Best In The Limelight Poems
Poor Little Boy Lost plays a game of peekaboo
Pretending everything in his world is well
Spoiled was his plan for organizing a coup
and now he hopes none of his friends can tell
that he's been evicted as some had predicted
Biding his time, twiddling his thumbs in a cell
The entry door is locked. It's safe and secure
He's a cast away... on the outside, looking in
How much longer can he possibly endure
Is Little Boy Lost maybe missing kith and kin?
No one is listening to his babble and prattle
He wears the sorrowful look of sad chagrin
There was another sighting, just yesterday
when again he knocked on the playroom door
Not being allowed entry is the price to pay
for returning seeking praise with another encore
Bitterness smolders inside the blighted apple
where the wiggling worm is rotting the core
He was dragged off stage by the dreaded hook
No longer can he read his script in the limelight
because of the low road and wrong turns he took
A playground should not be a place meant to fight
Kiddies there have been getting along very well
Apologies, Little Boy Lost should be made to write
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
Feb.28.2020
Repost From May 23, 2019
Clown at the Abyss
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
What might you find
if you peeled away layers
If the rind of my soul was to be stripped away
I fear what you'd see…..what you'd say…..what you'd think
The feeble of me sinks in fear of your thoughts
that you would only be thinking you don't see enough
Were someone to care just enough to see through me
look beyond what's assumed, looking deep to the core
Would you score me as average……or even as nothing
All my life I've been striving to be of the stuff
that others became in the places I've been
What might you find, If you peeled off the rind
Where someone else hides that you've not seen before
In the fairytale story where the sun seems to shine
is a child never grown, wearing shells of self doubt
hiding in worlds where the light was turned on
to the others who shared every stage I've been on
Where wishes were written in words of a song,
Longing for something I cannot define
that stems from a childhood, where something else would
shadow my dream of being enough
Never quite reaching …never quite being
Never as bright as the very next star
Never outgoing, most often remaining
back in the shadows of the other bright stars
Still turning the pages from the time I was born
never quite being the star of my life
Wanting to share but still doubting my worth
that shadows the sun, and my place on the earth
There in the limelight…..there will always be someone
lighting the stage with his very own star
I must be content, to climb up the ladder
searching the stage with my eyes, from afar
_________________________________________________
9/17/16
Contest: What Might They Find There?"
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
The possibility of making a dream come true it's what makes life interesting (Quote by Paulo Coelho)
Our elders say: one more day
to get up is one more day to enjoy.
One more day to get dressed,
to open the window
and watch the beauty around.
Another day of troubles to face,
to struggle, another big mountain to challenge.
A new page to read,
a new program to watch,
a new lesson to learn.
New steps to rehearse in the morning
for the the colossal performance at night.
A dream to fight to wake up all the senses.
Wonderful people you have to meet
makes you forget about
the wrong ones you've met.
What it is written,
sometimes can't be deleted,
but it's always a way to rectify
and start a better story.
Because I live,
I want to shout to the whole world
that I'm alive, that I want to fly.
Because I live,
I am a person that fights everyday with myself,
the monsters inside,
my concerns, my family, my friends, my job,
my what will be the next?
But I am alive,
that's much more that I can ask for.
Something that means
that I still can breath the air,
pulluted, but the one we have.
I can watch the ocean,
the sunsets and the new dawns.
Perhaps my life is not what I expected,
perhaps everything I'm living now
is not as far as I painted when I was starting.
But the years makes you go through unexpected
small roads, that one day
can become highways to run on.
Still young enough, deep inside,
to do many performances.
I choose not to act in the limelight,
but in the right stage
with the spotligh shining on me,
because I live,
and I want to be alive
for the next show to be played.
There are those who have fallen
in the eyes of this world,
one’s “sins” more damaging than the next.
“Skeletons from closets”
so ruthlessly hurled
and so many people are left vexed.
Now I do not condone
all that comes to light
whether by papers, radio or TV.
But what if it was YOU
whose “sins were in sight,
are there things you’d want others to see ?
The world does these things
and yet they judge,
from the arm of a pointed finger stare they.
But they conveniently hide
their “filthy sludge”,
and yet in His court they’ll have their day.
I wrote this in response to a prodding that wouldn’t leave me alone.
Thinking on some people who walk in the limelight or of a high public profile, I started to be
perplexed about our willingness to BROADCAST the latest Hollywood gossip or the latest
political “fall from grace”. I am in no way condoning unwarranted behaviors and these are
times that call for the appropriate action to be taken no matter who the offenders are. I’m
just saying shame on those who are so willing to point fingers and yet do or would do some of
the very same things if they could. Lightwalker
A girl called Lucy loved to trumpet lies
And idle gossip laced her lips with ease.
Tall tales tripped off her tongue to tantalise
Those twitching ears which reddened by degrees.
This filled her honest Mother with despair
‘You wash your mouth with soap’ she often cried.
Young Lucy shrugged it off and did not care -
To those who would do likewise, woe betide!
One day, when she’d amassed an eager crowd
Who circled round to hear the latest slur,
She stood there in the limelight, feeling proud,
When suddenly a fly buzzed near her ear.
How everybody gaped to see it dive
Right into Lucy’s mouth poised open wide,
Then heard her splutter, gasp and vainly strive
To cough it up - she choked and promptly died!
The moral of this tale is do not lie;
When tempted move your upper lip down south.
Then Lucy’s fate will surely pass you by,
Nor fly, nor lie invades a fastened mouth.
18.08.19
She was a star at a young age, and this was her life
A life that appeared exciting, glamorous but full of strife
A talented actress and singer with a smile to delight
No one really knew her turmoil of being in the limelight
Her voice was another talented gift that surprised many
Her singing as Nashville’s Juliette could have won an Emmy
She was also marine life activist and did more than her part
As She dedicated her time fighting for their rights from her heart
She spoke of experiencing both sexual and domestic abuse
As this led her to experiment with substances and drug use
She seemed to struggle with mental health and depression too
On the outside, she appeared so strong, no one had a clue
Years later she admitted to her struggles and got clean
But her inner demons taunted her and her self-esteem
Neutrogena made her the cover girl of their campaign
Until her post-partum depression then removed with disdain
She had a wonderful daughter, a gift she brought into her life
But had many parenting struggles and was not ready to be a wife
Her career continued to grow and bloom and well as her struggles
She left this earth too young as she succumbed to her troubles
She will always be remembered for, beautiful smile, kind soul and heart
But it’s very sad that at thirty-six her life ended and she had to depart
The sun will shine tomorrow
And the temple bells of truth and honesty ring
The fountain of sweetest memories, affection and love will in people's heart spring.
The rays of brotherhood will rise
We all will pay gratitude's price.
The sun will shine tomorrow
And the flowers of hope blossom
In the thorns of despair, anxiety and awesome.
The seeds of success will flower
God upon us will 'His' blessings shower.
The sun will shine tomorrow
And the windows of opportunities open
The fruits of kindness, grace, pity and mercy ripen.
The curtains of ego, doubtfulness and misunderstandings will be raised
Sincerity, politeness and humanity will be praised.
The sun will shine tomorrow
And the saplings of charity, hospitality, generosity and nobility bloom into a tree
We will from the evils of greed, selfishness, rudeness and anger be free.
The sunshine of happiness, bliss, peace and grace reach us
We in the limelight of cheer, gaiety will bask and be joyous.
The sun will shine tomorrow
And the temple bells of truth and honesty ring
We will demolish the falsehood and treachery's wing.
We will burn in the lava of repentance
It will liberate us from the bonds and shackles of ignorance.
The sun will shine tomorrow
And such a day will come
When we will visualise the sunshine of triumph.
And no more
Sorrows to overcome.
At last here I sit
Squarely in the limelight
The gallery is at peace
With a tad bit tension
Longing for ease
And it falls upon my shoulders
The responsibility to please
Well to find a best game can be quite a wild ride
But just how should a fellow begin to explore?
If appropriate girl is not there by your side
There’s a chance that you won’t even get in the door.
But to come out on top you’ll need other’s support
I am guessing that solitaire’s boring for you,
You’re not beefy enough for professional sport
And think those who play golf all have something askew.
The smart money’s on making of money for sure
Or on power perhaps, drugs and fun, lots of craps.
Maybe brains turn you on, normal fare too obscure.
Subterfuge of some kind, like a job singing raps.
A James Bond kind of fight, that can light up the night,
Your own video game, even better than fame,
Scientific insight, now you’re in the limelight,
Or a critic’s acclaim, that makes fans scream your name.
Well, I’ll tell you the truth, all this crap is passé,
Most important is truly the girl on your arm
You can count all the rest fairly worthless per se
For her smile is the well that gives life to your charm.
Brian Johnston
October 14, 2015
Can you tell me, who's the man behind the mask?
Who gives a clever illusion, of a created past.
We've painted his portrait, but will the face we painted last?
A shadowy figure cloaked in mystery, making us laugh.
Do you really know this person, whos play in which we've all been cast?
We listen to a poetic song, leading us on a dance, with a rhythm so strong, so fast.
We're all so happy to be deluded with his attention, as he sits in the limelight and basks.
But once again I yell from the crowd, do you know who's the man behind the mask?
We've been lapping up his stories, like dogs lapping tea from a fallen flask!
Shouldn't we even bring his colourful stories to task.
But no one else has actually stopped to even ask.
Who's the man behind the mask?
We are like a box of crayons
Diverse and unique
The difference is; crayons
Does not battle to be the best color in the box
They are content in creating a stunning picture
No matter if one color got preference over the other
We need to stop making life a competition
The joy of putting each other down
Last only as long as your effort is highlighted
Tomorrow something else takes centre stage
The only person left with the scar is the one you put down today
For your temporary moment in the limelight
Life is about more than that
@WN Neels 231120162003
In numerous locales countrywide, they hold sway
Pirouetting at intervals like ballerinas from Bolshoi
Beauteous, feline and very feminine
Slender to the point of emaciation, not quite
Cultivating the undernourished look on a frugal diet
Decidedly austere for a longer tenure in the limelight
Basking in the fleeting warmth of an adulatory audience
A gathering of the doting kindred and the upwardly mobile
Some dirty old men on the sly, dirty young men too
Glued to their seats craning for a better view
By and large captive by choice, a handful perforce
Sitting through to pen their weekly column
Giving those they fancy their due in the sun
Witnesses to a parade of demure eyed lasses
And a few with flashy looks walking tall on stilettos
Essentially female and contoured though not prominently so
At least not to a marked degree, yet with excellent muscle tone
Opulence, no longer deemed a career necessity
Once considered right stuff, now rejected as wrong size
An hour-glass shape belonging to an age bygone
But hardly so, from the viewers’ mind, in retrospect
Enchanting and alluring yet not overtly titillating
Each in a state of dress and undress
Willing tools of designers flaunting their creations
Sporting dresses and hats and shoes, and lingerie too
In black or white and loud or subdued hues
Displaying formal wear, casual wear, swimsuits and sleep suits
Some scanty and figure hugging, others flowing and loose
A bony look required for some, others fulsome
A voyeur’s paradise, to be sure
Indulging a fetish without stooping too low
Chilly weather was never reason enough to cancel a show
Heat of arc-lamps taking care of goose pimples
Or brandy taken neat infusing the needed heat
Harbingers of tomorrow’s fashion and pall-bearers of today’s
The strobe lit platform of the pageant
Serving to launch new faces or is it legs?
The leggy look personified by Twiggy of yore
Carried through in the interim and sustained by the new genre
Captivating without doubt, and thorough professionals
Displaying unruffled demeanour and tutored bearing of thoroughbreds
Exuding confidence with every graceful step they take
Cool as ice despite the harsh glare of stage lights
And callous catcalls from boorish males
Performing in a backdrop of future fashion trends
Money and fame finding some, eluding others
Be it centre stage or in the shadows
It is bread on the catwalk for all
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
~~~
First Released: May 23, 2019
Repost: Nov 18, 2019
Writing Challenge 2, November - A Poem Meaningful
Sponsored by: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Placed 1'st...Thank You
Sun run red across the sky
As the golden ore fadeth in the twilight
The earth was clothed in a cloak of dye
As bright stars ushered in the limelight
The tress then chants a song and thus pray
They swayed their heads gently and whispered
When the morning chased the night away
Their voices whispered and heralded
“Daddy’s precious Cinderella
More fairer than Gabriella
Bring in His precious Elite
Draped in cloth none compete
The Elite is Daddy’s only delight
She is among many her favorite fruit
Alive with color and full of light
Prepared as a bride in a frock cute
Daddy in the morning issues an invitation
To His Elite and gracious bride
“Yea! Thou art the bridegroom’s adoration
His Glory, complement and pride
So worthy my Son to be thy bridegroom
Make haste my Elite, the groom is come already
Bring in my Elite into the groom’s refined room
Love the groom and be thou steady”.