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Awards don't really mean much.

quote by Uta Hagen
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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Awards For Greatness

Not all can get awards though deserving;
Some luck and pluck too decides awardees;
The heart knows if he/she truly deserves;
The rest remain unsung all life on earth!

Awards on earth are not the ultimate;
The greatest feats are forgotten by men;
The greatest men, women are things of past;
Achievers who get lime-light aren't greatest!

All things on earth return to dust with time;
Most famous monuments become rubble;
Even rivers do change their course often;
Nothing is permanent in earthly life!

The luckiest deserving get awards;
The less lucky can't make up to life's peak;
The unlucky forget what awards mean;
A toiling few cannot think of such things!

Yet, human toil must get recognition;
Awards, rewards encourage achievements;
A few are born with silver-spoon in mouth;
The rest great slip into oblivion!

Yet, hopelessness need not fill any mind;
A few are heros/heroines on earth;
A few are great on earth and in heaven;
A few turn greatest only in heaven!

poem by John Celes
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Awards are wonderful. I've been nominated many times and I've won many awards. But my journey is not towards that. If it happens it will be a blast. If it doesn't, it's still been a blast.

quote by Tom Cruise
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If you are looking for smart judging based on merit, skip the Academy Awards next year and pay attention to the Independent Spirit Awards.

quote by Annie Proulx
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Now, there are so many movies, so many festivals, and so many awards going on, each judged with each other, like your work is worse than others and that's not fair. How can you tell what's best and what's worst from these awards? We're talking about art.

quote by Javier Bardem
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I don't like to sit and bask in my own awards. Awards represent artistic death to me.

quote by Paula Cole
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Armless Chef

A tribal conflict opened doors
For unexpected tragedy
Fate so cruel ran Her course
And caught Her victims easily.

A lass of mere seventeen
Too young to lose her future
But blind is Violence unseen
And the times ahead unsure.

Intruders came, got her cornered
Her arms raised in defense
Then cries of pain were all they heard
Her arms were cut, it made no sense!

Her loss was partial as her spirit lived
She learned to gain her victory
Healed her life, in Faith believed
So she earned a degree in the Culinary.

An armless chef, what a wonder!
Can she even handle a kitchen knife?
Yet seeing her, shames all whiners
Realizing they have much more in life!

A five star hotel boasts of her skills
Awards and recognitions came her way
Her steadfast Hope, rage could not kill
Her story inspires us to this day.

T his is a true story of a Filipina well known chef and Culinary Arts expert who lost her arms in a tribal conflict, but rose from her tragedy and gained awards and recognition for her excellence in her chosen field. She also forgave her assailants and her action brought about the much needed peace in her village.

Cynthia Buhain Baello
June 23,2012

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Doctor of Science (Honoris Causa)

Not all on earth can get awards;
Not all deserving, get applause;
Not all afford to get rewards;
Few get honoured for great a cause!

But when a doctor gets honour,
For life-time work, a noble cause,
The fraternity thank donor,
For choosing him/her as the boss!

The joy of getting rare awards
May not long last in noble hearts;
But will be theme for mighty bards
To sing in praise of God and arts!

Great minds and hearts can never pause
To serve mankind in need, always!
No prize is worth a worthy cause;
A doctor’s service priceless, stays.

Congrats Dr. G.B., Chairman and Managing Trustee,
KG Hospital and Post-Graduate Medical Institute, CBE,
for achieving this rare distinction!
Fondly dedicated by Dr.A.Celestine Raj Manohar M.D.,
Dean, IRT PMC, Perundurai, TN.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-11-2009

poem by John Celes
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Grooming Awards

Four visually impaired soccer players,
With a red-hooded girl around;
And like the grooming awards to be judged,
But where is my lover who left me alone in the cold last night?
Leave your attitudes to the door and,
Learn from the people outside;
For the secret laps of the First Ladies are faced deep! !
And like your Daddy's office in the land of your muse.
You asked for Turkey-Burger,
But i've got away to a man's heart so sweet;
And like a softball under the stars,
But where is my lover who left me alone in the cold last night?
I am very seductive to him but,
I am now in the tub of the bathroom's corner to pay my respect;
But the grooming awards are to be judged by you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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To Play the Games

In a special place, in peace they met, they met again.
Far, far from the curse of violence, a place of peace.
Cultivated to propagate comraderie,
Through peaceful competition, garnering good will.
They came to play, from all places, to play the games.
With outstretched hand, they met,
broad warm, warm open smiles.
Renewing memories, they embraced,
light hearts, of past fond rapport.
Renewed friendships, and welcoming new friends.

Shadows of animosity, none to be found.
For the games it was, they came to play.
In contention peaceful, winter, summer,
they would play the games.
In these games, races to be run.
Feats of strength and skill performed.
Team and individual challenges.
Competition always fierce, without question.
Still winners all, losers not accepted.

With heart ‘n’ soul, all would compete.
Yet competition, ever friendly, always fair.
Without malice, losses accepted, but with grin.
Mutual admiration competitors shared.
The dedication required to attain excellence, all aware.
For all must fall, before they excelled.
Winners, runner’s up, last to complete the task.
To all, applause awarded.
With mixed emotion the norm, awards accepted.
Pride, humility, honor, apparent in all.
Respect for homelands represented, manifest,
whenever, they played the games.
Came the day, the games ceased.
Judgments rendered, awards all claimed.
Time at last to tread the homeward path.
Fond farewells, smiles ‘n’ tears mixed.
‘Til to play the games, they meet once more.

20Feb10

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Good Poets and Bad Poets

Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.

Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.

Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind

Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.

Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.

Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.

Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.

All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.

Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.

Some poets take criticism and don't mind.

Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.

Some poets write poetry to get love.

Some poets love to write poetry.

Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind

Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind

Some poets live only after they die.

Some poets have much to say but can't articulate

Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand

So which one of these am I?

I guess I am all of these and none of these

and no matter what my description

I intend to keep doing what I do:

Write. Right

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Poetry Used To Live In A Forbidden State Of Courageous Grace

Poetry used to live in a forbidden state of courageous grace
but now it's palpably culpable of cowardice.
Paper-mache lifemasks with all the characteristics
of a gaping sin of omission. As F.R. Scott said of E.J. Pratt
in his poem about the building of the CPR
where are the coolies in your poem, Ned?
The ten thousand that died lining and tamping track.
Now the real subject matter of most works of art
is not what was put in, but what was left out,
where's the heart, the soul, the imagination,
where's the grief and the longing that slowly matured
into the black flames of the charred roses
that immolated themselves in their own fires
for the love of someone they couldn't live without
like the other wing of the song of a bird
maimed by the oversight like a tree in chains.
The applause of trained seals isn't praise
and celebrity isn't fame. Everyone's good
at divining the well, but who takes the time
to dig one any deeper than their own shallow grave?

Maybe there's a sleeper out there who's fighting
for his life in a dream, enduring excruciating transformations
as experience shapeshifts his voice into poems
we'll get to overhear one day after he's dead
like the sound of distant water in a mindstream
or the ashes of an unknown soldier
that couldn't be contained by a broken urn
or buried under a monument to anonymous violence.
A hero or a heroine who didn't play to the crowd
like an acrobat of words faking it as a wizard
in a literary scene of very unsacred clowns.
Tiger-striped arsonists that couldn't burn
their way through a matchbook. Where are
the thieves of fire, the Promethean criminals,
the fore-ordained demons of nihilistic doom,
the mad who used to sacrifice their shadows
on the altars of the mountains of the moon
and came down into the valleys in tears
with a message like an avalanche of the underwhelmed?

Are there no more Druids? Is the bloom off the mistletoe
of myriad moons that have lost their atmosphere
to the bright vacancy of the vacuum on the reflected side of things
and forgotten the dark abundance of the occult originality
of the true face that's turned away like a perennial eclipse
of the black sheep of a severely depleted family
that doesn't want to talk about such things in public?
No more shamans risking death in the cradles of the treetops
at the hands of the visions that cut them to the bone

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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My Claim To Honour!

I’d been thinking
To be a very great man,
My attribute being poetry,
And my poems highly rated.
I had genuinely believed
That poetry is great gift,
Poet is a superman
And he was venerated.

I had discontentment
That I didn’t get the credit
Which I truly deserved
For my superior poetry.
Poets much junior
And close to political bosses
Got awards and honours.
For, they wrote base flattery.

So, when I died I wrote
An elegy on myself,
A long narrative poem,
Superb in its contents.
Carrying my dead body
I went around the city
Reciting my elegy
To my heart’s full content.

From gate to gate I moved
From street to street I went

At road junctions I stopped,
To drum up support in my favour.
I was firm in my resolve
To get my rightful honour
Which the state had for long
Overlooked to confer.

Sans any modesty
My elegy compared me
With many other poets
And stated my claim.
The elegy eulogized
And compared my talents,
Exalted my skills,
And extolled me to the brim.

“…………………………………………………..
Internatio nal poet …………………………….
……. Multilingual Poet ……………………..
…………….. Mystic, epic poet ………………

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poem by P.K. Joy
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Awards are merely the badges of mediocrity.

quote by Charles Ives
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To refuse awards is another way of accepting them with more noise than is normal.

quote by Peter Ustinov
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I don't fly any awards at the house. Any award you get is usually for something you've done in the past. And I like to keep looking forward.

quote by Garth Brooks
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Despite everything I've achieved in my life, the culinary awards, the military commendations, the honorary degrees, I have never, ever lost sight of what's truly important. The thing that gives meaning to these triumphs. Someone to share them with. A companion. A help mate. A wife.

quote by Andrew Schneider
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Awards are so unnecessary, because I think we get so much out of our work just by doing it. The work is a reward in itself.

quote by Natalie Portman
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Awards don't mean anything to me. Until I win one.

quote by Keith Carradine
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A couple of guys won Academy Awards for the things that I turned down. Today, after coming to terms with everything, after being in therapy for a long time-there are areas where I will compromise.

quote by Mickey Rourke
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