Welcome to The Baby Wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episodeI read a New Poem which is also really a speech. It is quite self-explanatory in its main thrust, so I will only add this: I want to underline that not all Baby Boomers are bad, and we must not always on a personal and professional level strive not to tar everyone with the same brush and instead treat everyone on their individual merits. In saying that, I think it is totally fair to pointout that a large group within a generation has failed to pay it forward, and this is what this Poem/Speech speaks too.
Sometimes a little shame is a good thing, for if more Boomers felt some shame for outbidding each other at these soulless auctions on a now ‘normalised’ speculative property market, then certainly mainstream society would not be so dysfunctional and breaking apart at the seams.
Though I will add the media is equally to blame in covering up this crime against humanity – for that is what it actually is.
Oh, and I almost forgot – to my fellow non-boomers, I think it very wise to think twice about engaging anarchy as a solution to a clueless elite in power. As the world after the anarchist-based Revolution can be worse than what you were originally fighting against – Russia 1917-1991 shows us this fact. But of course, to not do anything and not associate to decide to do something, is equally bad.
Also, to collectively clarify the end of the poem – to collectively agree that we must ‘not worry at all’ should not be confused with weak inaction. It is actually to do the opposite, that is to guardedly keep our high mental reserves and spirits in order to play and then win this game of attrition. I will read the piece now.
“Boomers Lake”
Poem/Speech by M.A. Smith
These days are full of tough toil.
The hours of work are unreliable.
There is either so many or so little,
All designed to keep you down.
The pay is near criminal,
The conditions interminable,
The prices of food are rising like a tide
The rent continues to inflate,
While the wages deflate.
God help you if you happen to have kids!
This The curse of being working class.
This the curse of the “un – asset-ed”
While we booze ourselves to forget,
We watch the toffs with the assets,
As they drink their fine wine,
In their gated establishments.
We know they deride us as a lazy rabble
For that is their cultural badge.
“Look at those rabble, so lazy that’s why they are poor” they cry.
But you Sir, oh man and wife with fine linen
Who doth malign us so,
You created our poverty and our rabble-ness,
By speculating and curtailing our land and houses.
You loaded the dice in your favour,
After the dice were cleaned and given to you free
By your parents and grandparents,
Who died for your current and future well-being and freedom.
You Traitorous few have danced on their graves and used the young as the dance floor.
So, we the great unwashed have little chance to raise capital,
God help us if we want to marry and have children.
Thus, we are forever chasing our tails.
We have been “property boomed” right out of social relevance.
By you sir, and your all-too-skinny wife who acts as your satellite, have gathered together a band of thieves’ rogues and liars.
You took the welfare state after WW2
And you destroyed the bounty from the 1980’s onwards.
When you grew from selfish immoral hippy to selfish immoral property flipper.
This was of course a seamless transition in your permanent spiritual vegetative state of moral wasteland induced psychosis.
You can’t of course look this ailment up in the DSM-V – as this recurrent Baby Boomer mental illness has been 100% redacted, whitewashed, blacklisted.
You can however find a list of its traits: lecherousness, narcissism, false idolatry, pig headedness,
When they report with chirpy voices on the 6 O’clock the latest Property Suicides Index figures.
You Mean Boomer Sir, and your too thin too wrinkly mean wife on the hill,
Were handed a gold mine by your parents,
But you were supposed to share it,
Instead, you hoarded it.
You gated it.
you segregated it.
You made it faux scarce to pump up the price.
You turned the world into a nouveau riche, new money-grubbing wasteland.
But here’s the thing – you think you can hide in your social bubbles, your gated leafy suburbs, your dinner party’s & expensive restaurants.
You think you can avoid the dirty festering nest you have made for the majority of society.
But you will be surprised!
When the horrid rabble you created
Rise up from the gutters and the wrong side of the tracks
To take over your house and seize your assets.
And lock you and your wife in your basement – less you repent your sins.
For in the near future the great unwashed has already risen up
And repossessed all your stolen trappings of “success”.
What’s that? You worked bloody hard to get where you are?
Well Sir, your great unwashed underlings work bloody hard to get nowhere!
But even if some miracle occurs and your assets are not redistributed, and you are not strung up in the square,
Do you really think that it is possible to reverse the gift entrusted to you – that of your physical existence on earth?
Did you think you could take that gift and turn it into a hornet’s nest, and suffer no spiritual repercussions?
This is a lie,
This is an egregious lie!
You pay right now in real-time, with the unfriendly scowl that is ensconced forever on your droopy jowled face,
You pay with the dastardly dreaded darkness that fills your heart,
You pay with forever future fearful punishment for those good deeds you undone.
You pay with you lost spiritual awareness.
And you will surely pay after you leave this mortal coil.
But “there is no afterlife, there is no God” I hear you say!
Sir Boomer, that is the wrong bet you have made for so long.
You Sir and Madam boomer have made a bad bet, that the “Great Creator” of this simulated reality
did not write some lines of code to ensure punishment of the very very mean ones.
But of course, he would do that, after all wouldn’t you?
Do you not also protect your investments here on earth?
Just as you have punished the good on Earth, so too will you be punished.
Would you Boomer Sir write a world where the avatars who ruin your creation, are rewarded?
This is a fallacy – for whether someone is mean or good they have always one thing in common:
They love their creations they protect their goods and punish those who trespass these.
Beware! The Great Creator is no different, he hates to see the Boomer Investor classes hurt his people.
So Dear Mean Boomer – your giant earthly dinner party, with an exclusive door list, with your purple robes and fine wine,
Will be crushed into an eternal prison cell.
But as your deceptions rise, so will your eternal imprisonment!
But when you are put there, you will deny where you are,
You will pretend “everything is ok, fine, fine and dandy”.
You say this lie despite the flesh that hangs from your now gruesome, horror movie zombie body.
Yes! It is the flames that flicker and sear your rotting flesh that you ignore.
Yes! It is the maggots that infest your eyes that you will deny.
So, the Deceptive Boomers Investor Classes did enjoy their last few Earthly minutes.
They did attend the final dinner parties with fellow outrageously selfish snobs.
But little did they know that when Reginald asked
“What are you driving these days”
They were all being driven to the fiery gates, to the catacombs of oblivion where they would reside for infinity.
Those Boomers were on a road trip to the one place they will never have power to gate, to exclude to sequester to distort.
To The Pit, The Bad side of Hades, The Lake of Fire.
But I lament, will we ever on earth see the headline:
“Wealthy Baby Boomer Elite Classes Now Repent Earthly Sins As they & Thier Wives Burn In The Lake Of Fire” ?
I say to thee this: No We Will Not See That Headline!
For the Boomer Property Flippers and Social Destroyers, aka the “Angel’s of Death”, would never ever embarrass themselves like that.
They would never ever show any signs of weakness, even in Hell!.
Even as their undead corpses are entombed inflamed for eternity.
I even hear they have set up a “Hellfire Investors Club” which is currently only awaiting the regulator’s signature.
His name of course is Barry Lewis Zebub, or B. L. Zebub.
Of course, the Boomers in Hell have a love hate relationship with this entity,
As he holds up all their new projects with so much unnecessary red tape.
“Hell wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for Zebub”, the Boomers cry.
“We would get this place shipshape and more miserable if it weren’t for bloody Zebub’s bureaucracy” they despair.
See even in Hell the boomers wanted to run things their own way.
For they always cried out to Zebub to renovate and extend their deeply buried catacombs.
B.L. Zebub was always on to their tricks of course and wisely ignored them.
In fact when a Boomer requested to “Double the Square Footage of his Catacomb”, Zebub halved it and doubled the temperature.
And now in closing,
We as full Party members of Poverty-Stricken Non-Boomer Gutter Wrens (PSNBGW) must rise above and against the Ultra Mean Boomer classes but not of course against the countless good Boomers.
We must not let the Boomer Classes steal our earthly and animal spirits any more,
We must know that our time in paradise will come,
and so, with graceful patience in the face of acute Boomer-Itis,
We must follow this short life affirming dictum from Britain’s Windsor Davies,
That member of the “Silent Generation” said this:
“Oh Dear,
How Sad,
Never mind. ”
For our Revolution will be not to retort with understandable anarchy, but ensure we do not worry at all anymore.
For those that destroy the trees of society will always one day suffocate for their foolishness.
All that is needed of us is this:
To simply watch from afar and mutter amongst ourselves the words “I told you so Boomer”.
Thank you for listening to the Baby wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
& at Sunday dinner he has the waiter put a new notch in it.
On Monday he expands to the East…
Authors Note: This poem borrows the spirit of a ww2 front line vet who with the aim to lift spirits, makes jokes of the enemies top leadership. This is a tip of the hat to the fallen in ww2. I should note that Goering was the very rotund, high ranking German commander of the Luftwaffe and at one time the right hand man of that more-than-a-rouge Hitler.
Welcome to The Baby Wants It’s Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative.
In this episode I read two New Poems that are short and simple. One is fun the other is serious and is an ode to ww1 fallen. The first one about a Seagull was done when someone posted a picture of a seagull who was looking hungrily in from behind the window pane at the diners to a beachside restaurant. The poster had also written a short a poem & I thought I could do better so I wrote one too.
The second poem is in the form of first person and relates the battlefront thoughts from a young, probably doomed ww1 fighter. I wrote this to help – albeit in my microscopic way, given I have no profile or reach yet – in the real battle for remembering History. I think we have in many ways entered into a dangerous “Post History” epoch, especially for the young, our future citizens and shapers of the world. I say that without an appreciation of History (especially History of the 20th Century) we are as Ben Franklin ‘s famous quote relates- “Those who would give up essential liberty, to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety”.
We as citizens must always remember Franklin’s wise words – we should be wary of the clipboard, think tank and public servant classes and their secret drawings up of the next bad law which is sold to us with the label “This draconian measure has to be done for the publics safety, because we say so and your great unwashed input is not required”.
We must reign in the “Think Tank Classes” that increasingly act to advise and drive Government policy. These “Think Tankers” are members of elitist clubs, whose membership entails them to always “punch down”, hurting the everyman.
Don’t be stupid and tell yourself “This doesn’t happen in our little isolated Country”. If we ignore the need to act as good citizens and thus in the true sense of the term “community leaders”, we risk a mindless war like ww1 repeating.
We in NZ as a whole are too apolitical and simple minded on political and social issues, and this has already led to a divided society over the last 40 years, that frays at too many edges. We must fight for an inclusive society, and engage properly to ensure this happens, we must leave our caves an engage. This re-awakening can reverse the damage done to or social fabric by dodgy politicians and greedy unthinking faux aristocratssince 1984.
People in NZ and other countries should realise that by allowing ‘Blackrock Investments’ and other soul-less international and some local portfolio barons to out bid the general public for their workers and family homes, we are blowing up all we have worked for over the last 200 years in building this formerly hardy self sufficient little nation.
On matters of admin the podcast has been widened to include more social commentary and philosophy and so a new moniker is “The Baby Wants It’s Bottle Philosophy and Poetry Inc.”. I look forward to speaking my essays I have written recently and also from a few years ago.
Anyway, enough with the intro and lets begin with the poems.
Thankyou for listening to the Baby wants It’s Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Welcome to The Baby Wants It’s Bottle Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episodeI read a New Poem which is about the continuing need to battle against anxiety and depressive feelings. This was written in ten minutes but hopefully doesn’t seem that way. Other than that the Poem speaks for itself, so I will get right into it!
Hey You, Get Offa My Leaf Cloud (Poem By M. A .Smith Aug 12 2021)
The Body and Mind Was Threatening
To Tip Over Into Low Vibration Mode.
Which Is a Bad Outcome,
As It Often Takes a Month Top Snap Out Of
Its Evil Grips.
The Low Vibration Was Averted
By The Go To Method
Of The Vigorous Bike Ride
In The Country,
Or In This Case
“The Rail Trail”.
So Out I Went
The Wind Was A Blowin’
And Gettin’ A Worse.
The Goin Was Slow,
And The Time Of Arrival Doubled.
The Trees Were Shouting:
“Why Are You Biking In This Weather Ya Nimrod”
“Because I’m Vibrationally Low”,
I Shouted back”.
The Small Missile Branches Were Avoided,
And I Arrived At The Half-Way Apogee Point.
Now The Fun Part – Riding The Wind On The Return Trip.
No Peddlin’ Was Required
And I Boosted My Speed
By A Well Known Schoolboy Method:
A Supermarket Bag Turned Into A Makeshift “Sail” .
That Sail Did Fill With Voluminous Plumtious Joy,
And My Ground Speed Was Duly Boosted .
I Was Pleasantly Heart Warmed
When Part Way Through
My Bike Ground Speed Matched The Leaf Air Speed
And So I Found Myself and
The “Leaf Cloud”
In A State Of “Suspended Animation”.
Yes Yes, You Are Right,
Walt Disney Would Have Been Very Proud.
The Coin Size Leaves Were Simply Sitting Right Next To Me
Waving, Wobbling and Wondrous-ing.
Alas That Levitous Leaf Cloud All Too Soon Frittered Itself Away,
And I was Left Alone
With My Bike.
Me
My Bike
And My
Makeshift Wind Sail.
I Am Happy To Report That
The Low Vibration
Was Expertly Destroyed.
Thanks In No Short Measure
To The Willingness
To Recapture Ones Youthful
Exuberances
And Not Be Embarrassed
In Doin So.
Thankyou for listening to the Baby wants It’s Bottle Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Welcome to The Baby Wants It’s Bottle Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episodeI read two of my latest poems “Somewheres Nowhere” & “Sugar low Cat”. I wrote these two poems very quickly and off the cuff in about 30 mins a piece. This is mostly how I write for short poems. I guess the ideas come from my unconscious mind which resides somewhere I can’t yet begin to describe. While writing these poems, I was at home, and in a contemplative mood. This mood was a little different from usual, as my brain had been juiced. Juiced no not on drugs you fool! My Brain was juiced from following the incredibly interesting events coming out of the middle east – namely the fall of Afghanistan to the Taliban. I don’t want to talk about this here, as the poems I have written are not about that story at all. I would also rather be partially uplifting in tone for this awesome episode. I will say just one thing. On the themes Afghanistan now forces us to acknowledge, I can only pray that good people somehow some day are rewarded and that those creating pain have their powers diminished by a higher loving forces.
Now let me talk about the poems. For “Somewheres Nowhere”, I started writing this with not any ideas and all – I had a blank page and I just wrote the first line. The rest flowed. When I wrote that first line (Which was originally ‘ On The Road to Nowhere’) I couldn’t help but think of the great Talking Heads song from long ago in the 80’s. I guess my poem has some similarities to that song – it’s really about meaning in life, and the poem is about someone leaving what they see as an unrewarding joint for brighter lights and greener pastures. Of course the change the character seeks could represent a change of psychological state rather than just their physical location.
This protagonist also talks of someone else or maybe just their alter ego. This is that who is staying behind with what they know best, imperfect as it may seem. I think this is a slice of reality, when you leave somewhere you are also going somewhere else, but there is always going to be a ghost of that place residing deep inside. Try as you might, you cannot forget the past entirely. I think everyone eventually learns this fact. You must one day reconcile the past as the alternative – that is to bury your past – is a growing hornets nest of psychological pain.
I guess the ‘somewhere’ in this poem is not just anywhere, but is a place that has defined the protagonist in some way, at some stage of their life – maybe a hometown for example. Their is a conflict between the ego that is staying and the ego that is going. The ego leaving arrogantly assumes they are growing wings and that the ego that is staying will be far worse off. Of course this poem is deciding one sided – and the ego staying is left hung out to dry by the adventurous jet setter off to conquer the world.In this poem their voice of those left behind is not yet heard.As I write that last line, I thought of the Afghani citizens and trapped foreigners desperate situation and I wonder if this was the unconscious motivation for this poem. We must ask ourselves why it is that the most vulnerable people on this planet never have a voice, while the privileged voices have an entrenched system of amplification.
This poem also reminds me by the age old story of the young adult leaving home as per the post industrial western age “right of passage”. I guess it could also be described as “modern day exodus”. This (in the secular orientated industrial west) is always assumed to be a good thing (to flee rather than stay) however our current times (financial decay/pandemics/civil unrest) now seem to be actively pouring water on this right of passage or Big OE.
Of course this poem is written to be generalized, and thus can refer to anyone leaving something/someone they know or what they see as a ‘new start’. I think these days we are having circumstances force us to rebalance our expectations in regards to materialism and carefree attitudes. These are the myths that have been pushed so heavily in the Western world since the 1960’s.
The other poem – Sugar Low Cat” is a more intentionally positive poem and written as a bit of a laugh. It’s really just a diary of what my cat was doing around the yard yesterday. He’s an expert bird hunter, and our house has many plants and trees which give him great cover to engage in guerrilla warfare tactics vs those little flying dinosaurs. For the record the cat is called Squeeky, he is 3 years old and of the Tortoiseshell variety. I do not have children, and as I age I guess I treat my pet as a pseudo child (how sad). Cats are far easier to deal with than spouses and real children, though I know that having a cat instead of a child will only make the western civilization fall that much harder and sooner.
In closing I will also say that the use of the term “Sugar Low” is inspired by my mother who used over use this term in my childhood – “I was Sugar Low” she would often say to explain something away (It is very amusing looking back on it as an adult). I should also mention if you go to the transcript link in the description, you can see my cartoon sketch I drew specifically for this poem. Well that’s enough of the intro’s lets get into the reading the two poems I’ll start with “Somewhere’s Nowhere” and end with “Sugar low Cat”.
“Somewhere’s Nowhere” Poem by Martin Anton Smith Aug 2021
Nowheresville
On The Road to Nowhere
Where Nothing Ever happens
And Nothing Ever Will
You Try To Leave
You Try To Hide
But You Belong Nowhere
And That’s Where You’ll Reside
And When You Die
You Wont Be Free
You’re Stuck In Nowhere
And That’s Where You’ll Be
Don’t Wait On Me
For I Cannot Come
Somewhere’s Calling
So Fiddle Dee Dee
Don’t Get Me Wrong
For Of You I’m Fond
It’s Just Nowhere’s Somewhere
Where I Cant Belong
So Brace Yourself
And Hunker Down
Nowhere’s Not Fun
And You’re times Not Done
I’ll Let You Know
When Your Times Near
When Nowhere Transforms
To Something You Can Bare
Adios Farewell
Sayonara My Friend
My Heart Is With You
Till Your Bitter End.
End of Poem
“Sugar low Cat” Poem by Martin Anton Smith Aug 2021
Because my cat was sugar low,
he leaped for birds flying low.
He remains sugar low,
& the birds are flying high.
Now he comes to me,
because he is still hun-gry.
Yes, I’m his fallback solution,
so he’s fed without commotion.
The birds did chirp and sigh,
& radioed a fly-by.
Thankyou for listening to the Baby wants It’s Bottle Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 