Fame
My name is Richard Blakeley-Wills:1
a greying strummer, stage-name Shute.
Guitar in hand, I've got the pills
a twenty-something groupie, Toot,
and fame! Although my 'music' kills
the ears, it's made me loadsa loot
and always spaces in the papers
devoted to my noisome capers.
The novelist’s old Geoffrey Lownes.
He does two thousand words a morn,
romantic sighs and caddish frowns,
the biddies love his blurry porn.
He plugs his works round country towns;
his publishers and agent fawn.
Those wicked, carping critics say
My books were better tossed away!
The actress’s Scrudentia White
She only plays one par' in all.
She grimaces, Gor blimey, right
that geezer’s 'eading for a fall!
On Channel Five at nine at night
in gripping drama Monkey 'all.
My lack of talent’s been no bar
to fame! As nasal TV star
I wanna live forever - fame!
It measures worth in wood-pulp sales
or screen time, column inch, the same
ephemera in maudlin tales
Who's doing whom, who's up, whose name
below the photo, but it fails
to satisfy, that minute drug
Celebrity - an empty shrug