Tag Archives: perfect

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Exceptionists

“There are those whose sole claim to profundity is the discovery of exceptions to the rules.” ~Paul Eldridge

Exceptionists

There is a type of person that
I call “exceptionist”
They often miss the point and let
Their fear and doubt persist

Whenever there’s a message that
Inspires and empowers
Exceptionists have one example
That makes them all cower

That one exception which holds back
Which whispers “It won’t work”
When you encounter these doubters
Don’t let your feelings lurk

Be sure to remind them that there
Will always be exceptions
But it’s important not to let
Them control your perceptions

Exceptionists are driven by
A goal that can’t be reached:
“Perfection,” which does not exist
It’s something only preached

They miss the message, can’t infer
Get stuck on one example
To them, it’s not the big picture
That’s key, it’s the small sample

By their thinking, there would be no
More Christians here on Earth
They’d have to quit because the few
Who lived life not with mirth

Millions would be called to leave
Their faith because the few
Who murdered, beat up, molested
And turned the faith askew

We’d all need to stop working out
For fear of injury
“I will not jog because I heard
Some guy blew out his knee”

And I have heard so many of
Their kind defend their smoking:
“I knew a guy who didn’t smoke
And still he wound up croaking”

Small-minded are these people
They can’t seem to infer
They always seem to gravitate
On points that will deter

They do not seem to get much done
‘Cause there’s always excuse
Something that will threaten their
Comfort and cause abuse

The warrior sees exceptions
As nothing more than fear
Warnings from the cowardly
Who can’t get ass in gear

They focus on the many who
Have faced a challenge and
Not allowed exceptions to
Scare them, but took a stand

Rose up, conquered, grew in strength
And said “Bring on the next”
All the while, exceptionist
Sits, watches and objects

                         ~Miro

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Exceptionists

“There are those whose sole claim to profundity is the discovery of exceptions to the rules.” ~Paul Eldridge

Exceptionists

There is a type of person that
I call “exceptionist”
They often miss the point and let
Their fear and doubt persist

Whenever there’s a message that
Inspires and empowers
Exceptionists have one example
That makes them all cower

That one exception which holds back
Which whispers “It won’t work”
When you encounter these doubters
Don’t let your feelings lurk

Be sure to remind them that there
Will always be exceptions
But it’s important not to let
Them control your perceptions

Exceptionists are driven by
A goal that can’t be reached:
“Perfection,” which does not exist
It’s something only preached

They miss the message, can’t infer
Get stuck on one example
To them, it’s not the big picture
That’s key, it’s the small sample

By their thinking, there would be no
More Christians here on Earth
They’d have to quit because the few
Who lived life not with mirth

Millions would be called to leave
Their faith because the few
Who murdered, beat up, molested
And turned the faith askew

We’d all need to stop working out
For fear of injury
“I will not jog because I heard
Some guy blew out his knee”

And I have heard so many of
Their kind defend their smoking:
“I knew a guy who didn’t smoke
And still he wound up croaking”

Small-minded are these people
They can’t seem to infer
They always seem to gravitate
On points that will deter

They do not seem to get much done
‘Cause there’s always excuse
Something that will threaten their
Comfort and cause abuse

The warrior sees exceptions
As nothing more than fear
Warnings from the cowardly
Who can’t get ass in gear

They focus on the many who
Have faced a challenge and
Not allowed exceptions to
Scare them, but took a stand

Rose up, conquered, grew in strength
And said “Bring on the next”
All the while, exceptionist
Sits, watches and objects

                                    ~Miro

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Perfecto’s Vault

“A man would do nothing if he waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault.”  ~John Henry Newman

Perfecto’s Vault

There once was an artist whose name
Reflected the work that he did
“Perfecto” was his name because
Imperfection is what he forbid

He worked as an artist and sculptor
Musician and filmmaker too
A writer, a poet, a dancer
Creative he was, through and through

But the problem was that young Perfecto
Just never could get things quite right
He wanted them perfect, and so
He worked on them all day and night

But Perfecto could never get works
To ever be without some flaws
“It has to be perfect to gain
The audience’s big applause!”

And so he kept tweaking and tweaking
But never could get it perfect
“It has to be just how I want it!
This artwork of me does reflect!”

And after way too much fine-tuning
Of it he eventually got sick
And so rather than unveil and let
A few of his viewers nitpick

He took it way down to his basement
And threw it into his steel vault
Along with all his other works
That had some sort of tiny fault

He slammed shut the door of the vault
And began to think of his next piece
Never once thinking it too
Would make his vault’s contents increase

Years later, when he was much older
And tried to store one more away
The vault’s door exploded wide open
And out spilled all of its cache

There he lay buried in pieces
That used to seem like they were flawed
But where once he’d been irritated
Now the old man was just awed

The years had done something to his eyes
No longer did he see the specks
All he saw was how amazing
Were all his abandoned projects

The joy and the wonder he got
Had suddenly made him admit
Perfecto had been very selfish
To think all his work was unfit

He understood there in that moment
Not everyone sees things the same
What one person thinks is imperfect
Another might loudly exclaim:

“I love it! It’s awesome! Fantastic!
I really enjoyed all your work!
Thank you for sharing it with me
And bringing to my face a smirk!”

And so Perfecto sat and cried
‘Cause all of his passion and talent
Lay on the floor of this dark basement
Because he had not been more gallant

To not care what others would think
About the work he had created
Drowning in work he now loved
That for silly reasons he had once hated

The end

———————————————————————————-

“Once you accept the fact that you’re not perfect, then you develop some confidence.”  ~Rosalynn Carter

Imperfecto’s Vault

There was a guy named “Imperfecto”
Who got the job done and kept going
His vault was empty because
He wasn’t afraid of flaws showing

The end

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Imperfecto’s Vault

Imperfecto’s Vault

There was a guy named “Imperfecto”
Who got the job done and kept going
His vault was empty because
He wasn’t afraid of flaws showing

The end

by

Perfecto’s Vault

Perfecto’s Vault

There once was an artist whose name
Reflected the work that he did
“Perfecto” was his name because
Imperfection is what he forbid

He worked as an artist and sculptor
Musician and filmmaker too
A writer, a poet, a dancer
Creative he was, through and through

But the problem was that young Perfecto
Just never could get things quite right
He wanted them perfect, and so
He worked on them all day and night

But Perfecto could never get works
To ever be without some flaws
“It has to be perfect to gain
The audience’s big applause!”

And so he kept tweaking and tweaking
But never could get it perfect
“It has to be just how I want it!
This artwork of me does reflect!”

And after way too much fine-tuning
Of it he eventually got sick
And so rather than unveil and let
A few of his viewers nitpick

He took it way down to his basement
And threw it into his steel vault
Along with all his other works
That had some sort of tiny fault

He slammed shut the door of the vault
And began to think of his next piece
Never once thinking it too
Would make his vault’s contents increase

Years later, when he was much older
And tried to store one more away
The vault’s door exploded wide open
And out spilled all of its cache

There he lay buried in pieces
That used to seem like they were flawed
But where once he’d been irritated
Now the old man was just awed

The years had done something to his eyes
No longer did he see the specks
All he saw was how amazing
Were all his abandoned projects

The joy and the wonder he got
Had suddenly made him admit
Perfecto had been very selfish
To think all his work was unfit

He understood there in that moment
Not everyone sees things the same
What one person thinks is imperfect
Another might loudly exclaim:

“I love it! It’s awesome! Fantastic!
I really enjoyed all your work!
Thank you for sharing it with me
And bringing to my face a smirk!”

And so Perfecto sat and cried
‘Cause all of his passion and talent
Lay on the floor of this dark basement
Because he had not been more gallant

To not care what others would think
About the work he had created
Drowning in work he now loved
That for silly reasons he had once hated

The end