Tag: Poems

Features: Fly The Nest/Finally Finalised/Remembering The Bar/Absolutely Positively Contrarian St/The Nouveauricians/Dead Men Don’t lie

Podcast Intro

Greetings & welcome to a Poem Extravaganza! Yes We have 6 Poems!!!! Yes it has been a very productive time of late on the poem front. I could talk about the world of late – Namely how ridiculous & duplicitous it mostly is – but instead I will simply do a quick chat about each Poem at the end of each poem. Note: Yes Things are ok in New Zealand – we have not yet been chipped yet I repeat We have not been chipped yet!

POEMS

“Fly The Nest” (A Poem)

Lose a PAYCHECK
& The ‘Sunday Dreads’
Gain A Life!
Then Sleep In your Shed

Tell Your Boss to “Get F*cked”
Then Breakdance in the Lift
You’ll Sail Into The Sunset
If First You Catch The Drift

Of Course, You’ll Second Guess
This Beating Of Your Chest
But Could This Dream Be Real?

Naration:

Ok Poem 1 “Fly The Nest” A simple short Poem about quitting your soulless chicken barn raised Corporate Job! Oddly I don’t talk of what you’ll do after you quit – now that’s a massive oversight – let me finish the Poem here – it is in instructional Form:

Now To Leave The Building

Then Start Flapping Wings As A Dove Would

Wait 7 Seconds as it will take a while to Liftoff

Drift Off Into The Sunset

Hang Out With The Other Freed Slave Doves

Make Coo Coo Noises That Translate as Follows:

“No Way You Bird Brain!

My Ex Office-Life In The Cubicle Chicken Coop World Was Way Worse Than Yours”

You now decide to dive bomb your old boss crap on his bald head & steal his sandwiches.

You never liked that old ‘Love Cliche’ about Doves being Loving anyway.

“Finally Finalised” (A Poem)

Brazen False Authority

Rides Deception’s Wings

Rules our Modern Times

& Plans Your Demise

Its Mouths Multiplied

Eyes Everywhere

Ears Engaged

It Counts Down

The Predetermined Date

The Final Flaunted Fling

Where You Will Demand

The Sale Of Your Soul

Is Finally Finalised

Narration:

Poem 2 “Finally Finalised” This is a Poem about how too many of us have been brainwashed into demanding our own servitude & lack of personal freedom – my theory on these idiots were/are the noveau riche people who had a great time on laptops and in leafy suburbs during the pandemic – while everyone else suffered. This effect makes me think how selfish human nature is, and how breaking free of that should be everyone’s mission.

“Remembering The Old Working-Class Bar” (A Poem)

I was 22 years Old

And behind the Bar.

A working-class bar where the old coots give you shit.

The more they drink the more confidant they get.

The jokes were always bad.

The couple owners were old close to retirement,

and the tough as boots old lady had an eagle eye at all times.

My first week she told me to the dairy go next door for a “long weight”,

I fell for it like a total boob.

The old man was a classic old time slow grafter,

who occasionally when drunk propositioned and squeezed the female bar staff.

He did it to the lady that ended up lifting his cash from him.

I guess that’s why she allowed it.

There was the devil eyed nasty alcoholic teacher lady,

Who took a disliking to me,

I assume it was because at the time I looked far too much ”young anglo male’,

And she probably deep down wanted to be one too.

Or she was probably just a garden variety mad as hell teacher who hated herself.

There was my manager was 36 and partied every night,

I couldn’t keep up with him, I tried for a week.

There was the old Naval Hero who was the cook,

A sneaky old coot that tried to push me around.

if 3 people ordered a meal at the same time he panicked,

much like a MGM cartoon character about to be blown up.

The joint was laden with smoke from cigarette smokers,

That second hand smoke annoyed the hell outa me.

There were the gamblers at the pokie machines,

They sadly played pushing the button time after time,

desperately hoping for “free spins”.

If I only had a pint of beer for every time a Jackpot winner said:

“Thank god I can pay the electric bill now”,

I’d never pay for a beer again.

There was the dopey musclehead who had a too decent Japanese wife,

He was running around behind her back with some drunkard whore.

One day a tough guy came in and threatened us behind the bar,

the musclehead cowered despite his muscles,

He was still the weak bullied kid in his mind.

There was the punter with ginger beard double denim & cowboy hat a wannabe “outlaw”,

he gave me a lot of shit, then one day I gave him two barrels back,

Which drew hoops and claps from the gallery.

The Pub’s suburb was the same one my Paternal Grandad, (Father as a kid) & Great Grandfather had lived in,

some 35 years later.

The Grandfather was a Drunk – and here I was serving his type.

I didn’t think much of that but the older I got the spookier I thought of it.

When the Rugby was on it was packed out,

Any ‘hospo’ worker knows how hard a job it is when a bar’s packed out.

No one gives Hospo workers credit – how bizarre!

They allow people to blow off steam, take a tone of crap & feed people,

That’s an important job if you ask me.

One day the owners sold out & retired.

The option was given to stay on with the new owners,

no one wanted to do it, including me.

It must have been an alright time.

That reminds me, I had a fling with a customer the red head student teacher once,

She wasn’t a supermodel, but I was male & 23,

23 yr old males don’t say know to a “free meal”.

Why are Teachers so horny? Is it the stress of their jobs?

It was twenty years ago now, and I still remember those years well.

I went back to the Bar a few months ago,

A few changes but roughly the same.

I saw a few wooden seats that were the exact same seats.

I ordered a coke so as not to seem odd.

It would have been nice to see an old face – alas there was none.

I wondered how many of those lovable old coots had passed.

RIP to all those old coots of that Chatty Bar in New Brighton Christchurch, NZ.

I still remember ya’s.

Narration

Poem 3 “Remembering The Working Class Bar” When I was 22 I worked in a Bar in Christchurch NZ – this is an Ode to that experience.

“Absolutely Positively Contrarian Street” (A Poem)

OCTOBER 29, 2022Posted in UNCATEGORIZEDTagged LIES, LIFE, POEMS, SOCIAL COMMENTARY, TRUTHEDIT

If You Are Born Into Madness – Madness Is Normal & Unseen.

You Can Be Born Into a Mad Family,

Or a Mad Town,

Or a Mad Nation,

Or a Mad Planet,

Or All Of The Above.

But You Can See Madness – If You Work Hard,

& Strive To Be a Contrarian – An Independant Thinker.

It Is Worthwhile,

& Despite The False Adage “Ignorance Is Bliss”,

Truth Is Nirvana.

They’ll Hate You For Wanting It.

They’ll Hate You For Seeing It.

They’ll Hate You For Teaching It.

Wear That Badge Of Honor,

That The Madman Pinned On Your Chest.

For When A Madman Calls You A Madman

You Must Not Be Mad.

As Two Negatives Multiplied,

Always Make A Positive.

Live In A Universe Of Positively Truthful Nirvana,

Where The Madmen Are Slowly Disappearing From View.

Narration : Poem 4. “Absolutely Positively Contrarian Street” A Simple Poem which espouses to benefit of not following the crowd. Yes ! Be a contrarian. But then now that I think of it – If everyone is a contrarian doesn’t that also make them a conformists? This effect happens a lot doesn’t it? That’s signals the end of an alternative movement – when it becomes mainstream & full of ‘pile ons’. This happened in the Hippie Movement & the Grunge Era & we see it now with Woke-ism

“The Nouveauricians” (A Poem)

If You Are A 21st Century

Nouveau Riche Citizen

You Duplicate

The Worst Aspect

Of The Roman Empire:

False Elitism.

Which Spurned

Class Based Society

Casual Social Rejection

Brutish Behaviour

Vagrant Immorality

Rampant Materialism

Child Abuse

So Don’t Be

A ‘Nouveaurician’

Narration:

Poem 5 “The Nouveauricians” A Simple poke in the eye of the Nouveau Riche – The best thing about this Poem is the new term “The Noveauricians” I will use it as much as possible from here on in.

“Dead Men Don’t Lie” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

There Were Three Billion Views
Of Something In The News
I Can’t Remember What It Was
But It certainly Wasn’t Truth
Yes, “Social Media’s a Curse”
Said The Limp Man In The Hearse
& The Flowers Drooped As He Sped By
But Oh My Word!
A Dead Man Doesn’t Lie

Narration

Poem 6 “Dead Men Don’t Lie” Another Simple throwaway poem that talks of the evils of Social Media. At heart I feel we should as Lars Ulrich’s Dad might say be better off to “Delete That”.