#skills
You must've forgot,
how special you are,
Sparkling out loud,
like a powerhouse shooting star
Flying across the skies,
For, You've come very far,
You have many great talents,
From Saturn to Mars,
You've got it made,
People be just hating,
Instead of being soursops,
They need to be congratulating,
From the expert at least,
They need to Learn what you do
Not crying on the sidelines
Feeling so sad and blue
You just never know
You could learn something new
Get some good advice,
Criticism is good too, and
So, get out there and explore
that means a whole lot
I'd thought that I'd remind ya 😉
Cos, you must've forgot
B.R.
Date: 12/7/2025
Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 11:41 PM UTC
A bird without wings cannot fly,
Nor can it float or swim;
Without living it will die.
A bird without wings however still sings,
Songs of sorrow whose echoes ring.
A bird without wings is tragic indeed,
Lacking wings while possessing a mind.
What happens if a bird without wings
Is raised with others of its kind?
Does it believe itself to be normal,
And that birds with wings are hard to find?
Does it even know a wing exists,
That some can see above the mist?
If it can run fastest,
Does it grow up thinking it’s great?
And if it climbs a building,
Is it chosen by fate?
What happens when a bird without wings
Leaves its home and sees
A bird with wings and more abilities?
Does he look at it strange,
Like it has a disability,
Or does he look strangely at himself,
Amongst his newly-born vulnerabilities?
Does he go from thinking he’s great
To thinking he’s worthless,
Because he can run fast,
But he cannot touch the cloudy wisps?
Does he wonder why he wasn’t born with wings,
Why fate chose him to be?
Does he climb a building in an attempt to fly,
Knowing he can only fall from the sky,
Because what does it matter how beautiful a bird can sing,
If it happens to be a bird without wings?
Nov 5, 2025
Nov 5, 2025 at 2:22 PM UTC
In the darkness. The room condenses.
Collapses inward , inside a sleepless crumbling mind.
The space under the bed has become unbearable.
There should be a stillness...
should be .
Spoiling milk smell,
horrid.
Wet dragging
wretched limb twisting motions
tree branch shadowed , caught in between the lightnings’ bluish flashes.
Glimpses..
Something.
Perhaps pulling itself along
a fresh trail
unmistakable
on the old weathered floor boards.
There and then
not. A reflection in the shattered mirror.
...something … almost vibrational, twitching.
The glint of an eye, maybe
too large
unforgivably white,
too still to be
real .
The maddening scritching spastic sound of it
Too near,
too frequent…
The knife.
Yes ,... yes,
the knife...
Oct 14, 2025
Oct 14, 2025 at 11:02 PM UTC
I have these complicated feelings
they unfurl in my chest
begging to be let out
I release them from the ribcage
with a pen and paper
my poems are their escape
it makes me feel lighter
like happiness can fill me
instead of the dark curling tendrils
of despair
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 9:46 AM UTC
⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴ Ode to the Count De St. Germaine ⸎⟆
Dearest Count,
I know you watch and listen.
It is through you I set sail upon this ship of thoughts
To you, to whom, I christen.
These polysemic effulgence do, alas, waxen, wane,
but seldom in vain.
In antediluvian silence drawn,
manifests in hyperborean dearth
a logos, sir in autochthonous rebirth.
Their, hierophantic murmurs will obfuscate,
the omphalos of matter, still inchoate,
where perichoresis in vertiginous tide
the fractal that doth assuredly bide.
A palimpsest of null embrace
where these false augurs drink from hollowed urns,
and time itself forgets to turn.
Perfidious orisons, whisper-thin,
in circumflected aeons spin,
converging on the cusp of naught,
where paradigms in silence rot.
A chrysalis of paradox,
enshrouds the fey, unbridled clocks,
that chime in fugue, then dissipate
beyond the hinge of latent fate...
The pericombobulatory grand design
deliquesces in auctorial decline!
(Syncretic palingenesis unspools,
within the aether’s epistemic pools,
a syzygetic parallax unweaves
the thaumaturgic spoor that time bereaves.)
For naught but vacuous profundities remain,
a simulacrum of the arcane mundane,
where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies
a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise.
Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design,
circumvolute within paracryptic paradigms malign,
as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce
in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse.
Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse,
catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse,
whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite,
obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night.
A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast,
consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage
of our shared Jungian past,
germinates within the syntagmatic—
Ever relaxed or ecstatic,
Coalesced to pragmatic,
Lugubriously emphatic.
Within this hypostatized ratiocinative mire,
where sophronistic axiom and non-being conspire,
one finds but an echolalic, chimerical gleam,
an ontosemantic palinode to the dream.
The Archetype realized.
The Alchemist mystically re-materialized.
Count, oh Count.
"Wherefore art thou," indeed,
in this : our time of greatest need.
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 4:23 PM UTC
Let’s slow it down now
Let’s think about it first
We all possess the power
To maintain at our worst
Our bestest is only average
According to the algorithms
Crashing upon the shores
Of an artificial opinions..
Jan 25, 2025
Jan 25, 2025 at 8:16 AM UTC
Jack of all trades,
master of none,
but oftentimes better
than master of one.
Jan 15, 2025
Jan 15, 2025 at 4:56 AM UTC
Lick Not Bite
Where is the sale?
Hiding in the sky
Quick reach up
Get the sale now!
Poor agents no sale
Time for a meeting
Then coaching session
And call monitoring
Are they following?
Teach them then
Spoon feed them
So they get more sales
Aren’t outlying agents
With 0 or just 1 sale
With 7 or 8 or more
Poor little reps
Always stressed on calls
Pushed to extremes
Sales account joy!
Aug 19, 2024
Aug 19, 2024 at 9:23 AM UTC
I want to say something about cursive writing (this might seem random).
I’ve seen articles saying that cursive writing is a “dead art,” that computers have destined it for oblivion and questioning whether cursive writing should be taught in schools now-a-days.
But if you plan to go to college - relearn it and practice it, because you’ll need it.
Random hot fact. The first time you have to handwrite a multiple-question essay test - where each answer requires five hundred to a thousand words (a written page) - handwriting, in block letters, is unsustainable.
Your hand will literally cramp up - dog, you’ll suffer, your essays will suffer and so will your grade.
Writing in cursive is faster than block lettering and with a little practice, it’s effortless.
My sister told me this once, and this morning, as I watched other students, one third of the way into our essay test, grimacing and flexing their aching hands - I just smiled to myself.
Yeah, you can thank me later.
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 11:36 AM UTC
I am known to have several hobbies,
as I also have significant prowess in each.
Because in anything that I do
and whatever I want to try,
I always do it naturally and good
just like a bird taking flight.
When it comes to new interests,
I am simply the best student.
I learn and plan carefully with method
and execute flawlessly with madness.
Calling and pulling down rain like a God,
I water my passions like lilies in the garden.
When it comes to new knowledge,
I am a servant yet the queen of this village.
A newcomer gangster who rules the streets,
I am feared in every turn and corner.
Yet an overqualified maiden on the sheets,
I am tenderly adored and kissed better.
When learning about new languages,
I dedicate it only for the arts and letters.
Speak foreign words like it's teenage love,
I've sworn this is only on paper, not my lips.
Sing fluently like my head with heels above,
I swallow my pride and swing my hips.
When talking about arbitraries and goals,
I am never not in the know from the get-go.
I am an angel who sets and builds the stage,
when I show up, nobody feels the breeze.
Yet I am the devil that gambles and trades,
in my refusal everybody finds their release.
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 6:03 AM UTC
At dawn,
I comforted myself
by saying
there is still time.
At twilight,
I know
it had not been so.
To seek refuge
in the time that is left
is folly;
better to have done
than to have
thought of doing.
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 9:44 PM UTC
Your choice.
You choose.
Some you'll win.
Some you'll lose.
But at least you had the guys to choose.
Faced with a path, no end in sight.
Should I take the left or right?
Your choice.
You choose.
Remember, some you'll win.
Some you lose.
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC
I'm often reminiscent of times,
When my grandpa used to
Take me out on his bicycle,
We were just roaming around
His tunes always left me spellbound.
But it was so pure
He was one of those people for whom
Money held no allure
He was a man of passion and music,
He was a poet
But I didn't know it
He gave, not just with his words
But also his soul,
Even when he didn't have much control.
I would always ask him for a candy
I remember once he even gave me a sip of brandy
He never said no to me asking for a toy
He often considered me his blue-eyed boy
He would stop all his work and writing
Just to play with me outside,
Whether clear skies or lightning
Now that he's no more
I miss him and the lessons he tried to instil within me
But more than that
I often miss that genuine connection
With someone who understood so much,
But still cared enough to smile and laugh along
The man with a golden touch
With him, I was happy as the day is long.
The world will be a much better place
If we all could learn to live our life
With his grace.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 9:37 AM UTC
What do I have at my disposal?
A knack for always wanting to write
My intuitive messages down.
But it’s got no substance,
It’s got no meat.
I’m all bread and cheese and
Condiment without any meat.
It’s fitting for a vegan, I suppose,
But not for a poet.
The poet has to lead breadcrumbs
For the reader in order to get to the meat
Of the poem, the substance, the protein.
Where is it?
I’m lacking substance where I have all these
Nice little toppings and sauces and vegetables,
I have a dipping sauce for this sandwich,
But no meat!
I have to go to the store,
I have to keep honing my skill.
I have to develop a hunger for meat.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 6:53 PM UTC
You love to be sesquipidilian,
As you lay your tiles on to my board,
With your totally sheer sciolism,
Is how all of your big points are scored
Your intricate skills of tmesis,
Laid horizontal and vertically on my squares,
As you use your well thought out accoutrements,
To cover me so I'm no longer bare.
You never confabulate with opponents
Your attention's always fixated on me,
That's why I'm ebullient and awaiting your prestidigitation,
Each and every time you decide to play me.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 3:30 PM UTC
Humans engrossed in making missiles,
Signing deals for showing skills
Forgot masks while designing wheels.
And now its real, without ventilators
Reveals all the feel
And Make us repeal,
It isn’t the first time, of ordeal
and yet we don’t appeal
for the freel.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 3:53 PM UTC
Time flies on wings of lightning
When you love the things you do
So when you give to others
Give what is uniquely “YOU”
Your tasks will flow more sweetly
When you’re working from your heart
When following your passions
And you’re eager just to start
Each day do what is needed
But try to spend more time
Each day on using talents
And your wealth will start to climb
Increase your skills and learning
Every day learn something new
And let your path be guided
By what is uniquely “YOU”
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
I want to talk to you
And you and you too...
Filling the words in sentences i was fetching into...
Peace! I had great conversation last night
But it was not enough for rest of my life.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 11:44 PM UTC
You need some gas in the tank
in order to get to the gas station...
Sometimes you have to burn fuel to get more fuel... Just don't burn through it all
before refilling, and don't refill
without using some... You dont want to
burn out empty or blow up and explode...
Dont worry about speed, as its limits vary,
but finding balance over the
bumpy roads of life - the ups and downs -
thats where the best moments are made.
The bumps, holes, and uneven streets
are part of the route to your destination, racetrack, and life journey...
So if all you have
is a little bit of gas, just above the "E,"
its all you need to get from Point A to Point B.
(even flat tires are temporary)
(you dont need a license to live)
(yes, I dragged this)
(catch my drift?)
(just drive)
@desire.is.dope
20190303
0050HRS
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 12:58 AM UTC