7 Mediocre Celebrity Poets!
Gawd, it must be SO cool to be a celebrity. To have people fawn over you all the time, offer you sexual favors in exchange for Instagram photos with “their girls”, and buy you top shelf cocktails has got to be heaven on Earth. People treat celebrities like they’re infallible – it’s no wonder, then, that they all have god complexes. In fact, some of ‘em are so delusional, they think they’re artists. (I know, right?!?) Stars that fancy themselves poets are the worst of the bunch. I mean, get a look at this “art”.
In 1990, approximately two decades before Uncle Charlie showed the world he was “winning” by getting fired, banging pornstars and snorting smack, The Sheenster self-released a book of his own poetry, poetically titled "A Piece of My Mind." Lines in the (thankfully slim) tome include gems like “Turtle, android, pain / Endeavor, endless, end” and “All eyes held in stare, all mouths locked open in shock, as he pulled the latex Charlie Sheen mask from his head, revealing the rotted skull of President Lincoln.” NOTE: This was written BEFORE the drugs ruined his brain.
The baby genius himself recently wrote a poem for President Obama’s inauguration entitled “Obama in Asheville.” The needlessly long, fantastically narcissistic epic name-drops famous folks like Tom Cruise, Katie Holmes and Claire Danes; it also does a fantastic job of making the momentous occasion that was the kicking off of Obama’s second term all about the the star of Spring Breakers (in theaters soon!). It’s probably the only poem in existence that contains the line, “I went to class and then the little burrito place where they know me.”
Rosie uses her blog as a safehouse for her grammatically incorrect musings – poems there cover subjects like motherhood, Pink’s musical oeuvre, what it feels like to have a heart attack (“my skin was clammy / i was very very hot / i threw up”) and how cool Dr. Oz is (“ok so yesterday we filmed dr oz / who is perhaps the kindest man ever born / a guy who truly cares / i love him"). I worry Rosie may have took a few too many Koosh balls to the head during her talk show years.
Sean Penn, a.k.a. The Guy Who Saved New Orleans and Haiti, saw himself as a real deep and brooding character back in the day (not that he doesn’t now, of course). In the mid-80s, the former Mr. Madonna Ciccone published a few of his poems in a now defunct literary journal called Long Shot; the best by far was entitled “This Water’s Cold,” and contained the lines, “what is this on my chin...? / it’s f**king s**t, man / allright / f**k this / f**k it / give me a f**king shower. / (OH F**K THIS WATER’S COLD.)”
When Brit Brit gets upset, she doesn’t just lock herself in a bathroom and caterwaul (although, in fairness, she does a great deal of that) – she expresses her feelings via the timeless art of poetry. She once wrote a poem to her mother, entitled “Dear Mama,” that made the poor matriarch break down in tears on the set of “Zoey 101”. When she broke up with baby daddy K-Fed, her poem "Remembrance of Who I Am" graced the front page of her official website. And with lines like "Look who’s smiling now / Damn, it’s good to be me!" why wouldn’t it?
In honor of her 13th Playboy cover, Pam wrote a poem specifically to run alongside the mag’s shots of her, cough, "lady lumps" – the poem in question proved that there’s a reason why she’ll never make a 13th appearance on the cover of The New Yorker. Here it is in its entirety: “Our best isn’t good enough — right now our eyes are far-reaching. Please let’s show the good in us. . . The brilliance. . . The wonderful. . . It’s abundant — it’s just not tapped as it should be… The youth … The wild that rose up from the ashes. The adults … Living and dead that fought for our rights … Artists … Sweet artists …. Hold on … Crazy, the world goes on … And goes ….”
All hail the classic, and still the best, mediocre celeb poetess of all time. Her collection “A Night Without Armor”, while a huge seller, was the butt of dozens of late-night jokes in the late 90s and still holds its ground as one of the worst poetry books of all time. I mean, it’s incredible. Next time you’re in Books-a-Million, do yourself a favor and pick it up. It’s incredible. Did I mention it was incredible?
If you saw two roads diverge in a yellow wood, which one would you take? Let me know in the comments!