Best Proficiency Poems
Ocie the Ocelot liked words a lot!
As a tot, words like dot and trot hit the spot
Then, getting older, the folder on her shoulder grew bolder
What was once handy stopped ringing so dandy
Craving vocabulary candy to bandy
She sought what she ought, to form lukewarm to hot
Mooshu, the emu guru, knew what to do
To bring notice and gain focus
Journey there, to the oracle's lair
The fortress of Morris the Thesaurus Tortoise
When she approached his door, saying, "I want more!"
His smile creased - he replied, "Your covet's increased!"
She confessed her distress at being a pest
But he said, "My dear, you're not stubborn - you're tenacious!
You're not merely aware - you're perspicacious!"
It's not only knowledge; it's proficiency, cognition, discernment
For ideas, impressions, concepts, brainstorming segments
Be bold, audacious, intrepid, resolute, gallant
Credit your capacity, flair, savvy, talent
Evade the cliche, the commonplace, the trite
Clamp on, lacerate, masticate, bite!
Hours freed, for her need to succeed
Then, at the end, one final creed to heed-
Don't fall a slave to the misbehaving knave
Sometimes, the simpler speech is the one to save.
3/4/19
Poem of the Day 3/06/19
Without a doubt, mankind demonstrates proficiency in many ways. In our own way, we manage and master 'daylight saving time'. Every six months we change the numbers on our clocks, but
cannot change or set the sun. We set the numbers forward in the spring, but cannot change the moon. We adjust the time and 'fall back' in Autumn but cannot alter the stars.
With no assistance from us nor aid from the internet; with no alterations nor assembly required; with no adjustments nor repairs needed, God Almighty createded the sun, moon, stars, and the entire universe.
11022018cjPoSoup
I was commissioned to write this for my brother's church in
New Castle, Indiana. On the 10th anniversary of 9/11 they
will conduct a service to honor those who were directly
involved in the tragedy in NYC and also to honor those who serve
the New Castle community 24/365. It will be copied on parchment
and a copy will be given to each service provider.
On this Tenth Anniversary of Nine Eleven we gather to give sincere thanksgiving,
For those brave men and women who served us that day, the fallen and the living.
They placed service above self to aid their neighbors, community and nation.
Some sacrified all on The Altar of Honor for their friends without reservation!
We also gather to pay tribute to those who serve our own community each day.
So much, so very much we owe each of them - we can never begin to repay,
They quietly serve us in so many ways with proficiency and dedication.
Their devoted families also serve, faithfully supporting their hero's vocation!
We honor the Indiana State Patrol who deserve our respect and admiration,
For maintaining safe passage and keeping traffic flowing, easing our frustration!
We praise the Sheriff and his deputies for keeping things well under control,
And responding to our frantic calls for aid anytime during their daily patrol!
We are blessed with a Chief of Police and his folks upon whom we can reply.
They are true professionals and are quick to respond when things go awry!
Our wonderful firefighters and paramedics serve us with compassionate care.
None can compare to these valiant souls who are ever ready and willing to share!
We laud our magnificent military who our freedoms have so gallantly preserved!
We cherish our National Guard, reservists and veterans who honorably served!
One day upon the brow of each of these elect He'll bestow a royal crown,
Saying, "You, my friend, have served Me and My people with great renown!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Mr Wiener brags proficiency
As he twitters his constituency.
But badly, the hackage
of a bulky package
in his pants shows a deficiency.
*The Online Slang Dictionary says ‘schnitzel’ is, “Any unacceptable or unwanted
substance.” Example: “I’ve got schnitzel all over my shoe.”
I must confess, my poem appears a mess!
Wonder if I’ve lost my touch?
Though it seemed all right, when I began to write,
Did I edit a smidgen too much?
Having honed my rhymes, so many times,
Results are looking somewhat tragic!
Should I take a rest, having done my best
To make my poems seem magic?
A poet thought great, surely can create,
A poem regarded a leader,
But when words fall flat, after changing this and that,
They’ll seldom excite the reader.
Furthermore, I’m no star, so doubt I’ll go far,
Though with rhyming I’m rather smitten.
Some ideas may well please, but without expertise,
The results are poorly written.
After poetry is writ, I’ll tweak it a bit,
Hoping to make it read more sweetly.
Now should I not stop, the poem ends as a flop,
I’m forced to dump it discretely!
I’d best face up to fact, and leave lines intact,
Let lines be left as first read.
Yes, lines I hone, I should let alone,
To give inspiration its head.
Like those of a Ham, they’re not worth a damn,
If the metre is ragged or weak,
So I’ll sit myself down, check adverb and noun;
Then throw out the lines I can’t tweak!
For they’ll mean not a thing, if the rhyme does not ring,
Or becomes detached from the theme.
If by my tweaking, I lose sight of my seeking?
It’s a waste of time it will seem!
Back in days when I wrote, some poetry of note,
Editing was never intended,
But today I’m feared, the results seem weird,
Euphoria has finally ended!
Better stick to my guns, write more rhymes and puns,
Until my inspiration has fled,
Should you see a deficiency, or lack of proficiency?
You’d better say nowt till I’m dead!
Rhymer. August 27th, 2009.
I am the daughter of two hard working parents
Both who raised a strong christian daughter who is mixed with a touch of irish and african heritage
Who they raised to be proud of being biracial
I am from a family who has its frequent arguments, but comes together when it matters
I am from a family who for generations had past addictions
I am from a Mom who broke the cycle.
I am from a Dad who struggled too.
I am from the lectures with my Mom who spoke
“Do not give in. The next generation counts on you.”
I am from a Mom who was a first generation college student
a mom who inspires me and pushes me to excel
a mom who teaches me to be pound of who I am
I am from a life of hard word and commitment
A life that rejects the phrase “give up”
I am from the countless hours of working at thirteen
I am from a male dominated workforce
A workforce that has frequent misconceptions of woman
I am from the long hot days in the sun
which has sculpted my proficiency as a soccer referee.
I am from the “land of opportunity” that also has many faults
I am from a place where opposing viewpoints are censured
while similar statements are praised
A place where you can’t be in between the lines
you must choose either pro or anti
I am from a place where there is constant judgment
A place where our first amendment is violated
I am from a place where there is no certainty nor identity
But through all of this…
I am from a place who needs more kindness and less judgment
I am from a place that needs equality for all
I am from a place that needs God
In slowing my breath I embody delight.
My mind is peacefully still, comforted
in meditation by compassionate warmth.
I am consumed by effortless pleasure,
enraptured and filled with a sublime bliss
which holds me in a spiritual embrace.
In stretching out my arms and embracing
my lover when we meet, a most delightful
feeling ignites my heart, a passionate bliss,
radiating devotion, providing comfort.
Tender loving affection, fueled with pleasure,
is the only fire which keeps me warm.
In holding my child and feeling her warm
breath upon my skin I am eager to embrace
responsibility. It is a real pleasure
providing for her and seeing the delighted
expressions which spring from a comfortable
home filled with happiness and bliss.
In charity and kindness, I realized bliss
may be shared with others. A hot meal or warm
bed is all that is required to give comfort
to a starving soul in need of my embrace.
Generous deeds that are sown with delight
will provide a harvest of infinite pleasure.
In pursuing pastimes I find pleasurable,
I am transported to worlds of blissful
proficiency where volumes of delightful
expertise give me instruction. Warmed
by information and fully embracing
understanding, I find cerebral comfort.
In recollecting my past I am comforted
by a lifetime of true contentment. Pleasures
remembered are all I need to embrace
the future with true confidence. Blissfully,
I reminisce and bathe in the soothing warmth
of a life replete with bountiful delights.
The comfort I derive from these simple pleasures
is a sweet embrace, saturated with bliss
and the unparalleled warmth of perfect delight.
brush in hand, he breathes life to paper ...
columns ... bejeweled and sparkling
like blades of shimmering grass
piercing the night as star-flecked stalagmites
fingers of phosphorescent proficiency
flickering with the finest of human accomplishment
and twirling through the ether like fairies
darting and dancing to the throb of frantic grids below
glowing girders and gangling spires, agleam
trembling with the concerns of life
and dressed in the temperate weight of wonder
a thousand stories born each elegant instant
countless dramas and conundrums
spinning to their inexorable ends
numberless breaths gasped and giggled
heart-upon-heart pumping ire and exasperation
thrumming with passions, proved and pondered
or the typic pulse of the prosaic
a glistening garden of "la condition humaine"
a beast born of concrete and light ...
its urbane and provocative heart, beating ...
the canvas has come ... to LIFE!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Something Bigger Than Myself" Poetry Contest,
Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
N/A'd in the "Cityscape" Poetry Contest.
Guiled movement. A warrior's ballet.
Wiled traps confusing choice play.
Battle simulator, test of war.
Chattel, pieces. Sixteen, no more.
Tool used for general and king.
Fool recused, no victory to bring.
Equate life, game played terminally.
Satiate strife, rife with strategy.
Take care when proficiency is met.
Wake caution. Avoid cunning net.
Truly dangerous. Prediction a guess.
Duly acts, a man who plays chess.
-Angel Fatale-
I spied a ship and descried the flag it flew.
It was nothing like the flags I had seen before.
It was red and blue, with white circles and yellow stars
The highlights of white and yellow stood out
like stars at night, and town lights bright.
The red like the color of the dawn and dusk.
The blue the color of the deep blue ocean.
It was clearly the flag of a sea faring nation.
As the ship got closer, you could clearly see its details.
It was a large primitive Polynesian outrigger voyager vessel,
a ghost ship as no one appeared to be aboard.
Where it had come from, the fate of its crew a mystery?
But the vessel sure knew how to sail
and knew where it was headed
as it sailed fast and free,
passed our sailing boat 'Snail'
on a true heading for a spot on the horizon.
For many years the Polynesian voyagers were decried as flotsam and jetsom.
How could these primitive people navigate through the vast open ocean
between tiny islands, pin-prick dotted in oceans of space?
It was assumed they migrated and populated the far flung oceans randomly and haphazardly
via their fishing trips and day trips being blown off course.
But research has descried their skill and fabulous knowledge of navigation.
Each island has a gild of navigators.
They use songs and stories to memorize navigation methods:
including the movement of the stars, wave patterns around island,
local currents, clouds, weather and bird behavior.
Polynesian navigators used the rise and setting of particular set stars on the horizon to set a heading.
They had wooden instruments, string and fiber maps of wave patterns and star movements to guide their way.
They skillfully know when they were near tiny islands
from the change in the wave patterns, currents
and their vast knowledge of birds and wildlife.
So don't be quick to decry Polynesian navigation.
Instead, descry its beauty, simplicity, nouse, proficiency and elegance.
What is fear?
It clutches and binds you;
Its clinch constricts your conscience and gestures.
It degrades and damages you;
Its triumph abolishes your own proficiency to prosper.
It stops and holds you;
Its impeccable knack of holding you still is impassable.
It overcomes and you surrender;
Its will to thwart your approach has you anxious to ensue.
It is burdensome and palpable;
Its load weighs you down and disables your efforts.
It is real and ever present;
Its nearness is felt in your existence as it hides in wait.
It is debilitating;
It is maddening;
It is caustic;
What is fear?
It is controllable and facilitated;
You can clamber over the hindrances it extends you.
It is fallible and erratic;
You can perceive its shifting deeds as it scours for a way.
It is provisional and remedial;
You can tolerate its manifestation or expel it into a void.
It is daunting and probable;
You can be valiant and foretell its vain efforts against you.
It is frail and cognizant;
You can be assured that fear fears itself; it is casually ended.
It is short lived and perpetual;
You can sustain longer than fear, you can evolve as it ruins.
It is ignorance;
It is a curtain;
It is cowardly;
Fear is crushed with the knowledge of the entirety of a state. In these periods of terror we must cast fear in its just position, behind us, and trudge headlong against those who intimidate and threaten the beliefs for which we have battled arduously to safeguard, preserve, and be tolerant of.
Fear is…
Not an option today!
MASTERFUL MENACE (for contest)
With widespread wings a hovering hawk
descends with no forewarning,
with patience and proficiency,
scouting prey in early morning.
Warbled warnings echo down
between lush, lofty trees,
chaotic squawks synchronize
slicing through the balmy breeze.
Suddenly silent stillness,
like statues on limbs, the birds stand,
not one feather makes a motion--
danger is at hand!
Bold, brazen blackbirds take chase
so the hawk goes in retreat,
accosted by the frenzied flock
it is forced to accept defeat.
The stalker surrenders remarkably
but it could have gone either way
nature balances the odds beautifully,
when predator vs. prey.
We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state,
we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art-
but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date,
oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart.
Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex,
of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind,
alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex,
is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined.
There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir,
now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination-
hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader,
who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation.
Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason-
we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome-
yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion,
from the eyes of the true daughter of time, Science’s proficiency.
People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot-
well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild-
as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought,
startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia- this is all rather mild-
Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip-
Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend,
Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip-
just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend.
Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon,
given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach.
Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on-
give it back in your own form of speech.
Through your own imagination feed poetry,
It hungers for your reality, though not reality-
procrastinate not- hopefully,
for your conceptions are your sanity.
Or rather is fancy your sanity- decide,
it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore.
It will excite-
whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor.
Poetry is not arduous -
just do not assume there is a secret door.
In fact poetry is quite virtuous-
Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.
He was born in Yonkers, just north of New York City.
This man grew up to be funny and witty.
While working in a luncheonette owned by his family,
with the art of patois, Sid displayed proficiency.
As a funny comedian, he made his presence felt.
Sid got his start in upstate New York in the Borscht Belt.
As a saxophonist, his first job was at the Vacationland.
He became an influential member of the hotel’s band.
With the late Imogene Coca, he was a television pioneer.
On Broadway and in movies, Sid would also appear.
However, alcohol and barbiturates nearly destroyed his career.
A recovery brought him back into entertainment’s sphere.
Over the years, many awards and recognitions came his way.
At the age of ninety-one, Sid Caesar passed away.
RIP Sid Caesar
(1922-2014)
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and variety.com for information
I obtained to write this poem.
Your capability to think indirectly amazes me,
the ability to twist things around amazes me,
how you go on cribbing about the world being unfair to you amazes me,
my incapability to comprehend you at times amazes me,
how everyone is a wannabe to you amazes me,
your self obsession amazes me,
your notion of being the best amazes me,
your two sided nature amazes me,
times i feel that you are better than the rest but your proficiency in letting me down amazes
me,
how you manipulate without being labeled as an opportunist amazes me,
how you make me pick up the pen and write this stuff amazes me,
the way you fool me with your straight talk amazes me,
way you make me think hard amazes me,
how you make me realize my faults and learn nothing amazes me,
way you make me feel useless and sick inside amazes me,
the fact that i can't ignore you amazes me,
my honesty amazes me,
my naivety amazes me,
my inability to become like you amazes me,
why i don't call this a complexity amazes me,
but people such as you don't seem to amaze the world,
as world's nothing but a place for manipulative people and that amazes me.