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The Mileage

14 Dec

The Mileage

A common theme among my songs is breaking from the herd
Encouraging to step back, analyze through rhyming word
To scrutinize the silliness the crowd perpetuates
Rejecting how the lazy masses follow dire straits

Here is one example of what everybody does:
When someone dies, the first thing mentioned isn’t what he was
It isn’t what she believed in, nor what he did create
There beside his or her name…a silly little date

A whole life summed up in numbers as if to quantify
But those with more mileage than years have learned that numbers lie
How silly, stupid, crazy, empty, ignorant and blind
To not be summed up by passion, but by *years* be defined

Do me this one favour when the reaper comes, my dear
Don’t let them write, “Miro, 1976 up to this year”
‘Cause I have lived ten lifetimes worth in happiness and pain
In suffering and joy, intensity, power and strain

Write “Miro, Warrior Poet” or “Miro, Honest Writer”
Write “Miro, Took No Shit” or “Miro, Lover, Joker, Fighter”
Do me that one favour and do what I’ve always done
When you see silly, stupid shit, don’t just let it slide, hun

Speak up, state your case and if some feathers ruffle, swell!
Personal offense is often the ego’s death knell
Don’t go along, don’t follow, try harder than “RIP”
Heart and soul can’t be summed up with “1” or “2” or “3”

                                               ~Miro

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Some Choose Hell

25 Mar

some choose hell

Some Choose Hell

The children sat in class while teacher offered them the choice:
“Little ones, who wants to work and who wants to rejoice?”
All the children ‘cept for one jumped up and squealed with glee
All except that one who did not follow or agree

“Izbor?” Teacher asked, “Why do you sit at desk so stern?”
Young Izbor gave him a sly glare, “Because that’s how I learn”
While all the children were dismissed to run outside and play
Izbor sat at his desk with his pen and worked away

Some years later, on his way back home along with mates
A storm ensued which caused the violent crashing of their straits
“It’s best if we turn back the way we came!” they all cried out
Izbor, on the other hand, chose not to wait for drought

He strapped himself tight to his raft and withstood the storm’s rage
And as he did so often, his mileage excelled his age
Several days would pass before his mates would make their way
Safely back to home while whining of sore feet all day

“Oh, my legs are aching” one complained, “I’m in great pain!
Just a few more steps and I fear I’ll suffer a sprain!”
Another moaned, “The sun’s so hot! My skin is turning pink!
When I get home I cannot wait to sleep after a drink!”

As they walked into town they spotted Izbor, bruised and cut
“You managed to survive the storm!” Izbor replied, “Somewhat”
He then walked by and left the town, they asked, “Where are you going?”
“I’ve been here now for several days and do feel myself slowing”

They shook their heads and called him mad, “He always chooses worst!
To not enjoy this peaceful town, that Izbor must be cursed!”
As the years went by his friends grew soft and slow and weak
They laughed as they reminded him, “The world goes to the meek!”

“They can have it,” Izbor said as he sharpened his blade
And set off into the dark forest on his lone crusade
To hunt down and to kill the crazed tiger that feasted on
Three young girls and their mother shortly after the dawn

Izbor found the tiger drinking from a little creek
He drew his sword and beckoned, “Prey on someone who’s not weak”
The tiger took as much from Izbor as he took from beast
And for a moment Izbor saw white light and felt released

A great and powerful being stood before Izbor and
The battered tiger, leaned forward and then outstretched his hand
He pointed to the tiger and he boomed, “To hell with you!”
The tiger sprung towards the flaming gates and then leapt through

The great Judge turned but Izbor had already made his choice
He walked towards the burning gates with resolve in his voice
“Save your clouds and golden harps for those who have no spine
For those who cry, lament, complain, who beg and plead and whine”

“The harder path has always been the one which built my power
Give my spot in Heaven to some worm who likes to cower”
“So be it,” the Judge replied as Izbor entered Hell
And did just as he always had; to conquer and to quell

The ruler in the burning land took notice and looked close
“What the Hell is that?” he asked, for Izbor did engross
“Who’s this man that chooses Hell when ease was in his reach?
Who’s this man that feels the burning pain but does not screech?”

Those around Izbor did suffer in eternity
But Izbor did not suffer, unlike them, Izbor was free
Because he never gave power to any circumstance
Nothing was a problem to Izbor, simply a chance

To fight, endure, to conquer and to be challenged once more
“He’s missed the point of this whole place!” the burning ruler swore
“Get him the Hell out of here!” the horned tyrant ordained
And that is how not even Hell could keep Izbor contained

                                            ~Miro

“Only” Human

20 Mar

only human

“Only” Human

There were two human brothers who were named Keelav and Stirn
Keelav thought himself as limited and did not yearn
His brother, though, saw potential that coursed through all his veins
He recognized the power and wisdom by he who trains

Keelav sighed and often said, “I’m only human, right?”
He thought his bone and sinew were a hindrance, a plight
Stirn, however, saw himself as something greater than
He’d often say, “This challenge will be conquered, fore I’m MAN!”

As years did pass, Keelav grew lazy and increased in girth
“I’m only human,” he would sigh, belittling own worth
Stirn, however, honed his muscles which sharpened his mind
He’d say, “I’m ALL OF human, to potential I’m not blind”

And Keelav would dismiss his brother, saying, “Well, that’s YOU!”
Wanting it both ways, to claim that all humans imbue
A sense of limits and failure, while Stirn was the exception
“I disagree,” bold Stirn would say, “you have a weak perception”

Stirn told of the Warriors who had come before him
All those with great strength and focus no matter how grim
He listed off great generals, great scholars, teachers, guards
Men who were indomitable, the soldiers and the bards

“Well that’s just them,” Keelav dismissed, and then Stirn did accept
That Keelav’s problem wasn’t “human,” something else had crept
Into his mind and taken hold, the parasite of fear
The gluttonous leech which saps our innate strength year after year

“Only,” Stirn said softly, “that one word has held you back
It’s kept you meek and docile whenever there’s attack
It’s your cry of retreat whenever your wits have been tested
And it is why you’ve always failed and floundered and been bested

The ‘only’ thing you’ve ‘only’ done is ‘only’ chosen to
‘Only’ ignore what is right and natural and true
You’re ‘only’ lazy, ‘only’ scared and ‘only’ miserable
You see yourself as empty when the truth is that you’re full”

Keelav wept and cried as Stirn departed, “Forgive me!
I’m only human!” Keelav sobbed and dropped down to his knee
Stirn walked on and did not stop and never did return
For years his reprimand echoed in Keelav’s mind and burned

“Only this and only that,” he pondered and he dwelled
“ONLY THIS AND ONLY THAT!” he seethed and fumed and yelled
“Only this…and only that…” he whispered and he sighed
“Only this…and…only…that…” he closed his eyes and died

                                     ~Miro

Sting

8 Nov

Sting

A man called me to ask for help the other day at work
He asked, “You like this crappy weather?” surely with a smirk
“Yes,” I said with no emotion, “I enjoy rough things
With struggle and with discomfort and with whatever stings
And pains and tears and hurts us, we are brought more strength and grace”
He asked if I was kidding but he could not sense a trace
Of sarcasm or humor in my voice so then he said:
“How old are you?” and I replied “36 years I’ve tread”
He laughed and dismissed, “Oh that’s why, you’re still just a young pup”
And so to show him age means nothing, I then caught him up
“I’ve been hurt bad and am in pain, I’ve lost job and my house
And worst of all, I had to watch my loving, graceful spouse
Endure the worst pain there could be when we found out our child
Would never take its first breath, yes, I’m young but I’ve complied
More pain and struggle, misery and loss in my short years
Than many grey-haired people have in their longer careers”
He sadly said “I’m sorry” but I replied “I am not
It’s all these things that I’ve endured that strengthened, sharpened, taught
Imbued with patience, wisdom, grace and showed me the true way
That is why it is no lie whenever I do say
That I enjoy the challenge, struggle, discomfort and rigor
It’s all these things that awaken, that inspire, that trigger
The Warrior that was dormant to pound chest and to roar
To rise to the occasion and to take a little more”
All that he could say was that he liked my attitude
I asked him what he thought of all the snow that chilled his mood
He changed his mind and said that it was not so bad in fact
“No,” I said, “There are worse things that cause greater impact”
Before he left, I asked him just how old he was as well
“54” he said, then I inquired, “How much hell?”
“Not as much as you,” he said, so I replied, “Well then
If you are lucky, struggle will appear and bring you Zen
And only then will you see that the years don’t mean a thing
Rather, it’s what you survive, the hurt, the pain, the sting”

                                                   ~Miro

Birthday Warrior

5 Nov

Birthday Warrior

A birthday’s just another day that makes me stand apart
From other normals who fear that they’ll become an old fart
I do not hide my age when asked, I don’t say, “Nevermind!”
I’m proud of every year I’ve lived, even the ones unkind
I’m proud of every silver strand that grows into my mane
I’m proud of vascularity, each big, protruding vein
I’m proud of every grey whisker that grows into my beard
Every wrinkle, ache and pain and other thing that’s feared
By those who wish time would stand still, A WARRIOR am I
The passing of the hour glass does not make this man cry
For time is precious, every year that’s passed has been a gift
And I appreciate it more now that it goes by swift
Load the cake with candles, the inferno won’t scare me
To dread a birthday makes one an ingrate to high degree
Joke about, “You’re getting old!” I’ll joke back, “I’ve endured!
And will continue to do so, my passion can’t be cured!”
They’ll warn, “Oh wait ‘till you slow down, oh wait ‘till you’re like me!”
“NEVER!” I’ll quickly reply, “A WARRIOR is me!”
Never bowing to defeat, never giving an inch
With every candle on the cake I will not cringe or flinch
“Bring it on!” the Warrior says, all things which pose a threat
“Bring it on because you have not seen anything yet!”

                                           ~Miro

Warrior Whip

3 Nov

“With hope it’s possible.” ~Fitz “The Whip” Vanderpool

Warrior Whip

They told him that he couldn’t do it, “Sorry you’re too old”
Little did they realize this Warrior was bold
The naysayers and doubters scoffed and said it was too late
But he silenced them all and showed no one controls your fate

Nobody can tell you what you aren’t capable of
Nobody can convince you that you can’t rise above
Unless you let them take away your focus and your hope
The Champ trudged on and proved he is still Royalty of Rope

He fought a man that’s fifteen years younger and took it all
Through flurries, jabs and uppercuts the Whip not once did fall
With heart, intensity and focus and experience
The Whip proved every single one of his doubters were dense

He proved to anyone who’s gotten used to wanting less
He proved to everyone who’d rather not deal with the stress
He proved to each and every person who thinks that you can’t
That anything is possible if your feet you just plant

Take a stand and disagree with what they have to say
Refuse to be silenced, swept under rug and go away
This Warrior’s an inspiration that if you believe
In yourself and abilities, your goals you will achieve

Happy Birthday, Champ!

Much love & respect

http://www.vanderpoolfitness.ca

Grey

7 Oct

Grey

Grey hairs are a fact of life, there’s no reason to fret
With each new strand that has no hue I never get upset
I don’t see them as representing that I’m getting older
Instead they are a testament that I am growing bolder
Just as weathering will score a proven tank in battle
The silver strands that grace my temples show that I won’t rattle
Ashen stubble on my chin is no concern of mine
It just means that when trouble comes I bear instead of whine
Greys are badges from the years of having persevered
With every strand of pigment lost, there’s one less thing I’ve feared
Why would someone go and use some dye to hide the fact
That they’ve survived and proceed to withstand the world’s impact?
Salt and pepper is a way of telling everyone
That the battle’s half way through and so far you have won
The amount of greys that you have on your head directly shows
That when the going got real tough, your Warrior arose
For grey’s the color of a fighter, one who won’t back down
The prize for bearing through it all: a granite tinted crown
I’m thankful that as years go by my dark mane changes tone
That both my hairdo and resolve together tint to stone
So next time you see greys peak out from within your fine locks
Don’t fret over losing youth, embrace your silver fox
It’s the color of experience, clarity and poise
Leave the red and blonde and brown for little girls and boys

                                            ~Miro