Tag Archives: poem about fame



We cast long shadows in the sun,
but shorter as the day is done,
and when we shrink into our selves,
placing  our souls upon their shelves,
what shadows last? Are our souls
made of  Teflon or are they bowls?
The world’s vendettas should be left
back in the wide world lest their heft
leave our spotless souls bereft
and our inner natures cleft.

Those whom we honor with boundless fame
and lionize in face and name
might sport a very great divide
if we were to see inside—
their nature split  between what they
profess to be—what they might say
and what their true intentions are.
Their true motives might be far
from what we perceive as their intentions.
We cannot know a soul’s dimensions
except by looking at the facts
of how the outer person acts.

What they profess that they believe
may often be used to deceive.
But heart-to-heart, it is absurd
to think truth is conveyed by word.
Some part of us knows deeper meaning
devoid of boasting, strutting, preening.
The soul requires no advertisement,
seeks no excess aggrandizement.
In our soul of souls we know
what is authentic and what’s for show.
That shadow that we cast without

within has very little clout.


This poem is both a commentary and assessment of those who have lately been much in the arena and about ourselves–including myself.

Prompt words today are long shadows, vendetta and lionize.

Casting About for Fame and Recognition


Casting About for Fame and Recognition

I’ve never done a single thing of any magnitude.
I’m not in any centerfolds, posed there in the nude.
 I’d love to give a Ted talk, but I simply do not dare.
I’m nervous in the limelight, a stranger to the glare.

Peak climbing is too vigorous, so I avoid Mt. Everest.
I don’t compete in spelldowns for I’m simply not the cleverest.
Each autumn when the leaves turn, I swear I’ll turn one, too.
I’ll examine all my talents and find one that I’ll do.

I’ll write the next great epic tale. I’ll sail to Zanzibar.
But writing isn’t easy and that voyage is too far.
I’ll buy paints and a canvas and combine the two,
I’ll find out if great artistry is what I’m meant to do.

Or maybe I’l adopt ten kids and have a try at mothering.
See if I can show the correct interest without smothering.
If I approach this task with correct energy, less fear,
perhaps I can obtain my fame as mother of the year!

Prompt words today are strange, magnitude, nervous, vigorous, something you’ve always wanted to do and leaves.

Art and Industry


Art and Industry

The languid win no prizes, the slothful not one plaudit.
The lazy artist paints no masterpiece for us to laud it.

The book that is not written finds no reader to adore it.
The man who scores no symphony, no audience to “Encore!” it.

“Popular” wins friends but draws no masses to applaud.
The rarest genius unexpressed will fail to leave us awed.

What movie that was never made has won box office fame?
Lighting a little fire won’t do. You have to fan the flame.

Enthusiasm on its own is rarely oohed and aahed.
It takes a little elbow grease to leave us open-jawed.




Prompt words today are enthusiasm, masterpiece, popular, languid and win.

Falling Star



photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash. 

Falling Star

We saw her in the movies. Her name was in the news.
This pulchritudinous starlet was hogging all the views
on youtube and on other social media sites—
the drinking and missed call times, the drugs and barroom fights.
Until America’s darling became a laughing stock—
a harried aging party girl for tabloids to mock.
Another crumbling idol turned to dust by fame.
Another aging loser of the movie game.

Today’s Word Prompts: news, pulchritudinous.


Screen Shot 2019-06-24 at 7.43.04 AM           photo by Tim Mossholder, courtesy of Unsplash, with permission.


In the ballpark of the universe, there is no referee.
Chaos theory is the rule book. As sure as we may be
that we have followed all the rules, there is no guarantee
that fame won’t be ephemeral even though we’ve won the game.
On the scoreboard of the universe is no eternal fame.
However much the hero, however bright the flame,
In the end, we’re similar—just another name
lost within the cosmos. Another exploding star
that once thought that history would record who we are.


Prompts today are ephemeral, referee and similar.



Of what importance do you hold fame?
 How many people know your name?
Did you choose the challenge of renown?
Are you well-noted in your town
or in your state or in the world?
How often is your face unfurled
on posters hanging in Time’s Square––
your name broadcasted through the air?

What tradeoff made you vain and truthless,
removed your honor,  made you ruthless?
What kind of fortitude is power
turned vain and humorless and dour?
What good these trophies all around you
with no humanity to ground you ?
What good this fame of which you’re fond
If honor’s gone a vagabond?

Words of the day are fame, challenge, fortitude and vagabond. Here are their links:

Famous and Infamous



Famous and Infamous

Nobody bears a copyright on status or on fame.
Too soon another personage replaces the last name
that filled out all the columns and resided on all lips—
the faces we could not avoid in papers and news clips.
All fame deteriorates with time, assuming a back place.
Every generation demands a brand new face.
Who the next new fad will be, not one of us can guess.
Will it be a hero or celebrity much less
deserving of attention? Who knows what or who
will fill out all the news frames? Will it be Honey Boo Boo,
Ghandi, Kennedy or Trump? The differences astound us.
Who captures history’s fancy too often might confound us.
One might be exemplary, the other a buffoon.
All they have in common is, it’s over all too soon.


The prompt words today are copyright, guess, exemplary and deteriorate. Here are the links:







I don’t want to be Gwyneth, Julia or Pink,
Madonna, Shakira or Cher.
Their kind of renown is simply too much.
Much more than this woman could bear.

Though there’s no famous person that I’d rather be,
it’s not that I wouldn’t like fame.
It’s just that I want to be known for myself
and not by another one’s name.

I want to be known for my words and my art,
but not by my form or my face.
So I can dine out and walk down the street
without all the bother and chase.

I want to go out for a coffee or tea
and see someone reading my book.
And without her knowing, to study her face,
interpreting how she may look

as she reads every page, be it smile or tear,
I’d be known by my writing alone.
Like watching your child go out in the world
to establish a life of its own.

I want to stand hiddenunknown by the world,
to observe someone viewing my art.
To see if what registers there on his face
is what I’ve revealed of my heart.

Unnoticed, unphotographed and unpursued,
I could walk at my usual pace.
I’d get to the finish in plenty of time
without ever joining the race.

I wrote this poem four years ago, but it is perfect for today’s prompt word of  famous.

Fame––NaPoWriMo 2016, Day 3



People become heroes due to leading or resisting,
whereas ordinary people have their hands full just existing.
But lately it occurs to me that people are reacting
less to who folks really are and more to how they’re acting.
To be best at anything I know would be exciting––
to earn world renown due to one’s politics or writing;
but if I had the time and nerve to simply write and ask
how each famous person really feels behind the mask
of notoriety and fame whereon they look so snappy,
the question I would ask each one is, “Are you really happy?”

Would Robin Williams tell the truth faced with this request––
or any of the others who respond at my behest?
Michael Jackson, Carly Simon, Liberace, Yeats?
All the angry politicians railing in debates?
Did Jackie Kennedy love her life? Did Natalie Wood?  Does Cher?
How does the Royal family feel faced with the world’s rude stare?
Is Dave Chappelle gleeful? Is Obama happiest for
his entrance to the White House or his walking out the door?
I can’t imagine dealing with the constant wild attention––
love offset  by hating, admiration with contention.

Is all this gross celebrity a cause for celebration?
Does it make you happy to stand up before our nation
and have some people cheering you and others rudely booing?
Do you ever wonder what it is that you are doing?
Do teenagers stalking you, waiting round every bend
make a rock star happy? Does he wish it all would end?
I know the question’s obvious as well as rude and lame,
but if you did it over, would you still go for the fame?
Are the cheering jeering crowds still fuel for your vanity
Or would you rather trade them in for simple life––and sanity?

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem in the form of a fan letter to a celebrity.