the gullible & naive all day proclaim
someone's fifteen minutes of fame
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
I’d stealthily move as thrushes fly by
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
I’d continue my quest as wood pigeons croon
Determined to access the clear evening sky
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
Might I access the stars on a hot air balloon?
Or climb up a pole long enough to get by?
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
I dare not reveal my cause too soon
Lest the wise owls challenge, asking me why
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
“Fifteen minutes of fame” you’ll likely assume
Why not root for me instead of decry?
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
Then all will strike up a victory tune
‘Trash Panda’ no longer as in days gone by
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
Each longs to obtain
fifteen minutes of fame.
Pawns in play,
simpleton on display.
Farcical amusement
from slapstick humans.
Spectacles in a petri dish,
slaves to their lavishments.
Analyzed and watched—
spare no expense… at what cost?
A muse for their “entertainment,”
to be the fodder at their "banquet."
Plans to steal, kill, and destroy—
bartering your soul to deploy.
Creating the pandemonium;
whence comes regurgitated solutions?
Governed by the unseen legion,
sheeple blinded by fabricated freedom.
That fifteen minutes of wantingness
now seeks solitude… and will find none.
He thought he was a star
When he got a little fame
"Andy Warhol's fifteen minutes came."
As he flickered in illusion's jar
Many women flocked to his starry glow
As his wife played second fiddle
Then his lovers solved the riddle
And that was the end of the show
He was just a firefly in fame's vast universe
and of course, it showed
His star began to implode
As it orbited in reverse
Soon that star will fall from the sky
For stardom is a fickle game
You can watch those fifteen minutes of fame
Burning up as it goes by
Don't Know
What I don't know isn't so
what I do know never shows
Take a guess might miss
all the same share the blame
Fifteen Minutes
Fifteen minutes of fame
brings a lifetime of sorrow
fleeting the taste you seek
sour life all you reap.
My My My
My my my the more you dream the less you try
and when it's all within your grasp you stumble off your ass.
along the strand
a pale mist
a thinning haze..
footprints
evaporate
on the flood tide...
MCCLUHAN'S LAW
In
the
headlines of today,
his fifteen minutes of fame-
ephemeral footprints in the sand
In
the
headlines of today,
his fifteen minutes of fame-
ephemeral as footprints in the sand
there is a message from that of Warhol explaining every one can have their 15 minutes...
Reaching toward the point of reaching famous out of the realms of kindness..
Warhol had let us to believe that we can be at ease...,
instead of concentrating on building a wall
one should choose to live by faith
in many changes to the extreme
our soul succeed in the gentle within
Cast forth the election many are buried in heroin
flames of the atmosphere all wish to agree
There is a tremendous table of whispers beneath the stolen bars
stay in the simple breath during your residence...,
we can humbly guide through the notion of brass buy a horse that turns into an ass
George Carlines' Hippy Dippie weather man getting closer to the end of the exam
build a castle in the sky
Words get interupted in the theatre of pain:
Let me be the first to explain,
there are souls that are corrupt
other way of keeping a hush
tempted
come taste of the wine
free each other blind
clean from a Soviet climb
He wasn't afraid to bring a gun to school,
Made him look tough and cool,
The next time he was disrespected there was no doubt,
He did not hesitate to pull it out.
He said nobody gave him any respect,
Said he felt like a total reject,
Don't think he wont shoot, he will,
He didn't care who he had to kill.
The excuse of neglect, bullied or abused,
No father, mother, no love, you choose,
What sent him over the edge and go wild,
Maybe he was just a spoiled rotten child.
Fifteen minutes of fame for him you see,
Hoping for some kind of morbid immortality,
He went down in a blazing flame,
Just for people to remember his name.
Parents come to your senses,
Children's actions must suffer consequences,
If you love them, discipline them,
To ensure this wont happen again.
And media, there's no need to mention the monster's name,
For someone else may do the same,
You're to blame if you do,
For they want to be famous too,
Lets not forget the other side,
God bless the children who have died,
And may they never leave our minds,
Until the end of time.
I am still waiting for my fifteen minutes of fame
Maybe it's not to be
Maybe it will never come my way
And that will be the epitaph on my grave
He managed to go through life without making his name
Does it really matter
I think not
Does it mean I never made it to the top
Maybe but does that matter at all
I don't think it matters at all
But I would not disrespect being famous
If it meant my message was getting out
And inspiring the nameless
So they become driven and inspired by love and peace
Motivated in the same way as me
To bring about a change within society.
( … if you catch me doing one of these.)
Naming any baby Finton,
voting for Hillary Clinton,
complimenting Nascar,
moving to Nebraska,
using "literally" to mean "very",
calling Derry Londonderry,
uttering the word "redact",
claiming Johnny Depp can act,
saying society's to blame,
mentioning fifteen minutes of fame,
feeling sorry for Amanda Knox,
watching anything on Fox,
or even one second of Jerry Springer,
making speech marks with my fingers,
drinking alcohol alone,
admiring Sharon Stone,
labelling anyone a pagan,
sighing "bring back Ronald Reagan",
playing Rod Stewart's "We Are Sailing",
paying money to see Van Halen ...
(and if ever, instead of clever,
I say smart,
I promise to wear -
right there -
a target across my heart.)
post inspired by S O contest
McLUHAN's LAW
In
the
headlines of today,
his fifteen minutes of fame-
ephemeral as footprints in the sand.*
*sand=beach=strand
keep that low-profile my little one
sky is contaminated
with fat black spots
their weightiness is gonna be dropped
on everything known
eyes are drained
turned to glass
it remains incomprehensible
what have you done
and
who's sending those metal birds
engineering shadows
over your
stuffed animal keepers
keep that low-profile
they are on rescue mission
playing mini golf
with calculation
how to convert your misery
in fifteen minutes of fame
their perception is detoured
just keep that low-profile
whole nation
sent on the road
fragmented into
disdained ethnic particles
soon they'll be fighting over conveniently flagged stamps
revitalising otherness
another Shoah
has been set on the scene
no one is left
to call them a mother
to name them a father
to recognize them as a brother
no one
but you
keep that low profile
maybe someone will have civility
to collect your
crumbled parts
the way you're collecting
that bread crumbs
on tormented path of your shelled being
keep that low profile my child
Pop Idol
Milk the applause, savour the day;
You only have thirty seconds left,
Of your fifteen minutes of fame.
Another band falls off the conveyor belt;
It’s time for you to be replaced, by another covers band.
Another wanna-bee, another piece of human trash;
Who simply follows the money.
In search of their star, in the music hall of fame.
Do you seriously think, you can last the pace?
And make another album that sells like your first?
You naïve fool, that’s what they call consumerism
And you’re definitely not, a new sensation.
You’re just another advertisement;
For their hit T.V. show, with the losers and the freaks.
Don’t you realize you’re only a star of car crash T.V.?
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
When Moby became famous
Because of the book
He decided to go
For the Hollywood look
He was living the dream
With fast cars and loose women
With a pool full of champagne
In which he could swim in
At a book signing one day
Someone scoffed at his weight
That was the moment
That decided his fate
After looking in the mirror
Moby decided to diet
Despite all the warnings
It would be best not to try it
Now the papers are plastered
With pictures of poor old Dick
Looking like a skeleton
Rumor is, Moby's sick
A giant of the seas
That was once his home
But take a look at him now
He’s all skin and bone
He was spotted at a museum
Cold and alone
Standing around looking
Like a huge xylophone
Alas Moby Dick
Has only himself to blame
He let his ego run wild
During his fifteen minutes of fame
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