Long Fifteen minutes of fame Poems
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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
A TV star
He wanted to be a star on TV
He wanted his face to be seen
He knew it would be quite a challenge,
but he yearned to be living the dream.
The programme in question was not in dispute
He'd planned it for quite a long while
He'd start at the bottom and work his way up
by spending a morning on Jeremy Kyle.
The first thing to do was to get a tattoo
He'd planned it, it wasn't on speck
He'd soon learn to live with an arm that was blue
and 'Mother' scrawled over his neck.
The next thing to get was a girlfriend
He found him a beauty worth kissing
Between them their teeth were a dentist's delight
One black, one white, one missing.
They sat on the stage and went into a rage
the audience hurling abuse
the pair of them both started fighting
but then they had nothing to lose.
They caused so much trouble on stage
he asked them to leave by the back
but audience members were waiting
preparing to make an attack.
No way could they hide from the people outside
determined to point out their sins.
The crowd started throwing tomatoes,
unfortunately still in their tins.
But he was quite happy, he'd managed his goal
His fifteen minutes of fame
Celebrity Big Brother was waiting
They'd always remember his name.
Form:
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.
Traffic Jam Slam
Who dresses them up and puts them in cars
gives them their keys as they leave the bars
these drivers who sit at the red light and grin
preachers out practicing Sunday’s big sin.
Somehow they think we can’t see inside
as they dig in their noses and ogle with pride
something they found that they should probably hide.
She’s putting on make-up, He’s combing his hair
the kids in the back seat wish they weren’t there.
As the light changes they make that left –SLASH
while plucking the last of their graying eyelash.
They’re texting at red lights so they tend to linger
and when you disturb them they give you the finger.
Then there are those who ride on their bikes
who haven’t matured since they fell off their trykes,
riding on sidewalks and running stop signs
dressing in outfits that require fines.
Who leaves the slow people alone on the street
stuck in the crosswalk – rush hour - dead meat.
Now we have turkeys and the Canada Goose
invading the country, just plain running loose
crossing the highways, honking at us
and if you should hit one – oh what a fuss
PETA will come with a camera and crew,
let the whole world get a good look at you.
So put on your make-up and straighten that hair
your fifteen minutes of fame is frighteningly near.
For SKAT A slam the slam contest
John G. Lawless
5/31/2014
( … 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.)
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
He died for freedom and the righteous cause of liberty.
He gave up his own life so others could enjoy liberty.
"OOH What a lucky man he was. OOH What a lucky man
he was.....Nobody could save him so he laid down and he died."***
The Short Story.*** "Oh What a Lucky Man he was."***
He died alone with no freedom fighters at his side. He fought
against slavery and oppression and to help liberate his fellow man.
But he was just another human, and an ordinary man. He was not
a professional solder or a police man. He witnessed danger around
him so he sacrificed his life for his fellow woman.
He died in an dark and dangerous ally way, trying the save
the life and the virtue of a young woman. Vicious hoodlums
instantly attacked and knifed him. The earth cried out in pain,
as it received the life blood of a young and noble man. Their
attackers also murdered the young woman, after robbing her
of her virtue!
A few days later their bodies were discovered by the police women and
the police man. He was given a hero's funeral for the courageous way
he died. He wasn't a pillar of the community, he was not important nor
gainfully employed. If the facts be made known, he was unemployed.
He never held a job in his entire young life. He was a drifter and a loner.
He lived and died a John Doe and she also lived and died as a Jane Doe. They enjoyed their fifteen minutes of fame upon their untimely demise. The law enforcement community and the family of the young woman mourned
their wasted young lives! The hoodlums were apprehended by the law.
But they did not repent of their dastardliness deeds. They held no remorse
at all. How many other victims' did they stab with their knives?
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
October 05, 2020
***This is a fictional short story.
Bring on the rejection slips and/or lost wager
Though flush with good humor
pun one mock two yields negligible
true cash equivalent value won
dirt poor offspring privileged as prodigal son
pockets bursting with legal tender,
where just yesterday I had none.
All polite declinations
strung together would circle...
(fill in the blank)
matter of fact, I just got a slew of them
today June 9th, 2020, what a lucky man
me haint an idealist...,
but winning poetry (writing) contest
or purchasing lottery tickets...
yeah, nothing butta pipe dream
such improbable whimsical notion
linkedin and tantamount
with milkmaid and pail
Aesop pose fabulous incredulous solution
finally good riddance
hand to mouth existence
hello riches, perchance a dollop
and/or sizable windfall courtesy
drawn PowerBall and/or Mega Million ticket
whereby yours truly suddenly
cursed with chump change,
and/or abundant money
would experience "fifteen minutes of fame"
flush with friends and relatives
I (a misanthrope) never knew existed
(perhaps even marriage proposition,
no matter wedded bliss prevails)
interesting... how moderate
and/or substantial wealth
suddenly finds chock a block
acquisitions (regarding brand new automobile,
custom designed house,
travel opportunities galore
(maybe even vacation to Mars)
(despite coronavirus - COVID -19) prevalence,
nevertheless awareness viz immutability altering
pubescent stunted emotional, physical
and social development
profusely sweating hands, social anxiety
all the while knowing money
can't buy happiness,
yet once and for all at long last
free and clear of grinding poverty
cuz groveling along
the pockmarked highway
avails countless exit ramps
plethora of choices
how to be analogous to jolly Roger
piloting immense ship of state
(approximating size of Rhode Island)
equipped with the latest trappings
matter of fact replete
with every creature comfort
analogous to rich
self sufficient independent country
allowing, enabling, and providing
a warm welcome - think unfurled
Harris tweed Scottish welcome mat.
Meanwhile somewhere in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania resident
(within apartment B44)...
tenant fritters precious time wishfully thinking
(luxuriant life within theoretical leisure class)
finding this nameless scrivener
invariably hoisting himself by his own petard.
He reaches for the brown bag,
As he sqauts by the river
Skipping angry stones in a flurry
As he washes away his liver
Thinkin bout the old days
When he was a name in the game
Then his company closes down
Stealin his fifteen minutes of fame,
His society turns their head away
So with no place left to turn,
He watches the bank take his home
Losing all he ever earned
His family deserts him
Like a child left in a basket,
He knows in the end they will burn him
Since he cant afford a casket
And he reaches for the brown bag
As he falls onto the river
He lets the current take him
Like the bottle took his liver
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.