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My Dear Poet Feb 17
I’m not going to be famous
selling strawberries
writing poems
or preaching till we perish
especially, not through
this poem
your poem
or any we may cherish
considering the pressure I am under
and the number
of one more follower
to follow me
while I’m following your poetry
I may write and write I do
because like you I like them too
and though they may be the best
I know I can be my worst critic
whether I loathe or I like it
I wont lay my pen to rest
with my words and ways
till then, I’ll have my own novels read
and applaud my own plays
and be famous
in my own head
River accepts; reasons and done...
Sweet exception, in the needs we fare
Are the told, the toiling west of money?
Taken for sincerer times, the opus of care?

Think allure...
Is a wealthy shoe, the only way to dance?
And to imagination in the same, a rolling curiosity
With the times of decency, hopefully avidity's moments...

Think composure...
So waited, if not weighted to advance
The notion of simplicity, as a spare continue, of open worth
Order and chaos, with misogyny as arduous a stance?

Think despondency...
Letting worth, keep the better of common assumption
A halt of silence, in the name of rendering immediacy
A stoic habit, of a quiet question:

Thank dependency...?
Reality to venture forth, with seldom's catch
I am the patience of virtue, the vote of leniency?
Like appetites of justice, in the our of stirring cope, I have seen silence's legend...
Here's a story of a possible future, reminiscing on the work my
wrist would have done,— my next watch should cost me forty eight.
Two days later hearing my kids complaining about how they
barely ate. But it would cost me less if I had more fame; with
my biggest fear of people saying I'm not the same. Still I guess we'll only know when the times actually change.
Living in a mansion, telling a girl I'd like to live in her hand, just to buy rings to expand it more. Add a couple chandeliers just so she can see herself as an angel under her Lord. But truth be told, I could be on the streets, living in her heart only by corners of it. And she'd hate to ******* pride, cos I know it all tastes of *****.

Owing the credit to my success by every dream that owed a debit.
Thinking of it now, I'd be smiling in a much comfortable home,
knowing it's something I actually own. Telling people I did what I had to do, when my worries were knocking on my door with a lot dues. The uncomfortable conversation you make with your landlord when the rent is due,— but even with fame, society will come knocking to see what more you can bring... it's all nothing new.

I already have silent panic attacks, lying on my bed with open eyes, relying on tomorrow being a bit better. Still being alone in a mansion, waiting for a heart attack, as today's are already hectic, and tomorrow's all carry a lot of pressure. Would I really want to stop working, calling someone I sort of loved late at night when the Wi-Fi is actually working,— to tell them nothing in my life seems to be working.
"Was it all worth," she'd probably ask me. What could I say; I perfected my life but life still doesn't seem to be so perfect. Of how I found fame, but my identity is something I'm out here still searching.

The first to ****, regarding myself in first person,
by forty eight, dying alone without fulfilling his purpose. And your story becomes a lesson to someone in the third person. I guess I wouldn't have bought the watch in the first place; ticking away my life till it all worsens.

...So before I ever find fame, let me at least find my purpose.
Jeremy Betts Feb 2018
I find it hard to put myself out there, I don't go out on a limb
To concerned about what people think and say, like "man, look at him"
"Who the **** does he think he is, he ain't no Eminem"
These words never hit my ear but I swear I'm hearing them
"Look at this, another poor white boy from the trailer park"
"Trying to hit his mark and make it big by belting out what's in his heart"
They got no clue money and fame wasn't my reason to start
It began as a way to shed some light on what seemed like eternal dark
One spark was all it took and I couldn't stop this pen from spilling ink
On the brink of insanity aboard a ship destin to sink
Life ******* me like a *****, two in the pink one in the stink
Swallowed a bottle of pills, why did they give me this charcoal to drink
Hmmm, let me think...****
That's the problem, I just reacted, I didn't stop to think
Didn't stop to think about everything I was about to flush down the stink
But the rope that was supposed to save me is now the one around my throat
The beautiful words I wrote now read as if a suicide note
But getting these thoughts out worked better then letting them get my goat
The loose lief kinda saved my life, it kept me afloat
I filled up hundreds of papers, I wrote down thousands of lines
The more I wrote the less I hurt, confidence up and pain declines
The rain subsides eventually in everyone's minds
But make no mistake the beast still resides behind these eyes
It's just these words are like a prize, they put the beast to sleep like lullaby's

©2018
Amanda Kay Burke Sep 2023
Stay anonymous
I won't ever be famous
Because all of this
I don't do it for the glory but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be famous for my words...
Zywa Aug 2023
A living statue

bends over, taps my shoulder:


it wants a picture.
Colum "Bewegende standbeelden" ("Moving statues", 2023, Marcel van Roosmalen), in NRC, July 3rd, 2023

Collection "Specialities"
Zywa Aug 2023
The famous writer

is awfully shy, no one --


attends to his clothes.
"The Queen of the Tambourine" (1991, Jane Gardam), § March 10th (1990)

Collection "Shelter"
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2023
did you ever write poetry?(1)

once. but everything of earthly substance,
destined to fade into the ignominy of forgotten
vaults, where time takes it time and erodes all
into dust. here,

every word preserved. there is no time
in the dominion of creators, and you friend
are numbered in their midst, enshrined in many
hearts and eyes, and

with every
reading,
each reimagination,
you are a reincarnated being
excerpted, & reformatted from a poem by lmnsinner
with author’s permission!


(1) https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3963013/no-fame-no-claim-no-name-absent-glory/
Bardo Mar 1
You won't believe this But it's true
Life is sometimes stranger than fiction, at least in my world it is

Near my house across the road there's an American Style Diner
They do all kinds of lovely Hamburgers and fries, Chicken burgers, Pizzas and whatever
They also do a lovely full Irish breakfast Bacon, egg, sausages, black and white puddings, hash browns, fried tomato, beans, mushrooms big *** of hot steaming tea or coffee and all the toast you can eat
(I've been over there a few times)
It'd keep you going all day long, very nicely thank you.
There's also an Oil Depot office attached to the Diner with Oil trucks parked along the side

Now back in the Winter of 2021 with the Covid scare/epidemic at its height
My Oil for heating the house was starting to run low
So I rang Peter the Oilman across the road and asked him to deliver me some oil
The next day the truck comes over and fills up my Oil tank
The driver leaves the bill in my letterbox
I have the next day off work so I say to myself I'll go down the supermarket tomorrow
Get some money out of the ATM machine and pay the bill (as you do)
So the next day I get in my car, now there's a big hedge in front of my house, like for privacy
So I can't see what's going on along the road
Well I drive down to the front gate and suddenly my jaw, it drops I can't believe what I'm seeing
The Police (the Guards as we call them here the Garda in the Irish) they've cordoned off the road
And are directing the traffic
The American Style Diner has been taken over by a film crew... it's a film set
There's big lights and cameras, all kinds of electrical equipment and Vans parked
There's people going around with clipboards
And they've put up this huge giant Elvis cut out statue type thing in lights
Him in a white rhinestone suit with his guitar
And it's towering over the Diner
And I'm there looking at all this thinking "What the ****??? Is this reality or am I dreaming, somebody pinch me quick
This is... this is feckin' Alice in Wonderland
Between getting funny dreams and having funny things happen to me
I can't quite believe my eyes
It's like the circus has come to town
Or it's like... it's like remember when you were a little kid at school in the Winter and there's snow and you hate school
And suddenly the school boiler would break down and they'd have to send everybody home
It was like Great! Hurray! Chaos... Freedom had suddenly broken out
Here was just another ordinary humdrum day and now something extraordinary had happened.

I could see Peter over in his office, it looked like he'd been cordoned off too
So I decide to go down to the shop and get some money, do a little shopping and come back quick
When I come back the Guards have now left the scene
I count out the money to pay the bill
Then I walk across the road right through the film set
There doesn't seem to be any security men there to apprehend me
(maybe they know I'm just a local, no one says anything, I'm like a ghost )
I walk real slow, with my profile jutting out like a bust of Julius Caesar
I'm half hoping someone will shout "Hey you! Stop!!!
And it'll be this Director or Cinematographer with a lot of camera lenses around his neck
And he'd be looking at me through one of these camera lenses
And he'd be saying excitedly "That face! That face!! it's just what I've been looking for
It's exactly what I need
It's... Why...It's the Face of 2021"
Alas! It's not to be, no such luck
I wave in at Peter in his office
His door is open, I go in and say "What's going on ?"
He says "Their making a movie or a TV series I think it is, they needed an American Diner so they took over the Diner and done it up'"
Peter's there standing behind this persplex plastic type (see through) screen
And he has this strange black plastic type mask on his face
He looks like Hannibal Lecter out of Silence of the Lambs
There's a side window in his office and outside on a bench all the actors are sitting there waiting to be called for the next scene
I say to Peter "Is there anyone we know, like Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp, Angelina! Angelina!"
"No", he says,"their all young actors, I don't know any of them"
Looking at Peter I say Y'know they should be making a movie about you, you're a real live hero
Everyday over here, rain hail or shine, during an epidemic, keeping the country going, keeping the houses warm, the businesses running,
(I was reminded of that Greek god chap Atlas who used to hold up the heavens)
Then I say nodding my head as if I've just figured it all out
"Y'know what, their making the wrong feckin' movie
You're the Star here, they should be making a movie about you
I'm gonna have a word with the Director
Peter starts laughing
I have to resist the urge to tell him Y'know you'd make a great villain
I pay him and thank him, tell him he might be a movie star next time I see him
When I'm back outside again I start walking real slow again, it's like the film Sunset Boulevard this time
"I'm ready for my close up now Mr DeMille"
But alas! no one heeds me, it's like I'm the Invisible Man again
I think to myself "I'm getting worried, The Hand of Fame it's getting closer every day
I can feel it
One of these days it's just gonna come out of the heavens and scoop me up
And bring me off with it some place

But who'd want to be famous anyway, reporters nosing around asking you silly questions all day, trying to stir something up
People staring at you all the time and taking photos
Would be a pain in the ****,
Wouldn't mind making some money though
The old pension fund and all that...
True story this, a different kind of Covid tale, was quite Bizarre.
Kamal Apr 2023
A summer breeze whispered in my ears
Of love, fame
And other grand things
Tempt me with
Sunset rays
Of a far away place

Wrapped myself in daydreams
Grew wings on faith
Picked up the pace
Forgot my place
And chased elusive ways
Of love and fame
And other sad mistakes
Chasing your embrace
                     KMH
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