Fifteen Seconds of Fame

I occassionally write poems just for the fun of it.All my poems

are silly and they are intended to be so.Here's one of them.

It's pretty long, but do try and read the whole thing.

I wrote this poem with
An intention to sell
It to editors of magazines
Who identified talent (?) well

With this aim in mind
I set out on the road
With not insignificant resemblance
To an immature blind toad

The roads in the city (I discovered)
Were designed with care
To confound every human
Alien, giraffe and bear

But, with a focused mind
And a determined outlook
I searched the city’s
Every corner and nook

To get to the head-office of
the magazine that paid
Large amounts of money
typically uncovered in a raid

I had visions of becoming
very famous and rich
A man sought after for his
poetry prose and pitch

I’d become a writer with
Unmatched skill
A parallel in poetry to
The computer world’s bill (gates)

People would flock to
Hear and read my stuff
And having read tones of it
Wouldn’t still have had enough

My happy thoughts were
Soon put to an end
When I negotiated a
Rather dangerous bend

My car, I discovered
To my utter chagrin
Wasn’t in a condition
You’d call ‘fit n fine’

On successful completion of
The tragic car crash
I was well prepared for an essay
On ‘why not to drive rash’

The crash didn’t dampen
My spirits at all
Except that the other insisted
On an unpleasant brawl

Having extricated myself
From the noisy scene
And wondered for a minute
On what might have been

I chugged along safely
To the editor’s office
With a look on my face that
Said ‘I am, but a novice’

The editor read this poem
With utmost care
Never pausing for an instant
To rearrange his hair

He then gave me an
Unfriendly look
That seemed to say
‘You resemble a crook!’

I told him ‘ A million
is all I want.
Please pay by next week
if now you can’t ‘

The editor’s face was
Overcome with grief
He rose from his chair
And yelled at me ‘You thief!‘

‘You crash into my office
And make me read this crap
And further expect me to
Fall into your trap ’

‘Me ain’t paying anything
you owe me five hundred
For my views on your poem
I’ve just now sat and read ‘

Lest you reader end up
Saying the same
I stop here, Pray,
Where’s my fifteen seconds of fame?