Welcome To The Baby Wants its Bottle Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand Based creative. In this episode, I read a Poem That I have literally just written over the past hour. This was inspired due to the weather – namely some wild winds blowing in Central Otago New Zealand, at the moment. The wind is the most fierce I have seen for at least a couple of years, the sky is blue, and there is much too and froing of leaves and various small detritus. Luckily it is not yet so bad, and my cat “Squeaky” isn’t yet flying through the wind yet. In this poem, for some reason, I thought of thin people being buffered about, while larger people existing in more relaxing circumstances. A bit like a small boat vs a large boat on choppy water. I wrote a light hearted piece about this wind buffering matter. I think this poem would go over well at a poetry reading, whereby people are sufficiently lubricated – I think I will try to make this happen, most likely in Dunedin, which is only 2 hours away by horseless carriage. Although in theory the Poem is best made for reading in windy cities like Wellington or Freemantle, Australia. I definitely do not recommend this poem if you are a sailor, waiting impatiently in the doldrums, for more wind to catch your sail, as it will make you even more cranky than you already are. And without further ado, let me begin the poem!.
“Those Streaky Starving Satellites” by Martin Anton Smith 2021
While the wild storm is a brewin,
The thin become nervous and fidgety,
while the large are conversely, quite relaxed.
For the large are naturally blessed with ballast,
While the thin have burnt theirs off long, long ago.
At its logical worst, the garilous gale brings forth,
a scattered world of thin people, flying through the sky.
The direction of which, is determined by what meteorologists call “the Jet stream”.
They circumnavigate the earth, like high flying tumbleweeds,
or as low flying streakily shaped satellites would.
Of course the Large people, safely endowed with gods ballast,
have a whale of a time while watching skywards, from below.
They festively raise a glass to their gallery of large friends gathered,
and speak freely with witty rejoinder, and they dare to quip:
“Well,,,.. that’s what you get, for starving yourself”.
End of Poem.
Postscript: Thankyou for your patience, I hope you enjoyed “Those Streaky Starving Satellites”. To add a closing remarks, I’d just like to now add, that in a windier world, perhaps brought on by rampart climate change, middle age spread or general extra girth, isn’t such a bad thing after all, it allows you to have ballast and sturdiness to combat the slings and arrows of existence in the high winds of life. Of course, when the wind dies down and heat piles on, the thinner people will be laughing at the large, while they sweat uncomfortably, and the thin radiate the heat away like a good engine cowling would. Please do not take this poem too seriously, it is simply a commentary on the physics of larger and smaller bodies facing environmental stresses -and those bodies happen to be living breathing humans, of all shapes and sizes, and that is a thing of beauty, don’t you agree?
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