Best Superstars Poems
poets with nothing to live for ~ portray extreme emotional scars
poets without an audience ~ are merely parking lots without cars
poets with a chip on their shoulder ~ think themselves to be superstars
as for poets with a large following ~ i wouldn't know can't reach their bar
By David Kavanagh
4x17
From fjords, forests, hot springs,
slopes and snowy mountains,
people from different 'walks of life,'
connect their cultures to entertain.
A vision of Europe and humanity,
where a continent is home to many dialects,
serenading in diverse artistic styles.
Blending voices that carry something distinct,
bellowed from a ballad, rock or
something completely comedic.
I can hear the echoes of Celine Dion's
'Ne partez pas sans moi'
and the soothing tones of Gwendolyne,
from the dulcet Julio Iglesias.
Unifying musical tongues to
sing with sincere camaraderie,
bringing people together, dancing to
iconic beats like ABBA's - Waterloo.
A stage where future superstars
are born, glorifying 'Long live love.'
reminiscing Olivia Newton John's
universal message, be it in
fast rhythms or slow beats.
An evening of sporadic colours,
where dreams really do come true.
Where strangers join arms and
find new friendship - despite the politics.
One by one each country votes,
dreading the 'nil pois,'
fabricating many a conspiracy,
where the Baltic and Balkan states
seem to love each other's music.
Each vote unfolds excitement,
as nations anticipate the outcome
from the public vote -
there is always a surprise!
Eurovision, may not feature perfect lyrics,
nor angelic voices - in fact not all participants
are from Europe anymore!
Still millions tune in on their TV's
and radio's bringing people together
through the power of music.
Give yourself a star for
everything you do today.
Open a pack of cupcakes and give
one to a friend even though you
wanted both of them for yourself.
Have a staring contest with your brother/sister.
Catch the butterflies
again.
Make a face the next time somebody
tells you "no."
Ask "Why?" a lot.
Believe in fairy tales.
Have someone read you a story.
Wear your favorite shirt with your
favorite pants even if they don't
match.
Play those cool games in
the ground
and reach home in a total
mess.
Stick to your favorite
cartoons.
Hide your ”roties" behind the
almira..
Play in the rain ..
Make the paper boats once
again.
Sit really still for as long as the dog
(or any pet) is asleep in your lap.
Collect those WWE superstars tattoos
again.
Find some pretty stones and save
them.
Stick your head out the car window
and moo if you see a cow.
Walk barefoot in wet grass.
Count the colors in a rainbow.
Fuss a little, then take a nap.
Take a running jump over a big
puddle.
Giggle a lot for no real reason.
Tap someone on the shoulder while
you stand on their opposite side and
they turn around and no one's there
thing.
Enjoy your all-time favorite icecream/candy
bar.
Throw something and when it lands
make a cool exploding bomb noise.
Buy yourself a helium balloon.
Be a kid again.
Caleb Smith's “Echoes of the Heart” has inspired me to recall those halcyon days long ago on the frozen ponds of my youth.
It was hockey from early morn to the darkening shades of late afternoon with only a short break for a quickly devoured Campbell's Vegetable Soup for lunch. My closest friend was Ken. You very rarely saw one of us without the other, we were inseparable. Our hockey sticks were battered and thin and only bore a slight resemblance to hockey sticks we got each year for Christmas. The pond was a wide frozen body of water beside a well traveled highway to the distant land called the United States. But in our minds it was The Montreal Forum filled with screaming fans cheering on our every move. We would take turns being the great Maurice “The Rocket” Richard while the other would be all-star goalie Jacques Plante! It could have been minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit but we never felt the cold and icy winds... we were superstars.
On a few occasions I have revisited that hallowed ground where we spent hour upon hour, oblivious to time, our faces frozen as well as our ears and our toes! The cheering of the imaginary crowds was all the inspiration we needed to fire a blistering shot through the imaginary pads each other was wearing. At the end of the day, we literally had to crawl home on our hands and knees, our ankles no longer being able to support our tired legs.
Those sweet memories have stayed with me for a lifetime. I'm sure with my last breath of life, the vision of Ken and me will flash before my eyes. Ah yes, hockey, it was what young Canadian boys lived for back then!
© Jack Ellison 2013
We are kenyan superstars,
That is what we are,
Kenya our mother land and pride,
Shines so bright that it cannot fade,
Today we hear,`Kenyan athletes bring home,
Bronze,Silver and Gold,'
Tomorrow,``The Kenya Rugby 7's defeat New zealand again.''
The Maasai culture came up with the Akala sandals,
Which are made out of rubber,
The luhya introduced Bull fighting,
The Kalenjin made `mursik' or fermented milk,
And to name but a few communities,
With their diverse cultures.
I believe that kenyans were born great,
To grow up and achieve greatness.
To become one of the most formidable
Intellects of our time,
Just like the late Mzee Jomo Kenyatta,Dedan Kimathi,
Tom Mboya,Kijana Wamalwa to name but a few,
To change people's reasoning conclusively,
And make them see reality and not building castle's in the air.
Kenyans were born great,
Because greatness was thrust upon them,
To change Africa's impoverished state,
And make it a better place,
For you and for me and the entire human race,
To raise heroes and heroines,
To conquer social evils in the society.
If we were born great,
Let us believe in ourselves,
Be contented with whatever we do in our lives,
Let us love one another, live in unity and work
together as a nation,
Let the past be a stepping stone for us to succeed in future,
And leave the rest, to the Almighty God.
Kevin Solomon 9/9/2015
The Lion and the Crown
Cobalt blue goblet and the spangled gown
Black tie and high browns
Puttin on the Ritz
Flappers dancing the Charleston
Jazz by Count Basie and Duke Ellington
Crazy dance moves like the Black Bottom, the Shimmy and the Turkey Trot
And the Cake Walk
The Tango and the Bunny Hop
The Fox Trot and the Lindy Hop
Roaring cars filling the crowded streets
Zoot suits and reap pleats
Wide leg Oxford Bags and cuffed trousers
Waistcoats, suspenders, bow-ties and knickerbockers
Ladies wearing make-up, bobbed hair, short fringed skirts and drinking
Bright colored sweaters, patent-leather hair, feather head bands and smoking
The glitz of New York
Not the grime of Detroit
Superstars
Forgetting who their real friends are
Blinded by the glitter and gleam
Forgetting you are only a human being
Going where Harlem flits
No guts no grits
The fancy rich and famous showing their glitz
Forget about the misfits
And come on down to the Ritz
She sits with her guitar in the corner
Her hands skillful as they strum the steel strings
Her guitar weeps like a soulfull mourner
Saturating her sweet voice as she sings
Awed I was, by this angel with a song
Captured by her voice, making my heart long
Others would feel this way with superstars
But my star is a girl with a guitar
Think of us oft, when you travel afar,
On orders protecting, lives we enjoy;
You and your pals, family superstars,
We miss you every time, you must deploy.
And while you’re away, the kids will move on,
School, sports, church—and nightly prayers for their Dad;
Strong daily living; a life marathon,
Until your return, our love ironclad.
Many folks benefit from your good will,
They honor volunteer service no doubt;
And when you return, back to the sawmill,
Our own return to normal, comes about.
Thank you. We love you. You are our hero.
Our resistance to your service—zero!
August 17, 2018
First day at the college with my new car,
as I wanted to make it perfect.
Yes, dressed like a rock star.
You know! How choosy we really are..
As to our whole world, it does affect.
And I was nervous, standing along the girls with cigarette and cigar.
Then I met a boy, who lived very far.
A boy sweet enough, with a brain and intellect.
He made my day, as sweet as chocolate bar.
I had heard a lot of stories all bizarre.
About my seniors and what they object.
And like a hot cake, the stories spread in bazaar.
Then came a man with a scar.
I got intimidated and my voice trembled as I reflect.
But he was a nice man, who had just parked my car.
All my lectures were equal to tar.
And one teacher, was keen on destroying every object
By the third lecture, all I wanted was to run away like a jaguar
Once more I saw that sweet boy beside my car.
Yes, I think we had something to connect.
Now he is my best friend and we rock like an electric guitar.
Like superstars from America to Myanmar.
Hearing the voice of thousands notes,
By the concrete melody, I have been votes.
Lighten the cordial deeps,
Broke the silence that keep.
The orchestra sounds so clear,
With a voice of melodic dear
She presents the tone of happiness,
When people hear the boldness:
Tick of a clock goes by,
Time confess the lonely bye
Thou abusing of drug flow,
That controls the body into low.
Thou a voice still conquer,
Thy of her silence frontier
Fans fight the battle awe
To control the hatred oh;
Night came a dead body found,
By a witness shock in pound
At last, her family knew
The tragic awake the world few.
The world stops the news,
And satellite comment every hues
Trying to construct the brick,
There and here, connect the trick.
Superstars wear the death sick,
When the clock stop to tick
Though people admire the voice, she has,
By listening of a track, she does.
Optical illusions
Seeing is believing at least that's what they say
Sometimes though, what our eyes see leads us astray
World banks and their buildings are so, impressive to the sight
Promising financial freedom, while profits, like birds take flight
Political leaders, world rulers, seem so confident giving their speech
Fulfilling their vainglorious promises however, is often out of reach.
Physical beauty of men and women is often just simply superficial
When cosmetic surgery alters images, they end up looking artificial
Actors and singers, superstars, have their stylists and make up on
All are not as they appear, broken idols ever seeking a glory long gone
Religious leaders with their pomp, showing off illustrious vestments
Optical illusions promising salvation while minding their investments
This world is full of hypocrisy promising things but they are only lies
Optical illusions at their best, but it's time to open our eyes.
John Derek Hamilton
February 12,2016
Little by little by little by far,
high above I followed a bright
shining star,
something special in the air
no doubt a galactic affair,
symbols, trumpets,
resounding on Earth
a special occasion, a birth.
Oh to be in the heavens,
at this time of the year,
as a space shuttle is
used to man-oeuvre us
among superstars,
having visited Mars,
we are on our way
to the Milky Way
so iconic, so fascinating.
Trillions of stars,
a spectacular sight,
in the quiet of night,
creating a magical tale,
which will never fail,
to delight
and excite.
The Milky Way,
adorns and em-blazes
Our heavenly sky's,
perfect Christmas decorations.
For on the eve of Our
Babes first night on earth,
We will hear carols sung
by celestial beings,
and we heave
a contended sigh,
shed heartfelt tears,
for at midnight,
we shout Happy Christmas
to one and all,
Christ Is born, Christs birth
was God’s call.
Welcome sports fans to the Twenty Sixteen Presidential Race,
Spring Training is full upon us as the candidates align.
Two strong teams build their ranks for the coming season,
determination and earnest intent electrify the stadium air.
Rookies run ‘round the field in fresh unsoiled uniform,
energetically casting balls about in new mown green grass.
Pros stride their bases in condescending confidence,
swinging freshly tarred bats with vicious strokes intent.
Umpires roam about the field enforcing rules of conduct,
giving guidance and clarity to calls on the field of play.
Sportscasters view and rank, in statistic, with hungry eye;
great enthusiasm erupts at dropped ball and stolen base.
Coach’s posture in offered encouragement to their team,
knowing clearly the strength and weakness held afield.
The masses buy the tickets that fuel the sporting fires,
pouring dollars into team coffers to support the dream.
Hear them chant and respond to prompt, alike in program,
see the placards of message held high in confident display.
Teams tour the lands honing their competitive skills,
watch as the weak fade and are culled from the herd.
See the superstars stand and strike the ball out of the park,
running bases to cheers of the growing, maddening crowd.
Points are scored, wins are accolades of coming success,
Presidential Spring Training is but a short lived campaign,
The true grand season political will begin in earnest soon,
rise and select your team, buy your ticket, the game is on.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
3/3/16
Maybe I'm an old soul
The things that should appeal to me are not interesting
Some probably think that they should be
I'm in the hip-hop generation, but current creations make me believe
that this world has no morality
Scantily-clad women dancing on the hood of cars
Beautiful women with no intelligence become superstars
Anorexia is acceptable, and should be detectable
The wickedness in this world is incredible
Men are leaving women with children to raise alone
Little children wake up and wonder where has daddy gone
Drugs are accessible at any given time of the day
The only thing that we can do is pray
Music isn't music anymore, and I listen for true creativity
It seems real music is an endangered species
Men enter prison, and some never see freedom again
We must think before making descisions
I'm an old soul in a young body
Even though I have made some mistakes, I am still somebody
To the youth of today, I must say that we are the future
We cannot push aside the God who our country was formed by
Meterialism and wild, riotous living will only lead to financial and
physical ruin
What are you doing to make this world better
This old soul is being wise and humble.
Before Thirteen
A skinny child
with crooked teeth and hair needing to be kept short
because of her habit of tangling it with her own hands.
A peculiar child,
thrown into a totally new environment away from her father and
living with a newly divorced mother and three younger sisters,
she spent her fifth year on her grandpa’s farm.
She entered school in that year, getting onto the bus each day
at the end of the country lane which led to her grandpa's house.
She felt abandoned away from her sisters and all alone at the school.
Not gregarious or outgoing, but dutiful and rather conscientious,
at age five she could not ever have guessed her fate.
Wondering why the popular kids talked to her
when she walked them home from school, yet on the playground,
they ignored her most of the time, the child pressed on
through her years in elementary school.
Sixth grade came, and with it came a spark!
Her teacher, Mrs Daufeldt, loved the child’s work
and said she was creative; said the child was bright!
Seventh grade and the child’s age was 12.
Revelation time. She saw the other girls around her, the ordinary ones
like her, no superstars among them; she gathered them to her.
Her test scores soared and teachers, not just Mrs. Daufeldt, praised her!
Witty she became, and she was blossoming into a woman.
Before she reached 13, the child had found her way.
Nov 28, 2018