"proficient" poems
You taught me how to be pro,
It's not like I was ever proficient,
Tibbers goes where he pleases.
But of course you knew that,
You've always been 100 percent-
Cheesey. And because of that,
You sound silly all the time.
Well, okay maybe that's a lie.
But you are a true goof ball.
And I know I'm a dork, but
You catch me when I fall.
And I love that about you.
Shh, that's supposed to be a secret.
Oh yeah, I mean.. it's not like I meant it.
We all know he's an idiot, right?
Wrong. But I won't keep going on.
What am I saying? My words are all over-
The place. Look me straight in the face.
I want you to know that I want to embrace-
You. But I'll give you your space, it's okay.
I don't need it.
My heart is
Complacent.
You are my-
Inspiration.
To land that stun.
You know I will.
We'll get the ****
Don't say you're done.
We got this Thunder Lord,
Now don't be blunt.
Tell me your opinons,
You know I want to hear em'
Whether it's about past topics,
Or about what I'm writing.
Tell me what you think about-
Anything, just don't get toxic.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
she is
a very naughty girl
she never follows
policy to the letter
she always
does the wrong thing
she needs some discipline
she's proficient
at defying the law
she knows not how
to get the message
she doesn't
listen intently enough
she fills many charge sheets
with her misconduct
she is a girl
with a streak of wickedness
she has all the hallmarks
of someone who is naughty
I speak of Ursula
in the above list of bad deeds
and there is a hope
that her bad deeds
can be quickly remedied
the hand of an authority figure
will bring her back into line
as she has too often
strayed from that line
whence appropriate corrections
are implemented
all her behavioral problems
shall be circumvented
then and only then
a change will eventuate
and she'll no longer
be showing her bad traits
really naughty girls
such as Ursula
can become more like
a pleasant seaside peninsula
watching her radical transformation
shall be a sight to see
so we'll keep our eyes focused
on what Ursula shall soon be
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
when the proficient poison of sure sleep
bereaves us of our slow tranquillities
and He without Whose favour nothing is
(being of men called Love)upward doth leap
from the mute hugeness of depriving deep
with thunder of those hungering wings of His,
into the lucent and large signories
—i shall not smile,beloved;i shall not weep:
when from the less-than-whiteness of thy face
(whose eyes inherit vacancy)will time
extract his inconsiderable doom,
when these thy lips beautifully embrace
nothing
and when thy bashful hands assume
silence beyond the mystery of rhyme
6.3k
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé
So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me
I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation
Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine
I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights
I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads
I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best
Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade
I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player
While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two
Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing
Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
(I hate poets.
They annoy me deeply.)
I.
There are the balladeers,
Working in service of their inner Service,
(Though, despite the seeming impossibility,
Their hackneyed verse is even worse)
Creating tortuous rhyme
Which slows down labyrinthine narratives
Ending up in some deus ex machine
So implausible that it would make Euripides blush
(Most often courtesy of some unforeseen projectile
Or sudden viral contagion;
Would that their creators meet such a fate!)
II.
I come not to praise the so-called sonneteers,
But to bury them.
They are an earnest lot,
(Lord knows that they are earnest)
And they will make their fourteen lines rhyme
(Though sometimes the rhyme scheme screams for mercy)
And hang the cost.
Though their narratives are head-scratching things,
And their iambs proceed with the steadiness
Of a nonagenarian church pianist
Doing her damndest to fight the wedding march to a draw,
They are content, nay, proud of their work
Because babble rhymes with Scrabble
(Though they are not particularly proficient with the latter,
They have the former down to an art.)
III.
Let us not forget the Buk-zombies,
Those apostles of aphorism,
Most of whom speak of their departed deity
As if he were an old drinking buddy
(Never mind that most of them were two or three
Or perhaps not even a bad idea
In the back seat of some mom’s Buick
When he exited this mortal plane, stage left, even.)
One’s mind is boggled whilst considering
The expanse of the bar required to accommodate
Everyone who would like to
(Or worse, have claimed to)
Buy old Charlie a beer, not that he’d stand for a round.
They are a sullen horde, this lot,
Best dealt with by aiming for the base of the skull.
IV.
Ah, the confessionals, Lord have mercy upon their souls
(For they shall have none upon ours.)
They feel so many things so deeply
As such things have never been felt before
(They have not read their Sexton, their Snodgrass,
Their Lowell, their Pl--well, no,
They have all read their Plath.)
It is, from the moment they arise in the morning
Until such time they set aside their fears and let sleep take them,
All too much for them,
And they bravely face the days
Until such time they care bear to take action
And fling themselves from some convenient precipice.
We should, as a service to them and ourselves,
Ensure the soles of their shoes
Are sufficiently worn and slippery.
(I hate poets.
They annoy me deeply.)
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
There's an autistic guy
sitting in the booth next to me,
he works in a different zone,
but they keep piling loads
of meticulous **** on him
& he does it lickity split
with a smile on his face.
Who knew he'd be
so proficient.
Funny, it's no joke
how the rest of my
coworkers whine
when they don't
get their smoke break
with so much
of their work
left to do.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
i want to be that interesting girl
i want to be proficient with words
is it so selfish to want to be admired?
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
Inside the machine, the mechanism turns --
Spokes and gears, built from lessons learned.
But the gears are rusting, not turning so smooth.
So the product they yearned;
Would be one the thing they would lose.
The gears still rusting, not turning so smooth.
Placed inside were the finest reactants --
Ordered specific for the upper-class faction.
But the gears are rusting, not turning so smooth.
So the machine produced no more than a fraction...
Far from proficient for the hunger to be soothed.
The gears still rusting, not turning so smooth.
Inside they found some things unexpected.
The outside was fine – yet, the inside dejected.
They found the gears rusting, not turning so smooth.
So they closed her back up, left the rusting neglected.
And maybe for the best, for the machine had been abused.
The gears still rusting, not turning so smooth.
But the rust bore down, wearing the gears.
Until the machine had seen her final years.
The gears still rusting, had stopped turning smooth.
She closed her eyes and her ears, to free her from her fears.
For they learned from the machinist, and chose simply to lose.
The gears still rusting; not turning, however smooth.
So they fixed her up inside, with some tape and some lies.
But she refused to move -- for the machine was now wise.
The gears were no longer rusting, yet not turning smooth.
The diagnosis unclear, they said “Everything dies."
But the machine had learned the ability to choose.
And her gears no longer rusted, yet never turned smooth.
This path showed her poise -- her new eyes, ears and voice.
To exclaim that her gears had stopped turning by choice.
Outside they found shine, but inside laid the rust,
Festering, growing, and being taught to mistrust.
Until the machine could no longer function --
Though the catalyst was no more than a simple deduction:
The gears no longer turned, regardless of how smooth,
But that's simply the product of a machine left to choose.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
When Dorothy trod the paths of Oz
Her companions were deficient:
One lacked Courage,
One lacked brains,
One was heartless, but
Ax Proficient.
She was an illegal alien,
from Kansas, of all
places!
Imagine, when she and
Toto came-
the look on people’s faces.
Still that was seventy years ago.,
In another place and time-
Just before we went to war
against evil personified.
If Dorothy, today,appeared
with a similar convocation
The Wizard might mistake them
for a Congressional Delegation
For lack of brain and heart and spine
Our Congress is more than sufficient-
Some lack Courage, some lack brains
Some are heartless but
tax proficient
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:41 AM UTC
You have to laugh a little at yourself when you've made so many attempts
to appear calm and strong, proficient and valuable.
Of course,
No one knows
about the self-help revolution's expansion on your bookshelf,
the super soul Sundays, the power poses, and happiness
exercises you commit to mentally.
You try so hard to hide your flaws and bad behavior.
It feels so revealing to go out with naked face.
You talk alot about Jesus being your savior,
there's a desire deep down to feel strentghened
and touched and feel loved like that
but for some reason you feel like a phony
thus underserving. Even though
when someone gives you a big tip in East Texas
you kinda ponder if
God is
looking out for you.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
The cold never bothered me
the snow and ice never fazed
the days of early childhood
never left me dazed.
The rain was always pleasant
it brought joy to my senses
the sight of damp stone walls
were my images of fences.
The summer days spent swimming
first - like a dog might do
but I became proficient
once the summer days were through.
Autumn days were magic
colored leaves came drifting down
jumping into heaps of them
was delightful I soon found.
Seasons of a growing boy
lodged deep in memory
printed here for you to read
thanks for sharing it with me.
Nov 6, 2021
Nov 6, 2021 at 12:44 AM UTC
"You're such an extrovert!" They loudly claim
"I'm nothing but a loner" I secretly say
...
..
.
loneliness is the most familiar feeling of them all. i'm a thinker. i sometimes wish i weren't. but i am. i constantly feel like i am detached from everyday life. too much of an analyser to immerse myself in it without feeling like i'm acting. i have always felt and still feel lonely. the odd one out amongst siblings. the only child of a mother's second marriage. the people in my life are too different to bond beyond shallow communication. i love my family and friends but our connection is too superficial for my needs. even though i go out, i laugh and play the part, i sometimes feel that something is missing. i sometimes feel that no one really knows the real me. i don't even know if i know the real me. sixth form is now over and i am starting uni next week. will i continue to feel this lonely? being depressed and suicidal at home whilst being ms perfect at school was my reality for the past 7 years. i can't believe how proficient i have become at hiding my feelings and expressing only what i want to express. no matter how hard i try to let loose and stop overthinking, i find no one else like me in my life. i feel like i have nothing in common with anyone. i feel trapped in a world that judges me at every turn and yet never bothers to try to help or understand.
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
Innuendoes were woven within each pressure
point of his embrace upon her being, oral
expressions were versed within probing
fingers as they were proficient in understanding.
Stimulating her positions of enjoyment, murmurs
were the braille of his perception, and he read her
well before even a touch was entitled upon.
Waiting moments had counted down to this joining.
As lips wandered like a Shepard herding the feelings of
her body to points she hadn't realized, he collected all her
urges in a inception of gathering dew, that he tasted with
haste. Fingers were a delicacy from her origin to his emotions.
Her breath upon his lips sticky as tongues delivered silent
messages to another's attention, woven silk was moist
between accents of loves intentions. No words were spoken
only the smiles of elation that swam in each others eyes.
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
The first birds sang,
Welcoming the morning light
While simultaneously singing
Goodnight to the moonlight
Salutations from the crashing of tides,
Waves lugubriously swaying
Goodbye to the stars that died
The moon has went away
And now is the suns turn to play
Clouds proficient and prompt
Part ways for rays to shine through
Grass meets the morning new
With a sprinkled shower,
Fresh droplets of dew
An hour of rush,
The breeze blows into town
Shakes with the brush,
The leaves tremble by the touch of the gust
The shiny yellow toy in the sky
Reveals itself and brings joy to the land
Its common fellow
Replenishing regards to the ground
Once charred by lightning at large
Flowers bustle to bloom,
The scent of pollen
Fills the wilderness room
Rivers race frantically down stream,
Until rindling off and becoming
Unwildly mild
Glistening glaciers gracefully
Fall into the frigid frozen sea,
Escalating to a depth where
Only darkness can strive to be
All that it can't see
This is where quakes occur
In the trenches of the mariana deep,
And this happens
All while I'm asleep
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
Transcendentally existential in-extremis extremity nuance. Vicinity victual vigilante villain. Propinquity habitation harbinger harangued. Clairaudience clairvoyance agilely dexterous acuity, tactile coordination. Feral phrenic frenzied **** Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma. 29th Psalm some holy spirit, the angel was a vision of resplendent beauty as it hovered in mid air above the knoll. Apex axis crux and citadel pinnacle's peak. And yet I would distance traveled time spent like to mitigate this of in to you. What then is the essence of metaphysical mystique. I say lets ethereally sublime be mesmerically enrapturing. Ecstatically euphoric and climactically ******** Let your vicarious recalcitrance revel in the prolific profuseness of my profundity as we lavish in our wanton abandon. Though paw flaw laws are to claws aimed craw, horsefeathers are more proficient and surreal on the salaciously seductive.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:50 AM UTC
There's the flower blossoming
And there's my sweetheart
All my life I wished more luck
Never anticipated such fortune
With the sweetest bite on her lips
Is the **** taking me places?
Or is she proficient at this?
Too much light through my eyes
I close my eyes and see light red
The heat you carry for me
Transfer the magic, teach me
Softness, lightness and fragrance
All together, more than a zinnia
In a lavender garden, ecstatic glow
With warm feathers, ready to fly
A yellow warbler, the soft cheeks
In the deepest of my soul, it rolls
The image of an unseen beauty
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
Belligerent- at war, designating or of a state recognized under international law as being engaged in a war.
Decadence- A process, condition, or period of decline, as in morals, art, literature; deterioration, decay.
Belligerent decadence,
may I reproach your horrible
agenda?
Fore-score wasn't a play on
words. These years have passed
as unwillingly as we've
accepted your rule.
Hyperboles creating a sense
of dissidence, because judging
anomalies is a task better left
to the proficient.
Maybe now their decadent
dissidence may materialize.
Belligerent decadence,
is it for you that sympathy
now grows sour?
Sour enough to please a pigs
trough. A malignant canopy
erected for weary heads,
yet finding relief means
resolution is what's being fed
to hungry bureaucratic slave
hands obsessing on getting more
for nothing.
Obsolete, ritualism has become
more copied than read. Is one
agonizing grin of disgruntled
workers creating the back drop,
for proud men raising a trophy,
the emblem of monetary
perplexity.
Not enough make enough.
So belief can die it's painful
reminder,
"Faith cast as dice, when no
one believes there's a chance."
Belligerent decadence,
remind me to remind them,
the people you so rally to scourge;
that interpretation is not
better left for your eyes,
but theirs.
Remind me to speak in
rag tag metaphor so as to
dispel the wrench clogging
their system.
Remind me to encourage
them to explore further;
beyond their machinations,
so they again can see this
machines engine.
Maybe the clog is yours,
but like every circulatory
system may fall victim to
stroke like conditions so
shall yours.
Belligerent decadence
rise up fallen brethren,
falling faster than the
history of Columbus.
How long till we see
the incredible hyperbole
being played out so
deliberately? How long till
we seethe for proof,
the products of ignorant
disease.
How long till we find
life's anathema like genius
executed upon every casted
ballot?
The forsaken taking heed
making up the norm for the
moment.
Empty rants, mind slowing
products infect our once proud
carriers with poverty, and
disease.
Creative incentive tossed
upon the coals of cold furnaces,
define all eyes and see all
ears believe.
Then again if you haven't
given interpretive thought a
chance, belligerent decadence
will never vanish, but upon
this battlefield, your soul
will be brandished.
"Belligerent Decadence!"
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
bury me with spirits i betrayed
ill fall wherever your name is laid
every second that I breathe
i will chip my life away.
i will drink
i will smoke
holding words never spoke.
redemption, ascension always slow.
self harm like a mark on a stone,
im proficient in being alone,
loving walls like my life's on a reel,
but all that's real is already done.
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 3:30 AM UTC
Sometimes when I look outside,
And see the Sun drowned by dark clouds,
I can’t help,
But feel my mood being dragged down.
Some days are shrouded in a,
Monochromatic shade of grey,
And at times, while it might not be ideal,
It’s okay.
The Sun will find its time to shine someday.
However,
When that melancholy grey takes over,
I can feel my heart take a dive,
Darker thoughts creep into my mind.
“Are you being proficient at life?
Or are you wasting your time?
Your accomplishments mean slim to none,
In the grand scheme.
It won’t help you run,
From the inevitably closing gap between,
You and responsibility.”
It comes fast,
It lasts,
It doesn’t just come to pass,
One lap.
It stays,
And it won’t ever go away.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:23 AM UTC
Proficient in turn
Glass make up
Chandeliers
Night calls to all the....
Growing growing growing,
We are all growing
It's time for a new time
And a crime to want to know that,
Don’t pass without,
A feature or a sort to clause,
Your every action
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
Fractured Fairies
the stalk was tall but Jack climbed high
they said he was looking for a golden goose
but the giant wasn't keen on him getting by
he caught the little brat and kicked his caboose
old mother Hubbard lived in a shoe
she had lots of sole and a rather large tongue
her old man was proficient in kung foo
when she bent over he kung foo'd her ****
Alice lived in wonderland she was constantly high
her and that crazy rabbit eating mushrooms wild
they looked into the looking glass and my oh my
they both had golden locks so neatly styled
once upon a time there were three bears
they couldn't eat the pourage on their first attempt
they shaved their bodys except for their ***** hairs
found out they were Jewish and now verklempt
little Miss Muffet sat on tuffet eating her curds and whey
along came a spider and sat down beside her
and she stomped him good put a crimp in his day
Mary had a little lamb what a big surprise
the doctor's scratched their heads in disbelief
they just couldn't even believe their eyes
but when old McDonald had a farm good grief
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
I execute it all for pay.
My daily trade is killing time.
I slice the day up like a lime
in sections green and silver-gray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
I'm practiced in this pantomime,
proficient, quite au fait.
My daily trade is killing time.
Like a hit man in his prime
I knock off the hours of the day.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
Yet killing here is not a crime;
it's merely the established way.
My daily trade is killing time.
No. killing here is not a crime;
it's the toll road through this fray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
My daily trade is killing time.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:29 PM UTC
Why do i still care is probably too simple a question
it implies an easy answer like “her eyes” or “her smile”
but it isn’t that
it’s not love at least not yet i’m too young
so it isn’’t that
think think think
there’s been other girls
four in fact
but what did they not have?
what were they missing
what made them Roseline and not Juliet
does “it” exist? it’s possible i guess
maybe nothing tangible could account for what i’m feeling
i doubt it but it’s a possibility
So what is it?
Seriously(tension builds)
Maybe it’s because you still care
sure I only know because of the grapevine
but i’ll just assume it still counts
I refuse to believe im the Pip to your Estella
I’d like to believe I have too much pride for that
Pride pride pride
maybe that’s the answer
I messed you up pretty good the first time
but then again you did win round 2
so maybe it’s just a game
a game my mind is just set on finishing
Maybe you’re just evil
crazy i know
really crazy
lunatic crazy
but still is it that crazy a thought?
you say you love me when you don’t
you say you don’t love me when you do
you say you miss us
but somehow “I” am not included
Maybe I have simply ruined you for myself
I’ve built you up in my head
to be something you simply can not live up to
It’s hard to explain but to me at least in my mind
you are a different type of “perfect”
Flawed in all the right ways
proficient where it really matters
In my head you don’t make mistakes
In my head you choose me first so you don’t regret it later
In my head you act rationally
In my head I create fake things
So to answer my question I must decide on an answer
and i choose all of them
because that’s life
that’s what it is
you’ll meet a girl who you feel is perfect for you in every way
except for the fact that she isn’t
and it won’t make sense
and it will drive you crazy
and you’ll write some stupid poem at a late hour trying to find an answer to your question
until you realize it doesn’t matter
because you’re young and she’s young
because there are mistakes to be made
nights to be forgotten
people to meet
places to see
and all the while there is time to sit down
to really ponder and finally come to the conclusion
that You
yes You
are not the one I end up with
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
I’m busting out of this oppressive penitentiary of negativity
I’ve got the determination to transform my laughable dream into an applaudable reality
I refuse to be held here for another second
No locks, no cameras, no rubber rooms or electric chairs will hold me
I’m free
No blockade of words can cause me to halt
Opportunity is knocking heavily at my door
I open the mahogany entryway and welcome it inside
I make it tea and have a deep conversation about things to come
“You’ve been in the dog house for too long”
“Yeah, but every dog has its day”
It’s calling to me
Time to initiate my aspirations
Cheers to the future
So long to the past
Now I am here
On a paramount path
The path is made or salty tears, perspiration and sacrificed blood
The satisfying end justifies the brutal means
Not a soul had a single ounce of faith in me
Naysayers only bring you down
Now I’ve made it
Their mouths drop in disbelief and can’t seem to make a sound
Escape the prison of “won’t”, “cant” and “never”
And all those who doubt you are prison guards, liars
Breakout from the discouragement
Then set the jaundice jail on fire
Never needed them
Self-proficient
Shut up
And open your eyes
And observe closely
As your callus skepticism dies
Thank you for keeping me in the dark
I’d have no reason to reach for the light other wise
I look at you fall as my dreams rise
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC