Who needs to be a rider
racing 'round a track
way back in the crowd
I'm going to lead the pack
who needs to be a loser
spinning on their wheels
or yield pole position
I'm going to lead the field
and wear the yellow jersey
the one who wins your heart
no longer in a supporting role
I'll have the starring part
and if you'll be my leading lady
and I'm your leading man
I'll always be upfront
always in the van
She painted the silence between stars,
Colors blooming where sorrow hides,
Each stroke a whisper, each canvas wide
With dreams that leapt beyond her scars.
Younger by decades, yet wise with light,
She’d gift you skies with a laughing tone,
A mountain’s hush, a prayer in stone—
And never once spoke of her fight.
The pain, she wrapped in sacred thread,
Wove it soft in god-lit space,
While we, unknowing, saw her grace—
Not the shadows that quietly bled.
No bitter cries, no mournful tale,
She bore her grief with a painter’s pride,
And when the healing failed, she tried
A higher power, pale and pale.
Her last breath came like snow on glass,
A hush, a fall, a peace, a hush—
As if she slipped from morning’s blush
To where all suffering comes to pass.
I hold her art like holy fire,
Each canvas now a memory’s breath—
Alive, though she sleeps past death,
In brushstrokes that will never tire.
So here's to her—who lived, not bowed,
Who gave, not broke, who passed, not fled—
And in the cold, kind arms of dread,
Left behind colors that speak aloud.
I'm always the supporting actor
I've never been the star.
It seems I'm always the chauffeur
driving someone else's car.
I've always been a loyal player
never the captain of the team.
It feels as if I'm playing a part
fulfilling someone else's dream.
I've always been a Joker
I'm feel happy playing the clown.
I find a sense of humour
helps make this world go around.
I'm honest and I'm loyal
although it doesn't always pay.
Some see it as a sign of weakness
where they can have their Way.
I do things without question
never asking what its for.
I let others share the plaudits
knowing I've helped is my reward.
After all is said and Done
we should be happy as we are.
For if God made us in his own image
then everyone's a superstar.
Footprints in the sand
Only one set,
Observation optimistic
The one I’ve never met.
Proof of prodigy
Relaying more than bodily,
Indulging inspiration
Nature-made formation.
Triumphantly transforming
Synergy supporting…Spirit.
The invention of the
Trunk-tree came from
his roots.
He wanted to help people
to discover new ways of
Water harvesting.
He used plastics to create
A hollow truck.
which would be the storage
tank for the water
Limbs and leaves with tubing
To channel water.
The limbs would spread apart
Using a fan like method
With large hollow leaves
the had filters so the water
Would be pure and uncontaminated
Areas within the truck deep areas
Beneath the bark would to
Collect the rains from the sky
And some leaves would gather
Sunlight to power man's needs.
Large natural looking trees
Rooted and grounded with
Steel and cement to provide
Addition support for off the grid
And even desert living.
Might the city dwellers envy
They to might find these trees
To support there existence.
SUPPORTING ARTISTE
When I used to tell people I was a film extra, or ‘supporting artiste’ as we preferred to be called, they would say, “How glamorous, mixing with all those stars.” But, of course, the reality is not like that. You get up at 3.00 am in the middle of winter, scrape the ice off the windscreen and drive for two hours to the location. Having queued in the snow for your costume, you then sit all day in a draughty marquee waiting to be called, hoping that you might find yourself near enough to the camera to be recognizable in the finished film. You certainly don’t get to mix with the stars. Once I got a small speaking part and told all my friends to watch out for my big moment. But, alas, it ended up on the cutting room floor.
far in the background
supporting artistes wander
split second of fame
28th August 2020
Let The Pens Flow - Haibun poetry contest
Sponsor - Jenish Somadas
Supporting England's like being bipolar
one minute they'll win it the next it's over
we resort to branding them prima donnas
though we ourselves sure they'd win honours,
the cycle repeats
quarter final beats
metatarsal feets
penalty defeats
the proud scenes
singing God Save The Queen
luck not Irish green
victory only in dreams
the red cards we've seen shown
or the goals a many disallowed
singing football's coming home
and singing it proud
we are England
flying our Saint George cross
we're better than Scotland
playing like they're lost
we are prevented
bringing home what we invented
ideas of winning are demented
but in our destiny it's cemented
P.s I am demented
Nobody likes being abandoned or forgotten.
So why are you forgetting them?
They stuck by your side
while you were falling deep.
They never gave up and
never will.
Dont just let them fall down
Dont give up on them now
They have stood by you,
and now it is
your turn.
It Is Called Friendship for a reason.
You Guys Stay by each other No matter What
Its Trust
Its love.
Its Friendship.
Family's full branch
Bough weighted with fresh wet snow
Arm's strength endures test
Repunzel’s high in the castle
With hair’s neat knots in a tassel
This sweet young flower
So blond in the tower
Is for beauticians a hassle
In the culture of self, and wilting idol
who was going to interpret the truth?
To resolve the inner conflicts
of an ailing mind?
I tell no one my validity,
my loss, and my sudden realization,
of a dying aura.
Give me a poem, a childhood, a dream
I wanted to live,
without maligning a mirror.
Without a cold-blooded
murder of truths.
Life was becoming a waiting in blackness for an
audience with god.
A thought sits whole life
on a ruined model of a truth,
trying to get freedom from the
celebrated events of greed and hate.
Windows are not supporting the light.
Time for the greens
to make a decision.
SATISH VERMA
My heart is beating yet
my lung yet breathing
my eyes yet facing the queen
of myself thy love
— (Thou thank your creator . . . )
But, obviously in degrees
in other side
your wearing breasts in a practical nude
your truly wearing encounter-leg
by 75% nude
sneak of a stylish whole
Over a break surround the hole.
Over reacting is you practically
in imitation, from my death
by had said
it without a giving of indication
of snaking-back in your mind
you had ever caressed me
May be-yes!
In ignore tab imagination.