Poems – Anton Martin Smith Writer

“If The Results Are Good” (A prose Poem)

December 11, 2025December 12, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blow-Ups, Books, coffee, Customer Service, fiction, Flat White, Hot Chocolate, Humour, life, Poems, slice of life, social commentary, The Human Condition, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

A Gas-station coffee run it is.

“I’d like a flat white please”, I request.

“Do you wan’t sugar?”, she queries.

“No honey”, I say cheerily.

“If you keep talking like that you’ll get it served in your face!”

She is serious.

Her face is contorted, pained.

She’s in her 50s she has grey dreadlocked hair, a face lined by a share of hard times.

Up until that moment our customer to customer service relations had been friendly enough, perfunctory.

Aiming to quickly diffuse the moment I apologize.

“Oh sorry I didn’t mean anything by that, I didn’t mean to offend…I must be getting old”.

It seemingly half works – after all scolding hot coffee has not hit my face, has it not?

“Would you like a marshmallow?” She says in a as-per-standard-question way.

“No thanks” I say, wondering why she is offering marshmallows for a flat white.

She finishes & hands the coffee over.

I matter-of-factly pay, & leave to my awaiting vehicle which with my ‘ troublesome coffee’ in hand.

As I drive away wearing sunglasses, I glance in to see the counter area.

I’m ascertaining the body language after the unsavory event.

The other staff member that had witnessed it all is looking at me black faced – I take that as a minor win.

The one who served me is obscured.

As I post-mortum the situation – my internal narrative is of two strands:

One is self serving:

“Geez some people can’t control their emotions at all, why no sense of humor – especially in that role”

The other is of a negative bent:

“Oh no you’ve put your foot in it again – why did you say that you fool – ‘no honey’…Geez!“.

As I drive away to my home, I take a sip of the “troublesome coffee”.

I now know why she offered a marshmallow after I ordered.

The sweet taste is sickening.

It is very much a hot chocolate, & not a flat white.

So she has either intentionally or unintentionally punished me on the spot.

I do half a u-turn & then I think better of it & abandon the u-turn.

I’m again driving home.

I’m feeling a little mentally deflated about it all – not that it’s a big deal or anything.

When I enter my driveway I park & disembark & I suddenly perk up a notch.

“Ah…This is good writing material!” I have suddenly realized.

“Thank god I took up writing!” I say to myself with relief.

Writing really has added so many silver linings to the blackest of social thunderclouds that abound.

Of course the worry about this phenomena is that you will create drama in order to write about it.

I wonder – Am I already do this without knowing it?

the problem is of course. as they say – an old chestnut – but is it good or bad?

Well, I cannot categorically answer that – as the answer embodies a conflict of interest.

But as an imperfect, rough & contaminated answer I will say this:

If the results are good…

“Bells, Burgers, & Language Instruction ” (A Prose Poem)

November 27, 2025November 27, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Burgers, fiction, food, Humour, Language, Poems, slice of life, social commentary, travel, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith

It’s midday.

“Shall we get pies or burgers” I say to my elderly mother.

The usual ‘bought lunch’ is a ‘chicken & mushroom’ pie for mum,

And a ‘Mince & Cheese variant for me from the ‘servo’ –

along with other incendiary items:

Classic Big Orange Drink that comes housed in a Plastic 2L ‘Milk Container’.

One Coffee for me either in a can or barista – depending on the weather.

“Yes let’s go for burgers” she says with a half energetic thought.

So the good but not really good servo pies are out today.

In my car I go.

I go to the asian eatery – where I have become a novelty.

This is because I like to engage with the staff – who are of various levels of ‘broken english’.

So Burgers now ordered, haggle over a ‘cash price’ done & negotiated.

While waiting I talk to the ‘most broken english’ staff member – the husband of the best talker.

He reminds me of the kind of foreigner that is working too hard to be able to learn the language.

This is not a criticism – just an observation – for we westerners are glib at how hard it is for a ‘far flunger’.

But this time he is keen for an ‘impromptu lesson’.

I see a ruler on the counter – I pick it up & say slowly, demonstratively the word ‘ruler’.

Of course ‘r’s’ & ‘l’s’ are impossible to pronounce, & this word has a double does.

After the as expected bad pronuncial result – I chastise myself for choosing that prop.

I see the counter bell

I say again clearly, teacherly drawn out, demonstrably & repeatedly

“Bell”….”Bell”…”Bell” as I finish it I rung the bell a little.

Before he has the chance to reply comes a disembodied from the back kitchen voice:

“I’M COMING”

We both laugh at this unintended consequence.

Isn’t it great? – the language of physical comedy needs no teacher.

The lesson ends as the now embodied voice comes in & hands over the burgers.

“There’s Extra beetroot for you” what a delight I think as I say my friendly goodbyes.

These little ‘slices of life’ are quite uplifting.

NB: I can report that at home the burgers were well received.

“Editorial: Todays Barbarianism To Civility Ratio ” (A Prose Poem)

November 7, 2025November 8, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged australian-writer, Barbarism, Books, Civility, history, Humour, nz-writer, Poems, Shakespeare, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmith@gmail.com

An national economy should have a ratio of ‘Barbarism to Civility’ –

Yes the “B.T.C” should be quoted in the same revered terms that “G.D.P” is.

A high ‘B.T.C ratio’ should be of great embarrassment to a nation.

In fact – far more so than a ‘Low G.D.P’ is.

For we can all agree that it is better to be poor but gracious,

Than a marauding, unthinking brute.

One day I hope to sit down at a cafe with newspaper in hand,

With the big front page headline booming:

“Barbarianism To Civility Ratio Crashes 27.7% : Spontaneous celebrations fill the streets everywhere!”

& when we open the next day’s paper perhaps we may see this updated report:

“Unfortunately due to the previous days ongoing unbridled celebrations that then turned into a melee –

There was caused a near instantaneous boom in the Barbarism to Civility ratio,

Resulting in a sudden reversal of fortunes,

Thus wiping out yesterdays very happy losses.”

Shakespeare in Titus wrote the line

“Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous”.

But yet he knew & we all know how barbarous the Romans were.

And since we are merely a scattered smoking remnant of the Roman Empire

Do we not today still deceive ourselves in exactly the same way?

We are indeed a well shaken cocktail of Barbarism & Civility.

But let us step towards the silver linings, away from our clouded & foggy minds.

Let’s give a Roman ‘Ave’ to the advent of the ‘Barbarism to Civility Ratio’, printed daily.

Sure I know it wont work, but as a late era Roman I have a love of empty platitudes,

Bold face lies, & abject pigheadedness,

& getting blindly drunk on highly-dubious-philosophic-alcoholic-elixirs.

It is the merely the Late-Era Roman way.

“Cafe Produced Warblings” (A Poem)

November 1, 2025November 1, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Books, Cafes, Coffeehouses, poem, Poems, Poet Laurette, Poetry, social commentary, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

I had just finished listing to the old ‘Poet Laurette’ and was on my way out.

A spare coffee was needed for the usual night’s work – that is, writing.

For sipping a coffee while trying to be original certainly helps matters.

< Digression: >

Isn’t a pity that we if being truthful now have to say “excuse me for my keyboard clacking awaits”,

Versus yesteryear’s romantic “Excuse me Sir/Madam my quill & parchment & fine hardwood desk awaits”.

Yes it is a pity, but I remind myself that it’s the writing that matters vs the input method.

< Digression Ends >

“What do you do” said the coffee girl.

“I do some Carpentry & Handyman-ing, but that’s only half my life…

….the other half is sitting in front of a computer at night – ya’know – writing”.

I wasn’t sure if she respected the arts, but I was tired of hiding today,

And with the new owners – the cafe was now becoming more of an arts hangout to.

“Oh”, she says.

it was hard to decipher if this was a “good oh” or a “bad oh” or a neutral “oh”.

As I left the cafe she says “have fun in front of your computer!”

It sounded a little like a “jab” but we types are touchy on such matters, aren’t we?

As I was literally half out the door I reposted (in good humour of course).

“You never know – I might write a poem about you“

The 70-something Poet Laurette who was sitting quietly at a table laughed as he overheard.

“I hope not” she said.

“That’s why they say ‘the pen is mightier than the sword'” I doubly retorted.

Again, the Poet Laurette chortled.

And as I walked home on that perfect sunny day, I thought to myself:

Ah these trips to the cafe are getting better & better.

They are even beginning to foment material.

Why is it always true that the life-sliced-words have a certain ring?

Because they’re the freshly filtered words emerging from the ground.

That’s why.

Long live the cafe-produced-warblings –

For much like ourselves, we would all miss them had they not been there.

“Damn The kooks That Threw the books”. (A Poem)

October 28, 2025October 30, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Barbarians, Books, Nouveau Riche, PoemsLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

The Zombies have arisen swiftly,

The ones that fear the page,

The ones that are tremble-weary of the wisened word.

These walking dead have taken over the halls of power,

With minds of pewter, & clothes of gold.

Like schoolchildren they’ve scribbled empty platitudes on all the walls,

The walls that border the town squares .

By now the charletans have triumphed through all the worlds arches.

They’ve never tried Shakespeare,

& think ‘King Lear’ was a guy who got meetoo’d.

They think Dickens was probably a dick (for he liked books so),

& Chaucer simply a sorcerer (For he loved words didn’t he).

They think Keats was a brand of jeans (For they hate Poets),

& Byron they’ve confused for a beach (They love Jetskis after all).

They think Milton is only a dud town (They’ll burn for that),

& Samuel Johnson just some retired English football player (For Ignoramus Pro Sportmen are their Gods).

Though it is true they have been known to use a book,

It is only to usually to throw or perhaps to stand upon,

To see something over a fence that they are not meant to see –

Probably someone getting changed with drapes open.

These are our new leaders – the ‘new anti-book-barbarians’ – the N.A.B.B.’s

Unlike the Nazi’s –

They have no need physically burn the books – they’re to lazy for that.

They simply ignored the books metaphysical raison-de-tre entirely.

If anyone said “Look at that book” they’d look squarely at it & say….’where???’

For the N.A.B.B’s have always loved the ‘boldface lie’ – call it a hobby of theirs.

And so of course this couldn’t end well – the Earth & all its skies did soon fall.

The sound was like a table full of wine glasses suddenly tipped over by a drunk reveler.

For we let the barbarians – the N.A.B.B’s – through our too flimsy psychic fortifications,

Thinking for too long that they were not an enemy,

Because they had sneakily swindly-snuck up from the deepths – our depths.

They ‘faked it’ but we let them ‘make it’.

And so naturally, everything had to become ‘completely fake’.

And when the end did finally come,

With the falling & crashing of the skies above,

The few hiding-readers-still-alive did but shiver-shed a single ‘encoldened’ tear –

For with their foresight, they saw it all coming but did nothing –

They had never left their rooms.

For their tall overflowing bookcases, comfy chairs, & violin & piano filled spaces,

Were all far too enchanting to unshackle themselves from.

Doubly so, during those last few anarchic years.

And this legend does tell of the Earth’s last ever Reader.

& you ask ‘what dying words were ‘mumurously’ said?’:

“Damn the kooks that threw the books –

The barbarians at our door.

These blames I take for my own self –

For their unworded parrys I chose to ignore”.

Beards, Pitchforks, & Drays (A Prose Poem)

October 18, 2025October 23, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged AI, coca cola, dystopia, Poems, social commentary, technology, The Amish, The Future, Warnings of AILeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

Some days I think of ‘Donkeys & Drays’.

& Not becasue I am a ‘freak’ – that is beside the point.

I am musing of the the many mega-foibles, of our medern technology

For The Amish were right,

They said no to the Model T,

& kept their horse & cart.

Once ridiculed as luddites,

They are now looking like geniuses.

For the biblical ‘apple of knowledge’ warning is true:

The idea that Tech will bring forward ‘Utopia’ is probably a sly illusion.

Now that we are about to be enslaved by smart robots,

We are starting to finally get it.

Yes, there will come a day when you trade in your ‘Tesla’ for a ‘Dray’.

You will pick the dray up from the Amish folk,

And The Tesla will be given to the ‘smart robots’ to drive away in.

But because you are wiser than most, you have moved early to become Amish-like.

It’s always wise to be an ‘early adopter’ anyway – is it not?.

For soon you will have no choice:

For while the catch cry of “technology is the future” was true once,

Long term – It was not true for us, it was true for them…the futures artificial beings.

Our future will be full of:

Ridiculously Long Beards,

Dowdy clothing,

Garden-grown food,

Rusty Old Pitchforks,

Campfire musings,

Donkeys, Horses, & Drays.

And we’ll be really surprised that for all of this – we’re all a lot more happier for it.

While pitchforking away the mountains of hay, we will turn to our ex-cubicle workmate & say:

“The Amish were right all along – I’m having a blast, why was I a cubicle-techno-sucker for so long?”.

To which your now long-bearded or long dressed ex-cubicle workmate will say:

“I totally agree, but I do miss coca-cola just a tad”.

To which you will reply by pointing & shouting.

“JUDAS!”,

While still privately thinking they are correct,

Within the privacy of you own mind…

This article is owned by Martin Smith Creations ltd (NZ). If you are a person or a small non-profit please read or reproduce freely. Commercial Users or NGO’s: If you want to purchase for reprint of this work for a commercial project to reach a wider audience – then contact me via martinantonsmith@gmail.com to gain written legal permission.

“The Maiden Of Procrastination” (A Poem)

September 29, 2025October 4, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged fiction, Humour, personal-growth, Poems, Procrastination, productivity, self-improvement, The Human Condition, time-management, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

This poem was meant to be written.

It was a close-run thing,

With pen almost hitting the page on multiple occasions,

However, Procrastination’s elk-like swiftness batted each of the pen’s tentative literary forays away.

Alas, The Pen didn’t make even a single “dot” appearance on the page – period.

But The Pen showed redoubtable courage under fire,

& if not for an unfortunate series of events – namely these:

Musical distractions of classic rock ‘n’ roll nature;

Dreams of past misdeeds towards various long gone & now fictionalised exe’s;

Too many tasty crunchy bloat-ey chocolatey snacks;

And the big daddy reason:

Multiple acute (but not very cute) pangs of self-doubt –

Yes….that old chestnut.

Yes it had seemed that in the end – Procrastination won this battle.

And oh my – what would have been!

It was going to be a real rollercoaster of literary truth & amusement.

The effervescence of true originality was set to bubble over all meridians & latitudes of Earth & beyond!

And I’m probably overstating it but –

The world may have tilted just a little off its axis in a slanted form of metaphorical joy.

Oh what a pity the battle was lost & alas nothing ever was written into the papery folds of space-time at all.

I’m sure someone far smarter & way more Ancient Greek-er said it before me, BUT:

When Procrastination wins – a bit of our future self, doth die.

Luckily there abounds one prescriptive partial solution to the sad wings of Procrastination’s foul swoops.

& It is thus:

Let ye write of thy valiant battles lost to that un-fair maiden-of-procrastination.

For then you have succeeded in the rare art of making something from nothing.

Which many of the more astute quantum minded of you will already know,

Is not entirely out of the realms of all possibility.

After all – is this poem not a testament to that oft disregarded fact?

The writer now wishes to congratulate the enemy of Procrastination for their hard-fought victory.

But the Pen holder is at least proud that they showed some old-fashioned last minute plucky-ness,

By retreating, recuperating & retiring to a handy place right behind the left ear.

& the would-be writer avows fiercely to return much stronger in the next Pen vs Procrastination theatre of war.

So ’till we meet again my anti-ephemeral anti-friend & arch enemy,

Till our next very weary psychological-warfare coupling,

Till our much-needed warring embrace,

Till in taking up arms we both inadvertently till the soil of that literary battle-scape called paper.

Or to modernise I guess I should really say ‘puter.

You never know – one of us may win the highly coveted “Iron Uncross 1st class”.

Yes, Fair thee well O’ our always defiant, ever-present adversary! –

O’ Unfair Maiden of Procrastination

Bye-Bye for now.

“Frivolities At The Asian Eatery” ( A Poem/Prose).

September 20, 2025October 2, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged food, Humour, japan, Korea, life, Poems, Pork Donburri, recipes, Restaurants, travel, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

It’s time for some Pork Donburi with Miso Soup –

I think to myself as I cross the road.

The little Japanese eatery is now open late,

It’s a slice of urban chique in my sleepy-rural-small-town-hollow.

I wander in for value dinner, having spurned my regular Chinese haunt –

But only for tonight, just for a change.

For loyalty must be spliced with the spice of occasional dissent –

Less the proprietor becomes lazy toward you,

Less they take you for granted.

They must be regularly reminded you can still freely eat elsewhere.

Yes – in life there are always ‘games being played’,

& with age you realise games exist for good reason.

So, I order the Pork Donburi – nice ‘n’ spicey – with the miso soup, it goes down a treat.

On the way out I buy some cheap leftover counter sushi – the proprietor gives me some free chicken too.

I noticed that when serving the Korean man sang his words.

Now here-is-some-pork-donburi-for-yooou, now here is yooour change

I knew he was Korean, for I had asked him if he was Japanese, & he had corrected me.

I can’t remember how, but I ended up telling him that I was writing a novella.

I told him that ‘we writers’* often inject a real-life character we see out & about into our writing.

After I told him this, he said in child-like fashion (in a good sence) that he wanted to be put into my novel.

I told him that’s it’s mostly finished & the characters are set – but there was still a slim chance.

I warned that he’d to be interesting enough to be chosen to travel onto the pages of future fiction.

He said that he also sung Karaoke, aiming to gain my literary affections.

I said that that doesn’t cut it for a Novel, Novella or a Short Story – but he might make a poem.

“Poems are easy enough to make” I tell him.

He’s a good friendly guy, & his food is tasty & at good prices.

He probably works too hard yet everyday he still wears a genuine smile.

Which can’t be easy over the long term especially so with silence-loving-small-town-folk.

It’s only fair that I spend at last fifteen minutes whipping him up a free poem –

After all he’d given me some free spicey chicken, hadn’t he?

It’s a fair trade – spicey-but-still-tasty-leftover-sushi for some personalised-slice-of-life-poetry.

Plus, he’ll get a bonus smile next week when I read him his poem in person.

And if he surprisingly asks me:

“Praytell – why did this poem cross the road?”

I’ll know he’s not really the-singing-Korean-chef-with-a-Japanese-eatery-behind-the-counter-of-a-small town at all –

…perhaps something far far more sinister or perhaps even beautiful**

All-in-all I would summarise all this as the following spinning-newspaper-tabloid-headline:

“Deadbeat Poet Says Frivolities At The Asian Eateries Are Less Than Frivolous”.

*Yes, it sounds like I had my head up my own ass – I agree with you oh reader.

** when read in public this must be said with a theatrical nod, indicating an ulterior motive may be involved.

“The Watchers” (A Poem/Prose/Spoken word )

September 14, 2025September 15, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Aliens, humans, Humour, Pleiadians, Poems, The Human Condition, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

They hide away from anyone with brains who might educate/enlighten,

About that stuff that they know very little about.

For their fragile still teenage ego could not survive it.

For that would make them have to be honest with themselves:

They would have to squarely face their demons:

That they peaked in high school – & it was a fake peak at that.

For that was the place where they could hide ignorance,

Disguise it as ‘coolness’ via the trick of aloofness.

They still use this trick at age 25,35,45,55.

And the really committed losers do it till the death rattle sounds.

It’s one of the saddest things that you’ll ever see day-to-day,

Amoungst so many of the Earth people.

They miss out on their intended lives,

To use their own phrase – they make ‘old fools’ of themselves,

They turn away those who can help them grow.

We only hope this crapulent solipsistic behaviour is not madness or badness

But is because of some weird as yet undiscovered warped form of Milky Way shyness.

Oh you Humans when will you learn?

For I can tell you – Us Pleiadeans are getting rather sick of you all,

We are considering abandoning our elected post as the watchers.

The Galactic Federation is considering dropping you entirely,

Swapping you for another more paletable intergalactic zoo.

Yes earthlings – the Trappist star system humanoid oiks throw considerably less shit at each other.

So, don’t take us ‘watchers’ for granted, ok?

For now just rest at ease, o’ wild Humans.

For just like on Earth,

The wheels of Galactic Justice also move slowly.

You can still turn things around.

Us Pleiadian Watchers all doubt it – but in theory it’s still possible.