Tag: health

“She, The Red Shed, & Me” (Spoken Word/A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

I had been ignoring things.

As my non-fitted sheet was falling off the bed far too easily,

& as it had been doing so for six months –

It was time to go to the Red Shed to get a ‘fitted sheet’.

But I was hungry , so I stopped to get a pie & a coffee for lunch first.

Outside the shop a beautiful young-ish woman walked by.

Of course I noticed her.

Fifteen years ago, I would have been actively plotting to meet her perhaps.

When I was younger, slimmer & could still be temporarily confused for a ‘success’.

On dating matters I was more courageous back then –

I had the raw instinct that hormones allow, & smartphones hadn’t had enough time-on-earth to ruin yet.

Now I’m a jaded 47-year-old, although I probably hide it well –

Due to physical work, having all my hair, & not being too fat or wrinkly.

But like all those who have been around the block – I am of course battle-scarred.

So she flittered past & I finished my pie & coffee.

I went to the Red Shed for a fitted sheet.

I’m looking through the packs, deciding on what pattern looks ok.

Then, there she is – the beautiful pie & coffee girl, doing the same thing as me.

I say ‘girl’ because I’d say she’s under thirty-two.

It was then a few emotions took over.

I felt scared.

Like I had to run away.

It was then I realised,

Just how much a big deal even the thought of dating is,

Let alone a relationship,

For a battle-scarred 47-year-old.

With those pangs of emotions hitting hard, I realised acutely & viscerally,

I was still nursing very old wounds from more than a decade ago.

I snatched the fitted sheet pack & disappeared off.

As I was walking to the checkout, I thought:

This is a very sad state of affairs –

I hadn’t until then realised quite how twice shy I really was.

Sometimes reality hits you square right between in the eyes,

And tells you your exact emotional status on the spot.

As I walked to my car, I felt partly ashamed, somewhat enlightened, and tinged with anger.

For I knew that to contibue to indulge those emotions would not bode well for my future heart.

For surely there must be some nasty ephemeral force that wants many of us to stay lonely for life.

It wants us to hunker down in fear & embrace it as a prime motivator, & worship as a guru.

It wants us to fall in love with it in true Stockholm Syndrome fashion.

At least I’ve been around the block enough to know that giving in to such evil is a waste.

Intellectually I know that – don’t we all?

I wonder if I’ll run into that beautiful woman again?

After all – I did forget to buy a pillow….

Perhaps she did too?

Oh there’s one thing I forgot to say.

Between high tailing it away from the fitted sheet rack to the cash register,

I looked at some bogan black jeans on a rack – for nowadays they are not just for bogans.

She walked past & we made eye contact.

I played it cool, & that prior emotion at the fitted sheet rack had dissipated nicely.

And now that I have long left the store & sit here writing in my messy studio,

I am thinking this:

Will I have the balls to say hello If I see her again?

Or will I succumb to being like all the others –

Like every jaded long term single forty plus-er? –

And so say not a peep & desperately avoid eye contact?

That is to allow myself to be typically Mid-Mid-21 Century Socially & Romantically Risk Adverse?

I’d like to think I can next time show some testicular fortitude at the, shall we say red shed pillow aisle.

One thing I do know is this: It can feel nice but It’s never wise to follow the crowd.

Fifteen years ago, I would have felt more confidant this situation.

But then again – I was also a total fool fifteen years ago.

This dear audience, was my ode to being single at 40 plus.

And so, of it all – I dare not talk of solutions.

I’m mostly just happy to just know what’s going on –

For I didn’t have a clue back then, fifteen years ago, when I was thirty-two.

As a battle hardened (or perhaps battle defeated) youngish-old-coot,

I know that to be true.

I guess I better go back to the Red Shed to buy that pillow I forgot about.

After all, I’ll need it anyway.

“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?

“A Miner’s Bath” (A Poem)

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By Martin Anton Smith

So today I was doing a manly manly thing.

I was working with on a bathroom renovation.

And in these situations you must make the most of it.

When you pull off a sheet of Gib aka Dry Wall – you roar like an angry lion.

When you pull off a noggin – you roar.

When you pull out a tack – you roar.

When you sweep up some construction dust – you roar.

These are the pathetic things us men now have to do.

It makes us for a split second think that we haven’t lost our masculinity entirely.

And so when the days work was done – I figured I’d keep the theme going.

I decided I’d go have a ‘miners bath’ – that is to jump into n the river with a bar of soap.

So I walked my 300 meters to the mighty blue river.

I jumped in with all my clothes on – even a old timer wide brim hat.

The soap was in the pocket, out it came & I washed my hair and then a quick once over the rest.

It was just what the old gold miners did in ‘thems old days’.

Back when masculinity wasn’t a dirty word – it was a requirement of all men.

I was almost in the same bathwater from the miners of 1860 to 1890.

The water was quite warm & then my big bar of soap fell out & sank on the bottom.

I bet this was also an old miners tradition – to lose your soap in the river.

My nostalgia was ruined when a guy came along talked to me & then made a cell phone call while he was knee deep.

I will definitely be taking more ‘miners baths’ in the future.

it affords a simple pleasure in a time without much simplicity or genuine pleasure.


These things stave off the spectre of domestic insanity at least until the next day.

I could have “roared” when I was in the water, but then that would have been sophomore-ish at best.

I simply got out & said to the guy “don’t drop your phone”.

Ahh miners bath is a thing a beauty.

I walked back home with the gait & energy of a seargeant major from a real army.

Yes readers, my Masculinity was internally roaring along like a Baritone Beast, a Harley Davidson.

But then perhaps I should shut up – else everyone will be having ‘miners baths’.

And forever ruin my slim to none chances of grabbing some pure solitude.

But then Ned Kelly was right – “such is life”.

We’re not here to ‘win’.

A true masculine man will know this innately.

And now that word, like the modern man himself – has lost all meaning.

Thank God I’m here to write about it all!

Tomorrow I could search for the bar of soap at the bottom of the river.

But why would I?

It’s either lost forever, far too soft or will have entirely disintegrated into its watery surroundings.

Just like Men have.




“Low Dopamine Inc.” ( A Poem)

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by Martin Anton Smith

Isn’t it funny,

When we are young,

How we confuse ‘feeling like crap’.

With something called our “personality”.

As if our body had no say in the matter.

But where does the Brain end & the body begin?

That my friend is not so clear.

The nervous system is laced everywhere & sends signals to the grey matter;

Chemical’s & Hormones flow all through the body & affect out mood:

Dopamine, Testosterone, Estrogen, Oxytocin, Serotonin are just a few.

Case in point: When I feel like I can’t lift a finger to do anything,

I know I am accutely just too low on dopamine.

It is not that I am ‘lazy’ or lack will power.

It’s simply I’m particularly prone to being low on this chemical.

yep – It’s all about knowledge.

Now I am life experienced to know this, I can better combat this lethargy.

I know that if I start to do something, my dopamine & testosterone rises,

& after an hour of physical work I suddenly become “Mr Go Getter”.

I don’t even need to try.

All because of a silly chemical hormone or two.

In these kinds of ways,

We are just machines that need maintenance & have certain specifications.

Of course this is dangerous knowledge.

The ‘World’ wants to hide how easy it is to feel good.

For they run the Hamster Wheel,

& They can’t have you walking out either of the freely open sides.

Their Machiavellianism itches would remain unscratched.

So In summary – you’re probably not ‘demotivated’ at all,

You only have low dopamine.

A very annodyne situation,

Totally benign,

& in no way immutable.

Dopamine can easily become Oxytocin,

Upon simply sweeping out you garage.

A Broom is a ‘Mood Enhancer’.

No Big Pharma, Pysc’s or General Quackery required.

‘A little knowledge is a very dangerous thing’ –

And oh how true.

“He Who Seeks Flavour (sic) Amoungst the Gum-Chewers” (A Poem)

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The man who cannot ‘walk & chew gum’ at the same time takes a long time to get anywhere –

Unless of course he hates to chew gum,

In which case he is always on time.

But then on arrival he faces a new problem –

No one wants him around –

You see ‘Gum chewers’ think ‘Non-Gum Chewers’ are snobs.

After a while this accusation gets to him & he begins to chew gum.

In no time he makes a lot of friends & is known for always being late.

Over-excited by his newfound popularity amoungst the ‘Gum Chewers’ –

He goes overboard:

He subscribes to “Gum Chewers Monthly Magazine”

He invests his life savings in Wrigleys

He joins the Ivory Towers set & writes a thesis called:

‘Saw Jaws & bubble blowing throughout the ages: a longitudinal study well worth sinking your teeth into’

He is then approached by a well known american publisher to turn his thesis into a book,

Then Hollywood comes a-knocking for a feature length documentary

‘Saw Jaws’ becomes a Rollicking blockbuster –

He moves into the Hollywood Hills & dates a bevy of ‘A-listers’ –

Of course – “what goes up, must come down”

Fast forward 7 years – he is washed up, on crack & outa fame & cash & lives under a bridge.

“I wish I’d never reached for that stick of gum” are the words that rattle his head constantly.

They are not the only ones

“How can something as insignificant as chewing gum lead to this”

“How did the Devil get me in such a obscure way as this”

“Now I am so broke I can’t even afford a pack of gum” 

Then he had an epiphany: he’d walk & not stop.

He’d walk & not chew gum – ad infinitum.

He Walked & Walked & Walked & never stopped.

People fed him along the way & gave him a bed at nights.

He began to get attention

Eventually the News Networks wanted to buy his story – for a princely sum.

Strangely he said yes and the whole ‘rise & fall’ story repeated itself again.

The moral of the story is this: Never try to impress the in-crowd.

Alas it is always true – they will chew you up & then spit you out.

But why can’t they Chew you up & spit you out at the same time?

Bloody Hypocrites!

Thankyou for enduring this long lasting & unpallatable gum chewing = life analogie

After all – It really is just some pricks piss poor poetry –

But then again – so it all is – it’s just the fancy packaging that makes you think otherwise.. .

“Adventures at Doctors Point in Winter” (A Poem)

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Welcome to The Baby wants It’s Bottle Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith a NZ based creative. In this episode I get back to basics and read a poem I wrote today. It is essentially a sequel to another poem “Adventures at Doctors Point in Summer”. It’s simply a distillation of the thoughts I had on one of my many scenic and therapeutic bike rides through the countryside. Now lets get straight to the poem!

The “narrows” on the way to “Doctors Point” bike track Alexandra NZ

Adventures at Doctors Point in Winter Poem by Martin Anton Smith July 31 2021.

It’s Saturday, and as always the body is slow to get into gear.

The crawling feeling of low vibrational energy is a continuing story.

This of course becomes worse with winter dampness and low light.

The feeling can be reversed via physical activity or waiting it out till afternoon.

Today I chose the former, and so on my bike to ‘Doctors Point’ I did go.

The Bike is good but aging and is now only running on two gears instead of one-score and eight.

The Bike is an allegory for embodied life, and especially mine in the morning.

So down to the ancient-but-still-as-it-was riverway with it’s ancient craggy clefts and giant rock outcrops.

In a narrow pass I stop to allow another biker through as we both cannot pass at once.

“they don’t call it “the Narrows” for nothin’ ” I say, these days I sound more and more like an old timer.

The next two oncoming bikers career towards me with danger, despite being on a wide path with room to share.

And I think of a possibly wise but imperfect saying:

“Two people crossing in opposite directions on a path made for one, will do so easily, if they are self aware.

Two people crossing in opposite directions on a path made for many, will collide if they are not”.

In this case, less options – that is a narrow path – kicked two people into mutual self awareness and so well-being,

While more options clouded perceptions in the minds, and so led to potential danger.

I think we have been told more options are always better than less, this is an obfuscation.

And those doing the obfuscating I’m sure have been making a lot of money.

The beginning of the ride is to be aware of my weakness, my body machine has not yet overcome its low vibrations.

Half way through the body has recognised it has been asked to perform, and now the cosmic pharmacy is delivering.

I begin to feel how normal happy people feel like all the time – which I know isn’t actually true at all.

With western societal decline, deep down I know by now most people suffer from low vibrational energy.

How could we not all feel this way?

After all, we have all been swindled by city cubicles, screens, salaries, lunchbreaks and advertisements so as to deplete our vitality.

In the modern Western system, It is normal to feel abnormal, as the neo-feudal system needs compliant zombies.

I am at the apogee of the trail – I stop for the usual few minutes to try to channel & contact the supreme being.

The baron rocky canyon on the other side of the riverside shows its history by the words written in its many wrinkles.

It also functions as an echo chamber, and so of course I oblige “I am here, speak to me” I say.

I wait for a reply, it comes in cascading and regressive volumes, my now lowering voice is rendered by the rocks.

I half think that one day, a different voice will reply with something like “I knew you’d come looking for me one day”.

The outer shell veneer of my helmet breaks off, so I think of the world as a place of false veneers vs. hidden truths.

On the way back and the body machine has now fully prescribed it’s chemicals and hormones – I fly up the inclines.

And then a few minutes in, the answer to the echo experiment comes in – a pebble came from the sky and hits me.

I think it would be a wise system for the grand creator not to use the language of the lower entities but to instead use symbols.

Symbols allow communication-at-a-distance to those who are ready to accept that truth is always stranger than fiction.

There are two kinds of people in this world – people who ask ‘what’s beyond the cave’s shadows’ and those that don’t.

Did I really catch a glimpse of the higher plane of existence that exists outside the ‘cave’s shadows’ today?

I think I did, and aint that great that this happened on my bike at Doctors Point in Winter 2021.

I can already hear the placking of the keyboards from the heavily fluoxetined corporate materialist surface dwellers.

I rest easy because the Big Cheese would never hand the keys to unlock the mysteries of reality to such fools.

But then again could I be wrong?

Was it just a ‘bike ride’ or was it an epistemological infused natural chemical high on wheels?

For that, I will leave to the reader to decide, as I do not wish to court controversy.

I’d much rather sit on the fence, yell at the sky and wait for the echo reply

“Of course silly! you were right all along!”

End of Poem

Thankyou for listening to the Baby Wants It’s Bottle Poetry Inc. 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.

Published by Martin Anton Smith creations ltd (NZ) © All Rights reserved. No Commercial Use or Commercial Public Broadcast Allowed Without Written Permission. Non Commercial/Educational Broadcast is Freely Encouraged.