by Martin Anton Smith
I am the Non-Captain,
And this is my log.
This is the non-captain’s log.
I am the non-captain because this is how I feel.
The feeling today is that I am not winning.
oh & how to analyse this undelightful quandary.
This is (like everything) part truth & part mirage.
Truth? Because an argument can be made that I’ve ef’d up.
Especially if you point of view is that of a hamster-wheel-loving-careerist-robot,
A dopey denizen of the ‘rules based order’ (which just makes up the rules arbitrarily).
Mirage?, because we all know being cold, existing in a dampish room sans sunlight –
Will make any mammal feel depressed & see the world in ‘bleak filter’.
Knowledge is power & that’s why I’m not too worried about these perfidy polarities.
Let me continue.
Of course, my last Poem talked of the antidote to feelings of bleakness being dopamine via exercise –
& this Poem is really an distant echo of that.
So I really must apologise,
That once again this Poem holds no new information.
If I am accused of rehashing, I plead guilty.
If I am hauled up to Creative Court,
& accused of the crime of ‘mish-mashery’ – I will solumnly agree.
However, If I am prosecuted because my ‘artistic license’ has expired,
I will plead ‘no contest’ & mumble inaudibly about authoritarian government overreach.
In a strange twist of fate this will make the judge automatically renew my artistic licence,
& throw all my charges out.
The gallery will then in rambunctious celebration hoist me on their shoulders,
shouting.
“Hazaar to the deadbeat poet, the feeble man, the partial-myth & the not quite really a legend”.
And to such luke warm charges I will accept happilly.
For While beggars can’t be choosers
Deadbeats can be Poets.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 