"stardom" poems
Don’t go, hold onto your colour bowl,
never lose your paintbrush,
not even at the twilight.
Someone's smiling on earth.
It can’t hide forever.
Maybe hidden but not far—
could be only behind a lock of hair.
Black is not only black.
Look beyond, it could be all fair.
Gently raised and softly lit
on the moonlight’s field
These forever-calm shady groves,
piled up on the night's pitch-black scene,
are ahead of the curve in silent reading.
Behind these out of the box line-ups
by the middle, the stage composed
for the thrillers that rock and roll
An incense is still burning
the sundown burns down into ashes,
is still breathing, smelling the scent.
Yesterday will revive and comes tomorrow
keep an eye for a moment or two.
Follow the glow, gazing in the night
and slip into the grove
for they are in the know
is a veiled beauty, earth’s silhouette,
drawn down to the moon!
All the starry fireflies on the stardom
love to drop down and join the moths
Around this tucked away silhouette,
charming beauty down the moon.
Only on the earthen ground it grooms!
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
We should legit organize our own Celebrity Softball Game.
Play another Poetry Site
Or Intramural.
Show America a different side
of stardom.
Rent a sandlot.
Wolf starting pitcher,
Soul starting catcher.
Eliot umpires.
Everyone gets an At bat.
Instead of hating on each other,
Play together as a Team.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
The Peppered Pickle Clown
(Peppered Pickle Day)
This is a story you may not know
And it's banned in pickle town
It's about a peppered pickle
That became a circus clown
He started out his short life
Looking through a stained glass jar
Watching his sweet pickled brother
Become a kosher star
Although his peppered pickled life was sweet
This peppered pickle wanted more
He would join the circus as a clown
And be a smash that fans adored
At first it started slowly
No fans would call his name
But a peppered pickle as a clown
Well thats funny just the same
As time went on he made them laugh
They started yelling for him more
Then a show was given just to him
And a peppered pickle day was born
All the fans they ordered pickles
On peppered pickles they would gorge
Then one day there came a time
When peppered pickles they ran short
The peppered pickle clown knew right then
That it was time to make his mark
So he made a deal with Vlasic corp.
To put peppered pickles in their jars
Well Vlasic corp. invited him
To come take a private tour
They said that he would relish it
And be a cut up in the stores
They put the peppered pickle clown
In a clown chair and tied him down
They said it was for safety
As the belt showed him all around
The belt went slow when starting out
Picked up speed as it went along
The peppered pickle clown was sliced and diced
Vlasic didn't clown around
So remember the peppered pickle clown
When you shop at your home store
He gave his life for stardom
And thats why you now pay more
Today is peppered pickle day
And should be known the world around
Made famous by a sweet delight
The peppered pickle clown
Carl J. Roberts
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
Nothing matters,
Faster, Faster,
I pedal away,
To a bright new day.
Gives me wings to fly,
Every terrain I want to try,
Also chase the blue sky.
With the fresh open air,
As it messes with my hair,
I cycle everywhere,
In the woods, on a street or cycle track,
Here, there and back,
Up the hill I huff and puff,
Going up is tough.
Oh,what freedom!
Like the joy of stardom,
My mind crystal clear,
Lots I discover as my bike I steer.
Round and round the wheels go,
In the sun, rain or snow,
Every moment I relish,
Never to end I wish.
18/11/2019.
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 6:35 AM UTC
Out of a **** he made Great Art
It was no ordinary **** no!
It was straight from the heart, that
****
It had lain too long in the dark
Now was it's time to start
To make its bid for freedom... and for stardom.
It flew like a dart that **** from the
heart
Like an arrow strung from Cupids
bow
Little did it know how luminous it'd
glow
Becoming one of the Greats in the
Farting Canon.
It was probably the greatest **** poem
ever written
In my own humble opinion
It was very daring and it smelt of
onion
It was certainly the fairest fartiest
poem I ever seen
If it was one of the three Musketeers
It would have to have been
D'artagoine.
It inflated like a balloon, blew up like
a great glass bubble
Then it popped and headed off
toward England
Flying further afield than any ****
had ever flown
It touched people's hearts, bewitched
every nation
Resounded around the world
Yea! was heard in every Kingdom.
It flew long, it rounded the Horn
Like a Lark, that **** it soared and
sung
It was no boring old ****
It was far fartier and fruiter than that
It was a King of Farts
Way above the fartiest of farters and
all the farting Arthurs
It was the real King Arthur
The King Arthur of all farts and
Farters.
A real Belter was that **** that came
from the heart
That had all the Angels singing in
their cloisters,
A real work of Art just like Mozart
Or remember... remember your
Shakespeare
"Hark! A **** a **** Whereforth art ?
Thou ****
It played its part, that **** yea! it
wielded its Excalibur.
O! there's nothing I'd rather do than lie here blowing sweet bubbles next
to you
You! on your little flutey flute flute and
Me! on my big Bass Trombone.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 7:24 PM UTC
You're sitting across a table, in the next room- and it's the month of July.
And as the beads of sweat chip off your forehead
like a shank of butcher's meat,
your dorcel fin peaks through the sand where my toes peak through. The picnic table where I write letters; post cards.
I take photos, make reservations, and
even after I'm canceled on for walking around
downtown in my bright neon-pink underwear, I still roll to the
left side of the bed sit up and drop the cigarette I fell asleep on. You're just sitting, first entry: Stardom.
I don't have room for you in the corners.
The corners of this room, padded walls,
shifty vaseline sway- the white cotton stick
of a sucker pointing out of your mouth, its red numero forty dye shines
in the specks of light flicking
out of the horizon like a carousel ride
around and around.
I'm getting a bit dizzy, and even less honest.
If you want to see me spring,
like the silly string on my birthday, yellow silly-putty; molding the monster face,
I observe you through a kaleidoscope of dexedrine and morphine.
Your catastrophe with Xanax, passed out
in alien-green ******* at that party in the abandoned firehouse
on News St., how you could lay trust on me after that
(a daydream with sawing you called me)
sixteen-year-old mishap of an afternoon.
&
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
His money isn't free.
On the first date,
He picked you up in a Phantom
which haunted your inner gold-digger
Digging to harvest stardom, but
His money isn't free.
He's wearing a Rolex
You're wearing a Swatch wrist
Hoping to switch wrists.
It's much too sad that
His money isn't free.
He's harvested his cotton
And you're ready to rob him
But his ex keeps calling
Little Miss Lee Kaching!
She can sense your scheming;
she screams through the speakerphone,
"His money isn't free!"
Now he's seen
your blades, your spades, your grenades
hidden in the dark of your shade.
He's grabbing those keys
Leaving his seat saying,
"My money isn't free!"
Now you're left alone
With your flip phone,
Not even an iPhone.
And the waiter comes by,
Drops the bill and says,
"This meal isn't free."
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
I've been collecting ear wax
Since the belly button lint dust fire went bad
I lost all my dignity in that fiasco
So ear wax is all that I have left
Believe you me, it's not easy
Coming up with another scheme
After burning the whole town down to the ground
To get a single soul to look or even listen to me
But that fateful day that I dug deep
And pulled a replica of the Eiffel Tower out of my ear
I knew that fame and fortune lay before me
My time had arrived, my time was here
Who should I call first over my artful discovery
The Post? The Enquirer? The Times?
No I would call The Museum Of Modern Art in NYC
For the Art World would soon be mine
I knew I had to ratchet it up a notch
One piece of ear wax art might be a fluke
So I got out my brush...the Q-tip
And removed a portrait of John Wayne AKA The Duke
Since I live in a hippie commune in the woods
Little furry creatures would always stop by
To gaze upon the artful process
Squirrels can be the best of critics...no lie!
Which gave me the idea with all the left over ear wax
I sculptured a mini-amusement park with mini-arcades
And charged the woodland creatures nuts and berries
Which helped feed the hippies with whom I stay
It wasn't long after that I received the letter
Stating that art had a need for me
I've become known as The Andy Warhol of The Art World
With abstract ear wax being my specialty
Now I go to all the major "Who Does"
Where everybody knows my name
As I create masterpieces right before their eyes
Just don't hold it to close to the flame
Who would have ever thought that ear wax
Would be the perfect medium
To jet propel this Simpleton
To Art World stardom and beyond
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
An airplane crashes into an uncharted island and hundreds of people die in the burning debris, and somewhere a group of boys and girls are taking selfies as they stand next to a burning office building.
Thousands of teenagers sit on the couch and eat ice cream until the buttons on their pants explode off.
Kids light themselves on fires as if they were monks from the Tiananmen Square, trying to gain acceptance, their dreams of stardom translated through a series of YouTube comments.
We can't afford books for college because the tuition is ridiculous, but these glossy tabloid magazines are only a few bucks; pick one to set the course of your life.
Middle-aged people spend their lives indoors, away from the thirsty, hungry, withering children, and check how many likes did their photos receive on their smartphones.
Pornographic images in front of our tired faces, our eyes locked to the screen and we do not blink as our memories become embedded with objectification.
So we don't look up and see the chaos transpiring.
Cat memes and colorful gifs hold our attention while our parents slave away at their boomerang-shaped desks, trapped in clustered cubicles.
I saw a post on Facebook of a girl who was sexually assaulted at a house party and now her name was being hashtagged and kids were posing in photographs, laying on the floor, legs and arms sprawled out, left and right, trying to mimic the injustice.
We swipe right to find our future hookups, but what if our future husbands and wives were on the left?
Society spends millions of dollars on drinks to numb our conscience, until our brain cells are wretched like the homeless guy on the street corner drinking liquor from a coffee mug.
Israel and Palestine battle each other day after day while our generation gossips about Solange Knowles beating up Jay-Z with her patent leather purse as if that news conquers every other bit of information out there.
The world will always be corrupt, but it suffers more from the apathy that belongs to us.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
First things first I gotta paved the hearse
I'm digging an early grave hopin' my soul be saved
Father tell.me why? You forbid us no one to trust
Real friends turn to bustas jealousy keeps me strapped with my four five its only way to survive
Will.I stay alive?? And make Heaven or stay in Hell
Resurrected in Satan's cell tell me am.I wrong
For hangin' with homies on the block
Drinkin' Old E to Hennessey slangin' that rocks
Stashin' loot in my socks
I had no choice to options minimal what else can I do?
Since the system is crooked I'm.crooked black
Why every crime is related to Blacks
When the biggest culprit is America I'm tellin' ya
Stay loadin' the magnums put in the air self made billionaire we ballin' climbed our way to top no fallin',
Its survival of the fittest from city to city
**** nation touchin' the hearts of newborn
Leavin' wicked souls torn I was born
For this ludicrous I'm crazy the world don't phase me
I'm trying to stack gs and grow my imagery
In a major way **** what a hater gotta say
I'm feelin' like Marley blazin' the blunts gettin' deadly
Aim my trigger steady
Crack open hearts of the Capitol hill Romanian Babylon you know the deal??
So many buried without tears so many livin' in fear
I'm.coming back harder than Malcolm X **** stardom
And if I die tonight no one will give a ****
Until they cremate me throw my ashes in the sea
Publish me and make a buck muthaphuck
My enemies that try to keep grips on me
I'm worm my free the Prince is back strategize my every move
No rules to follow just more slugs to borrow
Killin' the systems as moves I got **** to prove
Settin' all.my demons trapped in me free
Can't help it its the **** n Me
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
Exposition
Exploration
Examination
Experimentation
Exhibition
Experience
Exercise
Excelsior
Explosion
Exposure
Expansion
Exceeding
Excitement
Excellence
except
Excessive
Expectations
Excuses
Exclamation
Excommunication
Excluded
Excreted
Exorcised
Expunged
Exacerbation
Exhale
Exit
Exeunt
Extinct
Ex-Star
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Twenty seven years
The age where you've peaked stardom,
then you die so young.
Twenty-seven years
The age where you've peaked the fame,
then you're gone too soon.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
leather skinned harlots
in their pre-washed jeans
and make with sticky fingers the shiny jewels
and the keys to proverbial kingdoms
but nobody notices
everybody is too busy celebrating the
return of the same old same old
and her ten trick pony
shes a fire in the ***** of many a man
good thing most of them take medications for it
but she is as hard to cure as her burning desires
the happy girls are neatly dressed
perfumed and powdered in evening dresses
nothing it would seem can get in the way
of tonight's entertainment
song and dance numbers performed with zeal
and more than a touch of class by some famous actor
who name has faded away
but his dreams are still alive
up there in bright lights on the marquee
all he wants is that second chance
like lightening striking a third time
the townsfolk all gather there at the edge of the stage
to see the show and cheer on his rise to stardom
everyone except the girl with the rose tattoo
she was still at the bar trying to drowned her sorrows
in whiskey and spilled tears
her and her pony had enough of this town
but they had no place else to go
aint much room in the world for someone like her
the same old same old is hard way to live
she tries to smile but it comes out shouts of misery
her pony nudges her arm and looks to the east and the rising sun
time to go but she dosn't care
shes got a few tricks of her own
shes gonna marry the actor
squeeze out a few ankle-biters and get the picket fence
to put around the little brats
keep em in check
seems like every time you turn around
there is somebody trying to one up you
the new girl in town has a mechanical pony
and comes with a text book on std's of the soul
she will make alot of men happy someday
but not today
today they all have leather skinned harlots
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
*I'm brave enough to fear, deaf enough to hear
blind enough to see, I'm a soul in ecstasy
I'm weak enough to fight, in the dark of light
crippled enough to stand, insane enough to understand
that I'm eternal enough to die, truth enough to lie
perpetual enough to end and straight enough to bend
I'm hard enough to bruise and triumphantly lose
I'm desperate enough to believe, happy enough to grieve
afloat enough to drown and smiled enough to frown
I'm treasured enough to be thrown,a dusk enough to dawn
a man enough to cry,I'm mindful enough to pry
I'm question enough to answer, goat enough to panther
I'm block enough to bridge, free enough to siege
I'm lone enough to clique, wake enough to sleep
love enough to hate, I'm free willed to fate
I'm chain enough to freedom, unknown for my stardom
pleasure enough for pain,I'm sunshine trapped in rain
I'm wrecked enough to intact and powerless enough to impact
probability enough to certain,I'm God enough to Satan
I'm peace enough to war,ignorant enough to know
less enough to more, I'm Yes enough to No
I'm stuffed enough to hunger, silence enough to thunder
obvious enough to wonder, I'm builder enough to plunder.*
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
He wants none of it
The unrelenting fame
Paparazzi's lights
Never out of sight
The crushing weight
Of a well-known name
He wants none of it
The life-sucking fame
Endless demands
From legions of fans
Happiness funneling
Right down the drain
He wants none of it
The soul-deadening fame
Prestige a cruel mistress
All joys turned to business
Dousing his spirit
To extinguish its flame
No, he craves anonymity
For stardom to cease
To be happy with less
Freed from the stress
True glory found
In a life lived in peace
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
“Weights to the body that want all too exercise
Your Muscles want you to energize
Two Fitness Enthusiast were known as the “Iron Brothers”
The movie was centered around Exercise, Physical Transformation, Muscles and Bodybuilding
Yet it was a creation forming a Fitness Enterprise and Bodybuilding Affiliation Organization
Weider Muscles want your attention please
Stand and Flex but move with ease
But there was Rivalry between two George and Joe Weider all having a mission for Bodybuilding with a Higher Recognition Bodybuilding Prize
The convince being a hard realize
So George had a title that was called “Mr. Universe 1940”
Bodybuilders were all competing for the title
However, Weider was denounced to have anyone from his organization to compete, and there was a struggle
But Joe Weider saw a bigger picture of Bodybuilders in creating the “Mr. Olympia 1950”
Victory being on Joe Weider’s mind
But having a magazine that will enhance
The mission was about giving all Bodybuilders the competing chance
Bodybuilding Magazine relaying Bodybuilders and Bodybuilding coverage
Expressing to the world Bodybuilding was a sport
But don’t cut the sport short
It was going to take persuasion and instilling Bodybuilding appreciation
So the journey being a determined mission
Yet, it was on to discover Arnold Schwarzenegger Whose name Joe Weider had heard of
This Writer actually met Arnold Schwarzenegger personally when he was competing during his Bodybuilding days and the title was “Mr. Olympia” in New York City
I met Mr. Schwarzenegger at the Mid-City Gym in New York City
Arnold would often have trouble saying my name Anthony
Today, he would have no trouble saying my name because he was once a California Governor and a Movie Star
However, I was intrigued to see Sergio Olivia, Jr playing his Father in the Movie, Sergio Olivia, SR
What a combination?
Now the Sergio Olivia, Sr was a Cuban Weightlifter, and became a high Ranking Bodybuilder standing with Arnold Schwarzenegger
What makes Sergio Olivia, SR was when he posed in the ***** pose with humongous Lats when it came to Bodybuilding competition
So Sergio Olivia, Jr was following in his father’s footsteps with destination being stardom
But the Mr. Olympia is still the number one Bodybuilding competition today
Joe Weider saw the vision and how Bodybuilding will make the Mr. Olympia competition worthwhile
Are your muscles pumped to perfection?
Joe Weider’s legacy left behind, “Muscles pumped to Victory”
There’s training to be done
It’s Bodybuilding Victory I want all too be among
Yet, remember what I accomplished in looking upon.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
the cult of the ideal woman.
silent era mignon.
pass the baton.
a little diplomacy.
a little electricity.
and a waterfall of curls.
she moves with the fayre.
I see her idling on Fifth Avenue
and at work behind the counters
of the stores.
besotted men plant young, leafless trees upside-down,
roots in the air, simply because
she wants it that way.
a groundbreaking end
to The Broken Oath,
and her name on the credits
for the very first time.
screens, fans, and umbrella stands.
or maybe lilies in a field of seclusion.
she is stardom.
she is the eternal question.
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 11:29 AM UTC
Money! The root of all evil they say
Yet money is the perfume
Money is the jewel
Money is the king of all kingdoms
Money is precious Taj Mahal
Money is ticket to stardom
key to power and freedom
Money is short term happiness
Money is greed, evil and hate
Lust for the money..
Fall to your feet..
Years to rise again...
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On
I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor naked pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.
less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into
the stacks and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.
but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like
that early morning madness that was christmas pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.
Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they
****** altogather but drinking and common sense dont even
belong in the same room togather.
Portsmouth Va was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie ****
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.
They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there ***** I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked by.
acting as though they were outsiders yerning to be mainstream
they'd **** there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.
Just for a taste of stardom.
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.
In a world were you could have a bus load
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.
The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow reallity show bottom feeders
passed out on. Had to besoft as there heads.
Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.
To see who could bore us the most with there sob story
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow
than a reality show pillbox for a brain.
and the truth effectsus all form no matter
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 7:12 AM UTC
A box junction,dysfunctional miscommunication,down by the station in one more of its type,a shattered crack pipe and a broken down motormouth man,spanning the distance between here,over there,swiping the air,pissing his pants,ranting at rainbows,begging from strangers,
he's just another of the night time ghost rangers,a shadow that falls off imagination and walled off behind solidified dried up and **** out hot dreams that appeared to be real,in the stealing of childhood in the big world bad wild hood,where the good don't die young but are used as the fate bait for just wait and see state, you get in,when you stick the pins in your veins,bleed drain fluid cleaner, how keen are you now?
How the mighty have risen to be crushed,cast aside on the mad ride to stardom in the Kingdoms of blinged up and blind men,
dazzle me, quick me,me brain's oh so sick me,
and sometimes I wonder
and sometimes I don't.
I won't make apologies to pygmy type minds who only find it within them to carp,criticise,and as I prise up the mountains to catch moles for my dinner,I ask of my god,just who is this winner that's wrote of on totems?
Poles apart
we start in the middle,fiddle the figures which figures not in the outcome and I come out fighting,
delightful in madness where the sad can't attack me,where the strait jacketed banality of life is finally flushed,where I'm not rushed in decisions,make insightful incisions with obscure ramifications and cut anyway,cut everything away and cast off.
A bit like knitting
but not with wool.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
don't weep above this hatred
this plague shall soon be through
while we climb the ladder into the heavens
breathe the sweet and childish laughter
whistling this new profound and beautiful truth
may the capsules of stardom be removed
lest the gold of you be unglued
then we'll play our shows on mountaintops
and draw them in the millions
beyond all the written pleasures that exist for just a few
when this crystal city's completed
sparkling sapphires in royal blue
emerald's with the faces of the Aegean
barely touch on the euphoria, on the eyes I've looked into
there is electricity in this symphony of humanness
pale or black and blue
then these melted flavors of our curses
may dissolve between us too
Until your mouth is dry of spit
and our lips are numb from use
let's dance inside the venom
dear lucille pulls us through
miss heroine and her guiding rays
beat the storm away
A journey that had never been
aurulent skin she didn't see herself in
tied to a chair, while she choked and I pulled her hair
I found a real good girl there
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
i know what the problem with poetry is...
it’s like nick harper tuning the piano
or tenacious d playing the one note song...
it’s almost like
had i the grace (#d)
to fathom the craze (#d)
of each acknowledging stare (#a)
we shared: i guess i’d fare (#a)
much closer to the stardom (#b)
of what i can fathom (#b)...
lead
-ed
red
well fed...
ya ya yawn.
apart from the humanities subjecting an art via mutilating
the one original craft of spontaneity
with such excess of scalpel and anaesthetic
as “discovered” theory...
no expression of language has as many “grammatical”
words to define its learning / interpretation as poetry...
whatever verb has against pronouns to make us anonymous
by excluding a personal stance of nouns...
so has poet against verbs to make us anonymous
by excluding a metaphor personalised given the nouns.
well one note does sound “serene” giving the rhyme couplet
when in music just the same old repeat of the so called rhythm: of a church at 11pm, i.e.
poetry is ruined by rhyme... rhyme kills rhythm
of spontaneity... and i'd hate to make poetry
the ***** of predictability of £110 an hour £10 extra
for oral *** performed on her... enter the realm of rhyme
and you enter a cul de sac:
i was headbanging, unsure whether it was the music
that got me started or the echo of my head autographing
a brick wall as a way to find teeth in a woodpecker's beak.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
She dribbles up and down the driveway
A red handball that bounces up
With the same vivacity as her heart.
“Come on, Grandpa!” she will say,
When she realizes I'm smiling over my coffee cup,
And I'll get up to join her in my soul's old art.
With a rather new stiffness I'll throw toward the net,
And my mind goes to what was and what's not yet:
From dunking with friends in schoolyard courts
To each banana bread breakfast and protein shake snack,
To the luxuries of life and vacation resorts
Of stardom and fame before the injury of my back...
But she will be the most famous star,
I'll buy her a basketball for Christmas this year.
She'll pass me up, be better by far,
And she'll see something glorious when she looks in the mirror...
The ball hits the roof, seems I aimed too high
And I wonder, again, that cursed question: why?
I put my arms down and let out a sigh
As she chases after the ball.
I turn to sit back down, get back to my chair
When she runs up and pulls the back of my hair,
She pouts a little, saying, “No, that's not fair!”
It begins to dawn, I haven't lived since that fall...
The fall that broke my back,
The fall that broke it all,
The fall that took me from riches to lack,
The fall that keeps me from standing tall...
“Shoot it, Grandpa!” she calls to me
And what can I really do but comply,
I shoot and hit the roof, missing very clearly,
But she breaks into applause, and I begin to cry:
For she is my biggest fan,
Though the smallest in stature of them all,
And her applause is all I need
To look again in the mirror, first time since the fall.
She shows me I am worthy
Of affection, I am my granddaughter's glory.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
this society of ours is so gargantuan,
policed by the daylight we hold at night for ransom,
Like a Jesus or a black Aphrodites,
I'll be your daddy if you let me call you my mommy,
give me your milk, the nectar that forms at your eyelids
We can go out in public on a weeknight Ireland,
I won't drink, but I'll wrestle every penny you
throw into each fountain, unless each wish
you make puts us together in California. At 55º it's as
cold as it seems your heart is, you whisper the omissions
of lies over mute. Every silver trinket on this charmers'
bracelet abused. Be the freeway and I'll be the car, drive around my circles, and we can drive the map of the Hollywood Stars. This circus- paddy-wagon, sewer stardom, I've always been the over-roasted beans from your local Starbucks. I grew up to grow up, I got up to throw up, I sought you to show up, and give you this leigh garland. Egyptian or pitiful, critical mister 'are not.' My words were worthless and wounded by such ardor of this perfervid martyr. Enveloped by threading the eye of this tempestuous hourglass, just another sign of being extremely intolerable to the minutia, the worried, and nervous curse of being so human and the fear of being, quite heart broke.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
HI DUDES
I JUST HAD A GREAT NIGHT DOING MY SHOW, AND I CAN SAFELY SAY
THAT IT ALL CAN BE VIEWED ON AAA YOUTUBE TV, I HAVE BROUGHT
ALL MY CHARACTERS, LIKE PUNKALOTTO DUNBAR, AND MARCO AND SUSIE
AND TOPSY THE CLOWN AND BIMMY JARNES AND TWO GREAT SHOWS
BY THE NEW YEAR TIGER, AND EACH CHARACTER HAD A CHOCOLATE
AND TOLD EVERYONE THEIR NEW YEARS RESOLUTION
AND I READ A LOT OF POEMS, AND PARTIED TO A BIT OF GREAT MUSIC
NO, I WANT TO DISPLAY MY CHARACTER BUILDING, TO THE WORLD
CAUSE I AM AT PRESENT GETTING WHAT I WANT, YA SEE I WAS
IN A PLAY LAST YEAR, AND I WAS IN A PLAY NEXT YEAR
I AM PRACTICING MY COOL ENTERTAINING SKILLS
YA SEE I SHOVED CHEESE IN MY MOUTH, SHOWING, I WILL
PARTY LIKE THE RICH, EVEN IF I AM POOR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
I HEAR VOICES, YOU ARE BREAKING OUR CODE, BUDDY
OF CANBERRA, WE WANT YOU TO BE AN ADUKT NOBODY LIKES
BUT I SAY TO THAT VOICE, **** OFF, I AM A CREATIVE BUDDHIST ARTIST AND WRITER
AND YOUTUBE ENTERTAINER, WHO LOVES TO PARTY
DESPITE HAVING SHITZOPHRENIA
I DO THIS SHOW, AS A REFERENCE TO STARDOM
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WE WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR
WATCH AAA YOUTUBE TV FOR MY YOUTUBE PARTY IN SUBURBAN CANBERRA
YEAH, THEY ARE MIGHTY THE CANBERRA DUDES
WATCH IT ON AAA YOUTUBE TV,
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC