Tag Archives: ego

Passion vs Prick

12 Jun

Passion vs Prick

There was a guy who liked to bark
And shout at everyone
When it came to being rude
He wouldn’t be outdone

“That’s just his way,” folks would defend
“He’s just so passionate”
So treating everyone like dirt
Was something they’d permit

But passion doesn’t come from where
Impatience and hate lays
Disrespect and egotism
Aren’t traits it displays

Just because one’s passionate
Does not give an excuse
To ridicule a helping hand
And let the insults loose

So one day this passionate guy
Who always was so crass
Got too passionate and made
Himself look like an ass

He flailed his arms around and screamed
And threw a hissy fit
Until even his biggest fan
Had to fully admit

“That guy’s a prick! How could we be
So blind to all his antics?
We’ve pandered to his attitude
With well-meaning semantics

But now we see it doesn’t matter
How much he does care
It doesn’t matter if he’s got
Talent that is so rare

He’s just a prick, and that does not
Give him the right to be
Snide and brash and cynical
And scream like a banshee!”

And so this passionate prick’s crew
Began to dissipate
And he was left to be alone
With passion and with hate

His creative despondency
His pessimistic skill
His talent, vision, and genius
But no help to fulfill

‘Cause no one wants to work with pricks
Who only disrespect
Passion only goes so far
If ego isn’t checked

                          ~Miro

The Egotist

5 Feb

The Egotist

There once was a person who took
Themselves too seriously
Their uptight behaviour was wrought
In the name of being artsy

Their work focused all on themselves
On their torment and strife and their woes
A message of darkness and dread
Is what all of their work did propose

Hours and hours of thought
Put into the things that offended
But missing a final redemption 
No mention of things that were splendid

No mission of nourishing hope
Through color or sculpture or prose
No mention of beautiful coda 
Only the difficult throes

Spreading their ache to whoever
Would bother to listen to them
Maybe those few hoped to find
An inspirational gem

But all that they found were the cries
Of a tortured and tormented soul
Nothing to invigorate
Or empower, stir or console

A few may have felt just the same
And wallowed along with the scribe
Creating a miserable horde
Of people who only subscribe

To the idea that everything’s hopeless
The practice of self-pitying
Never wanting to move forward
To the past is to what they’d all cling

And then there are those who will say
“This kind of thing isn’t for me”
They balk at the darkness and dread
And from then on whenever they see

Some kind of artistic endeavor
They think back to how that last piece
Did nothing to make their enjoyment
Of life on this planet increase

Egotists just want reaction
“You can’t only have joyful views!”
But if it’s destruction you want
I’d recommend watching the news

It’s there every night on TV
Right there in your own living room
Murders and wars and disasters
The everyday six o’clock gloom

Artists do have the rare privilege
Of controlling moods they incite
Why would an artist depress
When instead they could help ignite?

The spirit of hope within someone
To give them the strength to push on
To be a supportive companion
When they feel that all hope is gone

Artists, take heed of this warning
Be mindful what message you send
Within your artwork or your writings
You may be creating a trend

Of work that does no good for others
Or you may be creating a stigma
That art is depressing and weird
In your journey to be an enigma

I hear so many folks say
They’re surprised that my writing has soul
That there’s wisdom and courage within
And that inspiration’s my goal

Surprised, because of how much
Negative work they’ve all seen
So don’t be a part of the problem
Be a part of the vaccine

Don’t be an Egotist
And focus just on your own plight
Be an Artist and use
Your talents to awaken might

                                   ~Miro

Sensitive vs Fragile

28 May

Sensitive vs Fragile

“So sensitive!” the phrase is used
When ‘feelings’ do get hurt
The idea sensitivity
Is bad does disconcert

Sensitive is vital
It’s a show of empathy
Awareness of what’s going on
In others, not just “me”

But ‘sensitive’ too often comes
With armor far too thin
Fragility; so quick to wound
No leather, just soft skin

To have great sensitivity
But also heavy shield
Is empathy and endurance
Only the wisest wield

To be awake, aware, attuned
But also withstand fire
To see the ugliness and wrong
To wade through the quagmire

With hands that do not tremble and
With voice that’s stern and steady
With deep breaths slow, deliberate
And clear mind, sharp and ready

Only 1 in 100
Aren’t triggered and don’t crack
Only few are sensitive
While still immune to flak

Because they have discarded the
Weak plate that posed a threat
To the integrity of their defense:
The ego’s fret

Be sensitive, awake, aware
Be mindful, but not frail
Fragility will cause these gifts
To lead to no avail

                           ~Miro

The Root of All Fears

11 Aug
The Root of All Fears
 
There was a man ‘was ‘fraid of death
It spread to all this thoughts
The fear of breathing his last breath
Left his thin will in knots
 
The fear of that dark, patient reaper
Was root of all dread
Every scare, funk, fright and doubt
Was thanks to Mr. Dead
 
He lived out his entire life
In fear of his demise
And when it came, with his last breath
And closing of his eyes
 
Still he clung by fingernails
And wheezed for leniency
But Death is absolutely fair
And never shows mercy
 
There was a gal ‘was ‘fraid of death
It coloured every day
Despite a stunning canvas
Death would taint life with dismay
 
Every single moment had
A mark of coming doom
A marriage, child’s birth, even
A flower in full bloom
 
Every wondrous moment rotted
With the thought of loss
Nothing took away the fear
No bible, no gold cross
 
No quotes, no books, no meditation
Eased her of her fear
One day her heart exploded when
The Reaper did appear
 
There was a child ‘was ‘fraid of death
That fear was planted early
Her mommy and her daddy said
That death turned straight hair curly
 
They taught her death was to be feared
Because loss causes pain
And also taught that happiness
Is only when you gain
 
And so she grew and gained and was
Quite happy ‘till she lost
But then she gained again which caused
A thawing of the frost
 
Until the day that Mr. Dead
Arrived on her front door
She dropped and sobbed in terror for
Her coda on the floor
 
There was a Warrior ‘was not
Afraid of death and so
Since death is the root of all fears
His life did not have woe
 
He made his peace with Mr. Dead
And said “When you are ready”
And lived each day as though his last
With power, poise, steady
 
The ones who lived in fear
The ones who were afraid to die
Called him crazy as they tainted
Flowers and the sky
 
But Warrior, his deal made firm
Saw colours bright and vivid
No tainting, simply pure and true
Which made the normals livid
 
Each moment, no matter how small
Was special and serene
Impending doom did not besmirch
The red and blue and green
 
When Mr. Dead chose to collect
The price we all must pay
The Warrior settled the fee
Promptly as he did say
 
“As it so happens I woke up
This morning and did ponder
This may be my final day
And so I should not squander
 
I lived it as each other day
As if were my last
I pay the toll with no regrets
My life has been quite vast”
 
Mr. Dead collected and
The Warrior did die
Just like all the others but
The Reaper gave a sigh
 
“If only all would live while they
Still breathe instead of fear
Such a waste, to let my toll
Rob them of all their cheer”
 
                       ~Miro

The Myth of Multitasking: How Phones Destroy Focus

6 Jul

No Borders

16 Dec

No Borders

A Warrior mind is not constrained by limits, they are free
Open minds not limited by nationality
When fellow countrymen do well, the normals swell with pride
For them, proximity is all it takes to be a guide

The normals are a disconnected breed and so they seek
What is near and familiar, not what has a mystique
They’re limited by family, religion, gender, skin
Their tiny place upon the map determines all their kin

A Warrior has broken down these limits and now sees
Past buildings, mountains, borders, deserts, tundras, oceans, trees
Connected to a countryman with different skin and hair
Linked to family with different clothing and footwear

United with a people who speak different dialects
Where normals call them “foreigners,” a Warrior connects
Normals think their customs are so strange, bizarre and odd
Based upon the filter of their country and their God

But Warriors are open and such filters don’t prevent
The pure essence of what the world’s differences represent
No hometown pride for Warriors because the *world* is home
Filled with brothers and sisters no matter where they roam

No culture, no ethnicity, no silly little creed
No narrow definitions upon which must be agreed
The Warrior is limitless and cannot be defined
Nomads trying to unite a fractured, proud mankind

                                                    ~Miro

Warrior Indigestion

14 Jul

indigestion

Warrior Indigestion

As years go by, our bodies change and how we handle food
Changes due to indigestion and we must exclude
Those things we could consume with no effort in younger days
Those same things now cause heartburn and set intestines ablaze

For Warriors, there are some foods which no longer digest
Within the fiery pit that burns intensely in our chest
Things like whining cause a gag reflex within our maw
Laying blame elicits vomit shooting from our jaw

Having no accountability gives us the runs
Laziness to do the work sprays liquid from our buns
“1st World Problem” stress does not sit right within our gut
Lack of gratitude for blessings makes us puke somewhat

Pursuit of shallow status such as money, job and cars
Does not agree with stomachs decorated with old scars
The selfie/ego/snowflake generation gives us gas
Because our diet is made up of iron, steel and brass

Fire goes down easy, problems quench our intense thirst
Pain’s a yummy snack that we could gorge on ‘till we burst
Lighting is dessert and storms are delectable meals
We’re nourished by what makes most sick: challenges and ideals

Sacrifice and work, accountability and grace
With empathy and bravery is how we stuff our face
We’ll pass on all the fear and weakness buffets that most feast
They may slake appetites of sheep, but don’t nourish a beast

                                                  ~Miro