For as the curtain rises,
So too the curtain falls,
No accolades, no entourage,
No 'Brava!', no applause.

An unrehearsed performance,
By a monodramatist,
A solo show, a pantomime,
An improvised burlesque.

Critics stand in groups debating,
The value of my work,
They gossip in the aisles,
The playhouse now a kirk.

My eulogy their invention,
My obituary the prize,
The best review I've ever had,
A mix of humour and soft lies.

I have played the loving daughter,
The honest aunt *****,
The independent sister,
The true and loyal friend.

The sympathetic neighbour,
I have played the errant niece,
The mentor, guide, and confidant,
The ***** and the tease.

In truth, I am a diva,
Living mostly in her head,
But this remains unmentioned,
In a tribute to the dead.

Once rose bouquets beribboned,
From the greatest and the good,
Now a solitary arrangement,
On a coffin made of wood.

For as the curtain rises,
So too the curtain falls,
No accolades, no entourage,
No garlands, no applause.

But wait, I see my error,
As indeed these things exist,
But not for me to comment on,
Nor as I would have wished.

For my aspect is fair frozen,
I cannot turn the page,
My performance has now ended,
And I have left the stage.

When just a child the poet's mom said "Son,
Throughout your life beware the sin of pride.
Remember this when every day is done,
What counts the most is who you are inside."

At first he thought his mother's words unfair
For recognition surely has its place.
In time he witnessed prideful thoughts can flare
When undue adulation supplants grace.

The poet took to heart his mother's words
Too many accolades can turn your head.
Vainglory flits away on wings of birds
What's left is mostly emptiness and dread.

Life immersed in modest exhibition
Satisfied with honorable mention

Ma Diva veut  être meublée de parenthèses
De ïambes de jade meuble aux couleurs de toutes les toques
Et manches et casaques de l 'arc-en-ciel
Toque blanche manches vertes et casaque noire,
Toque rose manches blanches et casaque verte.

A l'intérieur des petites lunes enchantées
Entre losanges, étoiles et petits pois
Ma diva, oh la vilaine,  a mis des accolades et des crochets
De jade blanc, digressions  ponctuées périodiquement
Par d'exquises parties de ïambes en l'air.

Qui dit ïambe dit trochée
(me suis-je permis de préciser)
Et qui dit ïambe et trochée dit scansion
Alternance dans le pied, donc dans la marche
Dans le pas cadencé, l 'amble, le trot  et le galop
De la respiration longue et brève des solipèdes.

A l 'intérieur des parenthèses enchantées
Entre une espace et l 'autre de l 'écurie
J'ai vu danser ainsi une diva de forte encolure
Revendiquée modèle de Botero
Embarquer en longe un soleil pas trop chaud
Pour égayer le paddock de son haras
De vieilles pierres et de prés, de sous-bois et de beaux paysages
De musées et de concerts et de galipettes
Au bras d'un cavalier épicurien
Dragon de paille, bon à tout faire :
Lad qui la sorte à la longe
En chemise polaire de luxe
Cavalier qui la monte
Au grand steeple-chase de l'immortalité
En cajolant ses flancs de liqueur de jade blanche
Et  en même temps  groom qui la soigne
En divaguant en elle au gré de ses envies
De pierre semi-précieuse en transe.

If you would stop waiting
for people to acknowledge you,
and create a great thing
that is beautiful through and through,
results will speak for you.

So change your focus
from accolades and human praise
to inventing real value
that blesses Earth’s future days,
and you will receive joy that is true.

I'm the poster child for self hatred.

My calendar's constantly booked with things like "Sit and Hate Myself" and "Live Tweet How Terrible My Life Is."

I'm an advocate for not having enough self confidence.

I'm a member of the Missed Opportunity Club.

And next week I'm the keynote speaker at the "Nothing is Going Right in My Life and it Never Will" Conference.

And the worst part about all of this is:


I have all these accolades and you still won't notice me.......