Best Film Star Poems
Would run you a hot bath
Bubbles up to your chin
Bottle of wine chilling
If you'd let me win
Would ask a sexy hunk
To sponge your back
Say sweet words in your ears
Bet you'd like that
Please can I win.
After the bath a nice massage,
By A film star lookalike
Any extras can be charged
Wink wink now can I win
Can make a video or two
You as the dream girl
A leading man with a bit of rough
Being sensual with you
Please please let me win
How about a two seater sports car
With a lean mean chauffeur
He can take you far
Journey of your own making
Please make my poem a star.
When your day is through
You can go on having fun
In a big bed for two
Now can I have that crown
One more trick up my sleeve
Would you like a Pentax 645x Camera to keep
I understand it's not cheap
But would be worth buying you,
if you let me win.
Penned 25 September 2015
NEW YORK
Scene One, let’s shoot act one, action now.
I dream of everlasting diamond lights, in camera action now.
In the land of ‘New York, sky building light city.
To catch a self discovery, subway underground railway train.
Down one ‘Manhattan line, pass way.
To try and live, in a night life city.
That never sleeps, in any shape or light formation.
I am the twenty four hour, night watch light.
Someone calls out loud, for me now.
Down a green path, of ‘Central Park.
I see the majestic ‘Plaza hotel.
That is in the grand, upper way class, of life living.
Inside one posh, sort of a way.
I love ‘Chicago, within the business life.
‘New York, New York, I just want to sit down.
In a resting place, of one magnificent, play like sketch.
Come on, I am living in the vast magical city, called ‘New York.
I have arrived, in the ‘United States nation.
Entering the experience, of my ‘New York, grand stand, NBA basketball life.
What a town, I can’t believe.
The ‘New York lifestyle, is now bedded inside my whole mind, of thinking.
It’s a draw card, ‘American great life for many.
I don’t want to only, fail now.
Let me see, my connected light.
Of a ‘New York, living fantastic way.
Deep within one large, hot soup pot.
Of sheer beauty, ‘New York living.
So can I be famous, in the heart, of this New York race.
Cultured variety growing, fast moving place.
My ‘New York gift, has one open bright space.
A shinning light, of wonder and might.
Inside this wonderful, ‘New York colored town.
Of my own private, Time Square downtown, magic night.
So I live, for one crazy wild, New York chase.
NBC Today, lined up, in the film star panel.
At Rockefeller plaza, in morning daylight.
New York is a state, made of dream like wealth.
I am the winged ‘New York angel, calling out.
Dressed in one pure light, of the color white.
I am living, for the vast, time moment space.
Of my ‘New York, memory life.
The secret is now, breaking right out.
:)
What kids are watching on telly
are crimes and crimes in all variety!
Crimes of hate
crimes of passion
acting it out at shocking rate
thinking in some wild fashion
then ending up cell mates!
When kids watch their movie heroes
shoot down people with the gun
they are incited to do the same
to achieve some thrill and fun.
When they see their very film star
slash someone's throat in a fit of anger
they think well of crimes of rage
and plunge everybody else into danger.
The tendency to portray the violent scene
luridly and shockingly on the Big Screen
Ah even for the small screen, tis the gory
that makes for the dark and thrilling story.
Now that technology's long opened this pandora's box
the dispersal of amplified social ills ain't no hoax
The rowdy hoodlums and reckless gangsters
are simply by-products of Tv influences
The world watches the thriving of the bully-boy pranksters
passively in helpless terror of their offences.
It's all portrayal of the vulgar, the obscene
by that devious Silver Screen
And the horror movie
though it may seem groovy
begets the horrendous
and drills evil thoughts subliminally
into the subconscious!
It's an unrestrained dark faking
of real life reality exaggerating
Whether it's Bollywood in the East
or it's Hollywood in the West
they don't merely impart tactics of defence
but rather those of aggressive offence
Viewing those gruesome swashbuckling films
gives rise to morbid sadistic whims
Flipping through the TV channels
just ponder if the telly's the perfect channel
of information is it a proper panel?
Dad always tells me, 'fear ye the roaches' flicking antennae?
While you oughtta fear the influence
of 'em' flickering images by dish antennae'.
Then a mere single merit that I dug
as I drank cappucino in my mug
that atleast one couldn't live in a bubble
daily watching the bubblebug.
Ah but then tougher gun laws couldn't halt
even underage shooting sprees
Rather it's stringent scanning of Tv content
that might make it all cease
Parental supervision too tis gravely essential
Should've been of parental code quintessential
So the next time you catch your teen
absorbed and engrossed while glued to the screen
Just sleuth a bit just to make sure
that for the x-rated he's not too keen!
MATURING
Yesterday, I plunged into a whisper.
The fiery red marquee that blasted my existence disappeared,
Like a B-film star at the Oscars,
And only a faint shadow obscuring its source remained.
Today, I began to climb a mud puddle,
Sweating brown slime and panting organic putridness
Like a Ferrari submerged in flood waters
Needing to be recognized as a treasure hidden by an unnatural disaster.
Tomorrow, I will rest on a bucking bronco,
Riding the turbulence with ease and poise
Like a skater glides across smooth, glassy ice
Experienced and unfazed by the bumps that once threatened to unseat me.
April 26,2016
Entered in free verse, judged 5/2
To ward off those germs from afar
I’m using a tatty old bra
It can’t be a task
To make a face mask
I’ll model it like a film star!
But sewing skills, none to be had -
My home made mask looks very bad
No way does it fit
I look a right tit
My husband won’t wear his, I’m glad!
Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Janice Canerdy
04/27/20
Nights when I’m alone,
Icy wind flittering through the window,
The absent warmth of love echoing in my empty room,
I have frequent love affairs with poetry.
Its pulsating words gush themselves out on the white blank page,
It caresses my every emotion,
Sending me reeling through a torrent of multiple ecstasy,
I scream with release as every unhinged secret is documented rhythmically,
After, subdued by unthinkable shame,
I stash it away with the refreshing slide of a closed drawer,
I light up a cigarette and lie within the sheets like a film star,
I am who I choose to be,
Husband rings, why don’t I answer the phone?
I’m having an affair with poetry.
I have often wondered
What it is like to be
Beautiful
To have a face that would launch
A thousand ships
Into the distant sea,
In old forgotten times.
What is it like?
To have people look at your face
And smile
To know that you have made
Their day
Helped them send their worries
To a faraway place…
How does it feel?
To wear a nice dress
And not doubt that it really
Becomes you;
To look into a mirror
And not have to flinch
To see a face that stuns you…
And then people say
Beauty is only skin deep
And a crooner sings
That you are beautiful inside
And these two contradictions force a film star
To catch some beauty sleep
While normal people like me sigh
And write poems about wanting to fly
And look around
Desperately
For a place to hide.
I don’t have a basement
there’s no hills here to run to
no caves for miles around
haven’t stockpiled tins of beans
or tomatoes
or peach slices
panic buying hasn’t been bought
no guns no knives
except cutlery
and I’m not a film star
getting out of impossibilities
saving the world with nice teeth
so I guess I’ll just stay in bed
or pull up a chair
watching it all eating crisps
You're the reason I rise on a winters day .
You put that glint in my eye and a smile on my face.
Your my Hollywood hero a star of matinee.
You're the girl of my dreams my ideal castaway.
Those smiles that you give me, your just ace.
You're the reason I rise on a winters day.
You're the moon and the stars reflected on a wind swept bay.
In a race for my heart you would always get first place.
Your my Hollywood hero a star of matinee.
I would walk on hot coals from here to Bombay.
To be by your side, and see that smile, face to face.
You're the reason I rise on a winters day.
People may frown but you'll be mine one day.
Your my favourite member of the human race.
Your my Hollywood hero a star of matinee.
I would whisk you off your feet and take you away .
And every day your beauty I would showcase.
You're the reason I rise on a winters day .
Your my Hollywood hero a star of matinee.
Make our bodies temples , with no aches and pains.
Healthy blood flowing through our arteries and veins.
Make our bodies temples , with heads full of hair.
Give us curly thick locks on our heads that lie bare.
Make our bodies temples , with looks that could kill.
No more visits to the gym , make it one magic pill.
Make our bodies temples , that are fit , strong and lean.
Like a purring Mercedes or well-oiled machine.
Let us throw away our pills , our specs and our sticks.
Replace these worn bones with muscles like bricks.
Let us throw away our pills for our arthritic knees.
We will walk with new joints , that will no longer seize.
Like bleak condemned buildings ,our teeth sit in two rows.
No longer withstanding the sweet river that flows.
Like bleak condemned buildings , we want teeth that will shine.
Like pearls or diamonds or a sparkling white wine.
Our memories are failing , cant remember the names.
The places , the faces now going up in flames.
Our memories are failing,please cure our disease.
Please let our thoughts flow like a brisk Autumn breeze.
Make our bodies temples , no more toothache or pain.
No more walking about like that film star John Wayne.
Make our bodies temples , where there's no ills to mention.
We'll then skip down the street and we'll collect our pension.
The New Democracy
So many words written, millions of words and they tell you nothing new,
except familiar things what you know and are safe and dull as a film star
interview. If we throw into the ring the idea that democracy as we know
it is corrupt, will there not be a scream of protest after all social equality
is Italian ice cream parlour, a multitude of choices, but it is all ice cream.
Justice and we will oversee the fact that this type of freedom to vote is
being exploited, the last thing politicians, the errand boys of the elite, is
to give you freedom of choice, but they will give you the illusion that you
have got one, the Donald duck version of reality.
What if the people ruled, rather than elect someone who speaks well, and
we had the tyranny of the masses? But the idea of this is wrong because it is
about shifting power from one hand to another and the exploitation of
the individual will continue as before. Capitalism has made people hungry
to consume to be content, but we know there is a cut off point when world
riches are depleted and the old adage less is more comes it will hit us like
a boomerang because there is no more. Then perhaps we can find the true
meaning of democracy which is about sharing what we have, so no one goes
hungry and that no one swims in the stinking puddle of exploitive excesses.
I bought my house for its mirrored walls
in the master bath from which you could fancy
yourself as a forties' film star, your flawless
body soaking in billowing suds, or stepping into
a glassed-in shower, large enough for a tryst
with Tarzan, be he resident of a nearby tree.
I imagined Don Perignon cooling in a basin,
and me: Maureen Sullivan, with or without an
Ape Man, poised for my swinging life, coupe
in hand. Instead, stumbling in half-light toward
morning ablutions on the quotidian blank page
of my life, mirrors conjured up not Hamlet's
perturbed, parental spirit, but a woman with my
mother's face. In her summer frock, frenzied
with flowers, prim white hat, and a crocheted bag
in the crook of her arm, she is standing on
the sidewalk outside my grandmother's white-
columned house in Georgia, where she sought
safe haven before a failed life, Jack Daniels
whiskey, and the cancer monster claimed her.
"So easy to spoil" it was said, so how is it life did
not work for her? -- "My beautiful, beautiful
daughter, wailed my grandmother like a banshee,
she, of the stiff, upper-lipped Prussian forbears,
as we drove forty solemn miles to lay her favorite
in Rebel heaven alongside a great-grandfather who
lost an arm at the battle of Cold Springs, his
grim-faced wife, bedrock beside him.
Peace was the prize my mother never won,
no treaty ever offered, pardon long in coming.
I see her poised like a dancer, sad history
surrounding her, a smile as unreadable as Mona
Lisa's under eyes like mine that have seen too
much of the sorrow of this world. "It all
comes down to this," Anne Sexton wrote, "We
ARE our mothers--that's the main thing."
Selling a
dream is
easy,
Like building
castle in the
air,
A deal is the
devil's game,
It never
change just
the name.
A film star
must get
naked,
Or the world
will forget you
existed,
Lawyers sell
metaphorical
misnomers,
To reach
higher goals
in life,
Doctors the
biggest drug
sellers,
Many have
fallen into
their traps.
I'll be hanged
for exposing
their
lies ,
The system
is in fact a
pyramidical
trap!
The all
seeing
eye is a spy,
Into your
homes,schools
and work,
Its easy to
blame it on
the money,
It can't stand
up for itself,
And you
surely can't
stop using it,
Your dirty
little secret is
safe,
Just don't
stir the
hornets nest.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You're a film star
to these crazy naked
Irish eyes Smiling, in that forever
beautiful sings out sweetly you
Take that walk with me and see
praying to give you paradise of dreams
Leaving a golden warm smile
wrapped up softly under you're pillow
To touch in the gentleness of an angel's hand
purity touching never ending bliss
Dancing insides intoxicated with the spirits
lighting up a star trailing in the wish of vision
One prays in the happiness
magically granting dreams wishes
whisked away enchanting dancing souls
sprinkling upon a sea of air
rainbow mists bouquets color
your beauty complete
Your parents gave me the news at Wilton's Music Hall
a place of joy and drunkenness
Laurel and Hardy, Hetty King, Marie Lloyd and now
A Great Aunt.
A figure of jest, jeers and laughter
what fun, what fun.
A great Aunt - fast track aging
I shall buy a lavender shawl and another for you pink or blue.
We shall wrap ourselves in warmth and love,
mix them, confuse them and smile secretly to ourselves and one another.
We shall walk with aids together at the start
for me a magic stick, a jump for dragons, a sword to fight foes or
a pole to dance around in May with pointed toes.
You will wobble holding a hand, then faster, faster learn to run away.
We shall share visits to the Doctor
first check the heart, then check the weight,
mismatched bodies ticketed like turkey for Christmas but you
are the gift who can eat solids now.
And I will toast you with champagne and tell you quietly of the pleasure of a
glass too many to cure a pain.
We see the goldfish swim in Buddha's circles
your eyes test out the strange face
you may give a film star smile,
then tantrums as a plump white bottom gets a jab.
They dab the blood on my skinny blue veined arm.
You hear the ticking of the white rabbit's watch
I am too late for ta and sit observing from afar.
As you grow energy will crack out worlds apart
electricity strikes your life.
Mine diminished by God the Father, Son and strife.
Gadgets will run wild and flat batteries create rapid tears running as we used to do.
Our play was different, sober as befits a Great Aunt
or so I tell to you.
Your parents will reflect themselves and claim the right to own your triumphs
Disasters belong to the other side.
November, another Scorpio with opals for your eyes.
Your lonely journey finished and begun
I am a Great Aunt now and still feel young.
Nicola Stevens
[email protected]