Tag Archives: singer

A Little Help

12 Sep

In appreciation of all of the people who have recently reblogged, shared and spread the word about my writing:

A Little Help

There was a wise man who once sang
Of the means to his ends
He harmonized, “I’ll get by with
A little help from my friends”

There was another sage who had
A “Message” to get home
The line that stuck out most to me:
“I’m nothing on my own”

These brilliant men achieved success
But would have come up short
If they did not have all their friends
To strengthen and support

Now most of us will only think
That means when someone moves
Lifting heavy furniture
And everything that proves

But I think that there’s more to it
It’s in the fine details
Little things we overlook
Picks who succeeds and fails

Moments that were spared so that
We could provide a hand
Even though we were “busy”
Promoting our own brand

A weekday night out at the club
To see a singing pal
Hold a disc release party
And help boost their morale

Taking a minute to call
The local radio
And telling them your friend’s new tune
On the airwaves should go

Grabbing lunch at your friend’s diner
Instead of some franchise
That has over a billion served
And doesn’t need more buys

Picking up a copy of
The book that your friend wrote
And not just that, but telling others
Helping to promote

Spreading word about the talent
That your friends possess
Not just telling other friends
But going to the press

How many have called the news
Or written to a station?
And how many were too “busy”
Planning next vacation?

Just seems to me that most people
Spend just far too much time
On themselves to be able
To help another’s climb

That’s why it’s so good to see
When some creative folks
Go out of their own way to gather,
Influence and coax

Other people who come out
And support their friend’s act
Just a little help from friends
And success will attract

                                 ~Miro


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Imperfecto’s Vault

30 Aug

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

Perfecto’s Vault

30 Aug

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