Tension Transcends The Terra-Firma….

The Truth, Tattle Tales, & Treason Take The Traditional Talks To The Threatening Troposphere.,,

Trying Times – Till Tomorrow’s TV Takes To Trump Tower,

To Trample, Toot, Test, To Takeover.

Trumpian’s To Take Their Tech Through To The Thirsty Texan Temperatures?

That’s The Tale Of Trump’s Troublesome Though Tasty Tariffs.

Thanks To Today’s Tired Theatre –

“This Tuesday’s Thoughtful Trash Talk”