"showmanship" poems
It’s a contest in Fitness talent that one has
But it is a competition to see if the competitor has pizzazz
It’s a matter in showing your body shape off
Being determined and destined of course
As part of the fitness competition, one must dance
It’s a matter in putting the audience into a trance
But it’s the scoring in how you advance
The razzle and dazzle being in the spotlight
It’s about showmanship in becoming a champion
Perfection being great
How your diet and exercise come together in relate
But one must pay critical attention and watch carefully what you eat
This is competition of shape in how you will compete
Having the right routine being the regime
Nutrition being nice and clean
Not cheating, but having a theme
Exercise and tone all combined
But in the winning circle, you can’t drink any wine
It’s about becoming Mr. and Ms. Everything Fitness
The audience is there to take it all in and witness
One must have the right positive approach
There can be humor and jokes
But it’s a combination of exercise, shape, commitment, dedication and smile
This is the competition during while
One who is caught in the Fitness Sting
However, it is fitness being entertainment having the right swing.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 4:57 AM UTC
Of the world's most handsome poetry
Of the champagne of the tongue
The rapt lovers of cursive stroke
And the sweetest, most decadent paper caress
I like the cheap beer remarks and the box wine conjunctions
The whorish, scribbled word on the back of café napkins
The bitter inky graze and the rancid graphite touch
Some days
I have drowned in a sea of elaborately dressed words
With less intent than proud showmanship
And most days
I’d rather float on a Dead Sea of salty wit
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Wake in dirt from bone and copper.
Collect facts from years ago.
Remember openings and close those beginning.
Breathe to fill the day.
Counting hairs alone.
Float and feel my blood dance else away.
She asks for the gaze as my eyes give focus inward.
Wrapped in showmanship and loneliness.
These rings bond and the form begins tumbling.
Create lift and heal all waters swollen.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Wake in dirt from bone and copper.
Collect facts from years ago.
Remember openings and close those beginning.
Breathe to fill the day.
Counting hairs alone.
Float and feel my blood dance else away.
She asks for the gaze as my eyes give focus inward.
Wrapped in showmanship and loneliness.
These rings bond and the form begins tumbling.
Create lift and heal all waters swollen.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Hunched spines slouched with an air of indifference against backs of rigid chairs
Anxious toes tapping on linoleum floors
A generation of Attention-Deficit-addled youth, subdued with medication because they think our eyes dart too quickly
Minds fluttering more rapid-fire than individual thought can account for
What is “unique” when everything stems from mimicry?
We think ourselves philosophers (only because we’re naïve enough to make assumptions like that)
All that our naked minds can bear is a sliver of the reality we suffocate in
We reject conformity by conforming
We discard typecast by creating stereotypes
We critique and self-doubt and are relentless in our own auto-denigration
Yet still, we see ourselves as infinitely superior
Because we’re the sum of earth’s 3 billion year journey
We’re the product of every galaxy and star-birth
We’re a shred of every molecule of humanity
We’re the chosen ones, we’re evolution.
We’re ragged, fraying edges
The living definition of a walking contradiction; hypocrisy in motion
Our pens are still doodling in the margins of our notebooks
We march to a syncopated beat with heads held high but eyes cast low as we count our steps and avoid stepping on cracks
Our heels drag with the showmanship of nonchalance but the eagerness in our fingertips betrays us
We’re all just kids caught in the purgatorial limbo of high school
We’re all just trying to pretend that we’re more than we are
We’re mostly hoping that someday we’ll prove our parents right
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
Morphine & Cola, Mrs. I can't believe I told you this is, so exacerbating I Can't sleep; even this weather riles inside me as we weep. There wasn't Anything that'd have shown you. There hasn't been a single sprout of Showmanship, or the erstwhile philanthropy that needers' raise their Eyebrows to and to. This is the degree we know it. The subtle afterglow With everything that you've known, and while the snow settles on your Window sill. While winter rime binds its ice to the wheat, and every soft Little seedling sewn, whispers its final sentences before autumn while it Drifts itself to sleep. There were the cards and the faces of Jacks among Aces, places uplifted by China dishes of porcelain overflowing, like Tencel in socks, woven into the pockets of trousers. Where does the Mischief go while it certainly isn't ours, and the dandy light across your Temple bares a gleam.
Some things are enriching, but yet too sordid to stare at. While the game Is enriching, the pain is too much to bear, and whether in vain or ********** the likes of you, make these lips of mine much softer against Your finger tips. Tips of fingers, petals of flowers, baskets of fresh bread Baked with wheat flour- follow the noon bird, fancy a sit by a brook, and Listen for the whistle-less, whistling of a rook.
Grey is quite golden too. Like the same tencel that I've used, or the silken Web treated to a loom, like lightning bugs out for an early dance on the Afternoon. Seldom as moss on sidewalk path or the pangs of laughing Heart at mass. What does the new bird bring? The bride of this coming Spring? For every sugarcube we taste, we save ourselves from second Base. Dr. Narrod with a gentle touch, the inspection you love so much. The gentle morsels smoothed upon the hand. The girl-like woman with Her ewe-like lamb. "For all of you who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. For all of those who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. I like the way you move."
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
40 years of history
Rock & Roll and parties
Influencong both the no names and the great names
Black Country born
Where I bet you met a mean Black Country Woman
Did she hurt you bad?
Leaving beer on your face
Oh well, she could have lived in your garden
I think it's crazy
Elvis, really?
I never would have guessed
Who were you at ten years old?
Later you left the bright boys for the men of blues, good choice
Met the man with the axe that finally chopped away the cord from who you were
You weren't difficult, just struggling
The flock banded together, ready to fly
I'm sorry about your boy
Too young
I wish you could have been there
But I'm sure he knows he has all your love
By the way, I think I like your words the best
Vikings and Tolkein tales mystify me
Oh, and all the ***
How was Morocco?
I hear the sun just beats down on your face
And your eyes get filled with sand
But maybe I'll let you take me there
And from there I'll follow you up to Heaven
I'd rather take the stairs
But don't look to the west
I'd hate to see you cry
By the way, did you know they call you a god?
How fitting in your land of thunder, lightning, and sweat
Stand right up front, lest you miss a second of it
You sure have showmanship when you put on your elaborate robes of blue, gold, and purple
I'm sorry the thunder died
Since you couldn't hear it anymore you thought to teach young minds
But how could you really stick with that?
No, thats's not you
So you went back
By yourself
How bold
But you missed the good old days, didn't you?
Just the thought of when you were kings made you salivate, like honey dripping from your mouth
So for a second you went back to letting the kingdom gather to hear your melodic speeches
There's nothing former about you
I'm so glad you refused to be a joke
Not letting anyone come to the conclusion you were all washed up
Didn't become anyone's show to direct either
Sorry the love is gone though
And all the crazy, **** passions
But you still look good together
So I guess this is my way of showing my appreciation
No, my admiration
For a legend
A king
Thank you
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
When he was born his father was drunk,
his mother was doped up.
He was born three months early with double pneumonia,
but he lived.
Growing up, his father would put down the bottle
only to hit him and his mother.
For some reason, he wasn't sure, his sister and brother were spared.
His father died when he was eleven.
His father killed himself with the same pistol he killed two Japanese men with. His mother remarried, with no job, experience, or even a drivers license, she had to remarry quick.
His stepfather put down the bottle only long enough to hit him and his mother. This time, his sister and brother were not spared.
Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, he learned to play while my guitar gently weeps on a third hand guitar his stepfather had spent a fifth of his monthly salary buying.
He made money playing guitar. He wasn't the best, no Eddie Van Halen, no Eric Clapton. He did without the flashy showmanship. He had something called dependability. He was never late for an audition, he never ****** up an audition, he never fought with his band mates.
Driving home from a gig thirteen days after his twenty second birthday, a drunk teenager in a pickup truck plowed into him at an intersection.
He spent 5 weeks in the hospital. Doped up the whole time. When they let him leave, he left with a plate in his head and a monkey on his back.
For three years he lived on the streets. He'd play his guitar on the corner by the CBGBs for change. He'd take that change and buy ****** After three years, exactly three years of this, he realized he could play guitar better sober. He stopped using.
He got an associates degree in English, a concentration in teaching.
He taught English and Beginning Guitar at the same high school he hid his bruises at years earlier. He had favorite students, how could he not? They were always hiding bruises.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Everybody acts like they do no harm
At the sight of the truth,
We say no that's not mine that's yours
What a showmanship
Gaslighting 101 should be a gen-ed course
Professor preach to me, watch out for the ones you care for
They will burn you alive
They will laugh while you turn into ashes and tears
All in the name of love,
I'll sin like a saint and bless like a sinner
Funny seeing you be upset with me
For not carrying your weight anymore
It was never mine to carry, and I don't mind you being upset
Because you never stopped to think,
oh, she's crushing under the weight,
I should carry my share
I'm not here for your convenience
I'm here to die we all are
All my best friends are losing their innocence
And I miss our innocence
Very much, very much so
All in the name of love,
I'll sin like a saint and bless like a sinner
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 4:18 AM UTC
The old names that I used to know
Roll out no more, like curtains old
Like a theatre in the lesser days
When more was sung in older ways
As I sit here in the mirror room
With lenses quiet as a tomb
Just to think of names I once had seen
Alive, a thread, in poetry seems
Would'ya close the curtain, lock the doors?
And stoke the candles inside no more?
Because the poets heart is quiet when
He life is brightest in the eyes of men
So be it showmanship deceived
Would you show me the name of a friend indeed?
And I'll read and read until bygone age
Until all the lenses have passed away
And the stars become the only screen
Where the heights of poetry
And the shallow depths of the human soul
Can be ere seen
For as the old names that I used to know
Quietly pass away
Only words remain like fallen snow
In the masterpiece of a city day
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 2:47 AM UTC
Underwhelmed with modern magic, I let myself be taken
to a party on a strange night.
Like you, I let my lips whisper abracadabra and
kept my fears in one subtle hand.
Like you, I wanted to vanish the crowd
under a napkin -
to palm everyone into a cup under the table,
leaving a beaming new face - radiant eyes and unfamiliar tricks -
to abandon all the showmanship
exactly where it belongs.
And when all the faces peeled away to
a lively midnight wilderness
you were there, a magician
and prestidigitated into smoke and mirrors
every artifact of doubt.
There is nothing I would like more than
to have a drink with you
to have a cigarette with you
to have anything at all with you
and learn your secrets:
A longing for names unmentioned and eyes still incredulous,
and a reverence for fairy dust.
Watching the room empty,
hearing the soft chatter of their private marvels
we are alone, as we ached to be,
here, to tell our secrets, and they are these:
we are in discord with love
skeptics, so unfit for
the careless faith and
grasping vigilance of hearts our age.
Now, in this cabaret,
"goodnight" is ensorcelled into a curse, and
"come with me," a necromancy uttered
to give to dead hopes new dimensions.
Here, I would read every book under the sun,
work my fingers into knotted idleness,
believe in every fantasy
to learn your secrets.
Under the snowfall, we kiss like Chinese rings
but you know as well as I do
that quick enchantments are a thin fable,
and instant magic does not exist.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
The way tarnish defines weathered copper
we see men defined my media.
Rise up power! Take hold indulgence!
Succeed, conquor and win all you can.
Gone are the days of hearing ones soul
rooting ourselves to another to remind us
that we are not transcendent.
Tomorrow is never promised.
Investment refers to stocks and bonds,
no longer to each other.
They rise and fall like the sea- impermanent
like ourselves. We long for cohesion.
We toss ourselves to and fro,
choosing to weather the raging ocean rather than
moor ourselves in the cove of friendship
and take a chance on what's real.
Now are the days of showmanship.
More than you, less than him--- besting when we can.
Gone are the days of foundations
you can really stand on.
Rise up you days of sand.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
So you are at a party and are introduced as a poet. And everyone looks at you....
I'm a poet
Not an entertainer
So I depart this stage
And sit next to you
I will be close
Perhaps uncomfortably so
But in order for us to interact
You must be willing to think
Deeply
Perhaps painfully
About life
Or about yourself
And your situation
However it may be
Because when we part
You will be affected
Not by incredible showmanship
But by a quiet moment
You will be alone
With words
And though they are mine
They will soon become yours
Because you and I are the same
And as I draw you near
We will become one
Not as lovers
But as human beings
Who understand each other
Living together
With a feeling
Because you have become a poet too
And now I learn from you
And read as you write
And wish I could write as you do
But that was my intention all along
And I hope you remember me
As I depart your stage
To continue as I was
Before we met
But before you go
I must tell you something
You will think of me
And wonder about us
But I am only good for one thing
Lonely people
Because the way I live
Is within my own mind
And I reach those who want to be reached
But not those who want my attention
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
You can try tell me the right way, or you could just choose to loosen up.
-Because the right way for you, may not be the right way for me.-
So I'm sorry but when it comes to your way, I just don't give ****
Now you could try to convince me.
-I've been hearing around that you're pretty convincing.
But the convenience of that bachelor's degree.
Doesn't mean shit-when you got a couple kids.-
And you are out living on the streets.
Now you could try to judge this situation.
I promise I won't budge On this decision.
But I also don't hold grudges
- So we can live in peace.
I could try to tell you I know what's best.
But knowing is a lie if you're so set.
On not knowing the other side,so I guess.
-That I just better leave.
It Has always been bittersweet
-Walking alone in the rain.
Where I've been shivering.
But the thunder and lightning.
Keep competing for attention-
Just so they could show their strength.
- I've never been much for showmanship
Hell, I barely even know what game this is.
But I'm still playing even with this disadvantage.-
Because I'm really only playing For the hell of it.
You could be the one to keep score.
-Or, We could keep playing even more.
But there's no need for playing,
If you're not planning on staying.
Because when you leave instead of finishing.-
I'll probably just be too bored.
You can take all the hate.
Take All the judgement.
But if you don't take in love.
You might as well have nothing.
If you've been waiting for the God
To show him what you're made of.
You might as well get a head start.
-Instead of valuing faith,
You can just make-
Being a great person part of who you are.
Good things happen to those of you who wait.
-Wait, in reality.
Bad things happen to good people when all their things are going great. -
-So if we're doomed to go down,
No matter how things go down-
Then I think some of these Sins are okay.
Now we can try to play
In the Thunder and lightning.
But don't be surprised if the Ground starts to shake.
Stop being quick to judge,
Start dealing more with love-
And I'm sure with that love we can make this world quake.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
showman is marksmanship
showman is a higher mark of a marksmanship
a higher mark is a higher marksmanship
a higher mark is a higher showman
showmanship is marksmanship
science is a marksmanship
science is a showman
science is a documentation
documentation is science showmanship
the universe is a documentation of a showmanship
the universe is a documentation of science
the universe is a higher mark of a documentation
the universe is a higher mark of a showman
science is a showmanship of a documentation
showmanship is showmanship of science
showmanship is showmanship of a documentation
the universe is a universe showmanship
a showman is a showmanship of a marksmanship
a showman is a showman of science
a showman is a showman of a universe
a showman is a higher mark of a showman
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 2:43 PM UTC
I'm following my yellow brick road
To where, well nobody knows
The more I say it though, the more
the idea on me grows and grows.
Yep, I'm stepping out on it step by step
with shoes on that you would not believe
If I told you they were green and sparkled
Then it is a web I set out to weave.
A lie, a delibate lie from me, no the shoes are plain
Just normal walking shoes, just run of the mill.
But you would think I would step out in style
Launch the rocket that fits the bill.
But I cannot be bothered, to tell the truth
This yellow brick road seems normal to me.
But Elton John would not have wanted that, of no
Showmanship is what is required, I hear the plea.
So okay then, my glottering shoes are on,
catching rainbows of their own.
Wait just one little minute, something I have forgotten
Must take a selfie on my mobile phone.
Well, wouldn't want the wicked witch of the east to come
and grab me whilst on my way.
I have got proof now from the mibile photo
No matter what one silly witch would say.
Elton John would be proud of me, I would hope
In my shiny shoes, and my way to nowhere
But it is what we are, what we do, I hear the cries
Or does anyone actually give a care!
This is written for Mike Hauser, I know he likes Elton John
To me he is the greatest ever singer/songwriter.
Mike I hope you like your poem and have enjoyed reading it.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
***** your heroes?
My heroes are those people that, despite the pain inside their head, will roll on out of bed every
Single
Day,
Get up, put their makeup on, pull on their jeans, stare at themselves in the mirror and say
‘Today, you. are. okay’
Not superman, or Spider-Man, Captain Marvel or Thor, but those people who marvel every day, that they haven’t killed themselves. That every day they don’t wake up in a cell with padded wall and no heating, eating frozen spoon fed dinners next to orderlies and sinners.
See,
My heroes aren’t those people, who can fly a thousand miles an hour or lift a car above their head,
But those people that fight every. single. day.
Who’s mind will tread that fine line between sorrow, and despair, who pray to the heavens that just for once, please, make the battle fair.
That when their life is said and done, they’ll smile and see their conquest won.
These people are my heroes not for showmanship, fame, plumb or adieu, but for the silent battles won,
A thing that I could never do.
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 2:41 PM UTC
Regression is the precedent I've since set for myself
Upended on the shelf was an unfortold, frenetic, belt-pelted being.
So after the cavity in my dominant eye has collapsed
after the day of shooting and rapture has wrapped up
Enough of it has shoved itself up into the upended titled bent being
whose naive native notions can only see the chemical show
of wriggles and lines that've dissolved in the dealing of
chemical knots wrought for that rapture
It's a shot taken in, in little apeture notions
It's showmanship commotion,
Locomotion in sinful, fruit-built, salt-ridden,
and laughter-built ration packs.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
Don't trust him.
His game is to play you; showmanship winning over the room.
Capability and knowledge cunningly imitated with sleight of hand.
Promises, their empty conclusion yet to unfold, and the nod of a mask.
Bluff and deceit form the paint on his mask,
and I see the cracks forming.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
August 11th
How am I so smart to endure my head's turns or locks inside a box.
With some worth forgetting.
My erecting
inessential to come, we've all waited.
The diet of cowards.
The invisible exercises in...
New Guinea
New York
Japan
France
Gaining
Exonerated
Senators.
Wives.
Daughters.
Over years or weeks.
A lot to hold in. I'm here.
A lot to hold on to.
A pint.
Three.
Jigger.
Fly into roses, Broken Wing Heartache.
Later on...
It is only one small amount of sweat.
A pool filling and shifting with each of my breast's breaths.
Now maybe I can tell myself why I care.
It is you.
A leg paler.
A chipped smile.
A new thing with nothing shamed.
Time for a movie.
A bright future.
Fuzzy dream.
Picture you and I waking.
Picture the naked light.
Witness your hollows.
Amount short.
Void transaction.
Pay once.
Enter the transaction void.
Two beers and one or just one shot of one fifty one later...
Do the days go by and call your name?
No they don't register a mood.
A look see.
A look see reveals all of these new found memories.
But our memory is low and hazy.
Baby.
Oh beautiful showmanship, tell me...
Of love.
Of youth.
Of my eyes.
My hair.
My unbroken bones.
My perfect *****
My golden hair.
My tan.
My ability to hold and stay
not too warm or dry
not too cold or wet.
Your tomb.
Undisturbed.
And now I wait.
For you to warm.
Oh it is you.
Only you.
I will recite also.
In regrets of my open heart.
Strange that father holds his chest in staples later than I.
I spoke of you.
To blood ancient and blood to see.
You know.
Or you don't.
I.
Here in new clothes.
Waiting beside the museum.
Under the cold window.
For you to interfere.
As close as I am.
And then you apperceive.
Love.
You appear love.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
There was a time when I thought that love would last for ever
To believe in love and all it giving
To subject the mind with the warmth that it brings
I rather trust a poem or a prose
I compose.
I knew that I didn’t have a tower of strength to believe
After my first heart break:
Once bitten twice shy
Or fool me once, fool me twice.
Unfolding one of Robert pulley sculpture takes guts and strength
As you view them without taking a sip of wine
or making that long sighing sound
It’s hard not to fall in love with his work
Words like I love you are strong words,
The little love that's in our hearts will vanishes
The love for Robert pulley sculpture will last forever.
Everything is subject to change at any time
However, the psychology behind his showmanship
Will be here forever…
unlike this thing called love
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Every amateur
can make a pledge
with the turn of
her body
to make lust
disappear.
But an artist knows
that the prestige
is found in
the technique,
the showmanship
that makes it
come back.
"Are you watching closely"?
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
Ha, I get it.
The shine is from a
wet cloud against
a sun
that stands in the rain.
I get that
the way the gloss
shimmers
and you don’t want that-
the rain.
you don’t like the flash.
the drips. the wetness like
hair growing over your face.
you don’t like the way
the hood moves in the
light.
you don’t like the way
the glass reflects images
of a second there and
a second now.
(And how they are the same.)
but the sun is
against us.
*(So is the light! Collusion? How
can’t it be)*
Look away!
didn’t you hear?
the light wants to show off,
the light wants to prove you never had it.
the light wants to illuminate the sound
of things we can’t hear
of things we set aside
of things we think others want
to
see.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
We were the greatest love story of all time
A true tragedy, not ever really standing a chance
But the fireworks!
The showmanship!
It was truly a sight to be seen
But no one, absolutely no one could have guessed we ended like this
Just a story
Something to be admired for a moment in time
The fireworks fade
The show ends
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 4:28 PM UTC