Long In the limelight Poems
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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
She stood there in the limelight shining bright
But her mind couldn’t make her raise her eyes
They gathered ‘round her callin out her name
And she thought “Is this the price of Fame?”
See, her body bought her rings and chains
But the chains brought on depression, lots of pain
To ease the pain, she turned to weed and Caine
So beautiful and such a shame
She met man who paid to tell her what was stressing him
Before she knew it; she had slept with him
Did it once and then she did it again
In due time she had laid with different men
She thought she would just strip to pay for classes
Didn’t see her future through her Third Eye lashes
Everyday she cried tears through her D&G glasses
Only twenty and a good girl gone backwards
Weeks pass by, nobody’s heard from her
Tears in the eyes of her son and daughter
Mama wondering where she went wrong
Black girl lost, the same old song
She prays and prays, but she knows the reality
To the streets she became a casualty
Told her to stop, cause she had a vision of the O.D.
Mama won’t open her eyes cause she don’t wanna see
Her baby dead so young, Rest In Peace
quatrain
Clearly put - the star was up to no good.
Musicians have an innate sense of time.
The guests, notwithstanding, all understood
their host - a conductor well-past his prime.
Novice performers, the host chose just three
for the opening event of the night.
His niece, as it happened, was one invitee;
he could still orchestrate who’s in the limelight.
While each one of the fledgling young trio
aced their solo in the gateway prelude,
the simply grand - violin virtuoso
excelled in his mellifluous etude.
Not wanting to move on his host and niece,
the star asked for an encore from her flute.
Would she segue into his final piece?
(in the vernacular of music’s astute).
The auspiciousness of the occasion
would exalt any young lady to conceit.
With tempo way fast for the transition;
it was clear she had been swept off her feet.
Artist: Lowercase Noises - Title: The Things Your Eyes Have Seen
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnU0aOA788U&list=RDGnU0aOA788U
written 5 Feb. 2016.
Please Donald if you'd disregard ,
my antics for a bit ;
I will tell you how I'm feeling,
and share of it a bit ...
I would never wish ill will on a man;
or with his employ,
somethings my Dad instiolled in me ;
since I was a boy....
My Dad was a hard working man,
took care of his family ;
And as I grew into a man,
that was the plan for me ...
In my family we spent time each night,
to eat a meal and watch TV,
we even gathered for the News ,
where of you I got my first views ...
I remember hearing that ,
you helped some families ;
acts of kindness I suppose ,
or payment for assistance ,
not sure just how that goes ....
Anyway it went along ,
the Towers and much more ;
even WWe wrestlin,
with McMahon;
the ing whore .....
As a son though to a billionaire;
always in the limelight of the city,
why didnt you find some older girls ,
or for age doo you not care ???
It could be alot of scammed delight ;
though tell me did you pen ;
Ghislaines admission from her prison cell,
Cause that dont seem right....
And why was Bill even mentioned ;
it puzzles me much more ,
like we all know about Monica,
and no she was no whore....
so tell me please and do not distract,
or the topics not to change,
will you go on Steve Wilkos ;
so your admissions do not change ......
Every day is a page
to write a new story
Every moment a stage
to act for God's glory
The pen is in God's hands
He inscribes what He will
The director demands
that we our parts fulfil
Am I willing to do
what He's written for me?
Surrender wholly to
Divine authority?
Yes, I'm His humble quill
composing by His grace
For His name's sake, I will
do whatever He says
A morning mystery
that gives so much delight
Will soon turn history
by the time it is night
But, for God when I write
it will stay eternal
When He's in the limelight
it'll prove the best journal.
••••••••••••••••••••••••
09.12.16
(6 syllables in each line)
Many in the limelight aim
Despite diverse back rounds they came
Whether a regular Joe Schmoe
or a ma dames
For stratospheric fame
Sought after imprimatur
like some competitive games
Possibly an ordinary Jonny comb lately
or the common Jimmy James schmuck oh
Maybe known by some handi
capping them as lame
Transcending unsightly infliction
unwilling to let being maim
(This from drafted
scarred acquiring above name)
Yet overcoming any stigma or shame
Proving that prejudice
against bloody carnage
can replaced with pride
against cooling jets fiery angry flame
With self-acceptance
sans love of self would tame.
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.
I’m out to reel in the limelight
as I rhyme tight with sublime might,
filling each line each time without decline
as I climb to a blinding height,
a magical skill of a mastermind shining bright
with dynamite scaling up til miniscule and out of sight,
this is a mystical tale of frightless fight to feisty flight.
Before this I lived in the shadows,
born to be worn hopeless like a saddo,
wearing a beard in bed buried in a burrow,
each today, each yesterday and each tomorrow.
I was stuck in a bubble
contaminated by sorrow,
self destructive in trouble
encapsulated and narrow,
under impact I stumbled
collapsed and fell low,
fractured and crumbled
to be an isolated fellow.
I was falling at speeds that feed friction,
ingredients fire needs in ignition,
sparked into a fireball in free fall,
and out darted a need for survival,
these incidents the mind's designed for,
in a spiral my instincts went primal.
I went from deprived of a drive that life should provide,
to the arrival of survive with no thought to thrive.
Admittedly a little bit of me
could see I had an ability
that was missing ambition to mission
so it lived submissively
in submission.
I started to mine my mind and be mindful,
dug up strength deemed unfindable.
As I exposed my core a force sped forth,
a desire to war poured forward to dwarf
what rivals and install a sure feel of reward,
after I stop this soaring fall to the floor.
Apply my whole mind to try
and stop this nose dive
of a fireball in the sky,
if I couldn’t fly I’d glide
until control was verified
and my wings opened wide.
Dashing out the ashes the Phoenix Rise,
detached from what crashes into land from the skies,
I’m out of this world, The Phoenix Lights,
a marvellous presence with presents for eyes.
I’m Nick Trim they called me a thicky,
I seemed dim they took the mickey,
they made me look silly, it wasn’t tricky,
but I learnt tricks at risk conflict me.
Now I’m the trickster that’s off the Rictar,
flicking the switch to be the victor.
I'm Nicholas Trim and I'm stupendous,
the way I rhyme is just Trimendous.
What a fabulous way to end this,
read my poems and recommend us.
When Eyes keep finding You
In spite of training the Heart not to
It turns out to be a futile effort
to even think of parting from You
When Days turn into Months
yet your Thoughts keep leaving impact
when ignorance makes me observant
and pay more respect towards You
When your voice shines out of all
I end up believing to be more sensitive
when it's Something about You
It feels important to listen to You
I see light in your mere presence
even when you are actually absent
like tokens of brightness in the dark
You give off hope, leading the right path
So, to tell you the truth
My world does revolve around You
I'm just an observer
always there for You,
and You're in the limelight
always the centre of my Life!
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