I love the line of Flaubert about observing things very intensely. I think our duty as writers begins not with our own feelings, but with the powers of observing.
quote by Mary Oliver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Observing humans and observing oneself yields a clear-minded starting point for literature.
quote by Gao Xingjian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The observer, when he seems to himself to be observing a stone, is really, if physics is to be believed, observing the effects of the stone upon himself.
quote by Bertrand Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The best preparation for acting is life -- observing life and people and observing yourself. All that becomes your library. So when you have to research a part, a scene or an emotion, you go into the library and get what you need.
quote by Kate Capshaw
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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One gets into a strange psychological, almost hypnotic, state of mind while on the firing line which probably prevents the mind's eye from observing and noticing things in a normal way.
quote by Fritz Kreisler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If It Isn't What It Should Be
When a tree begins to grow...
Is it nurtured to seek approval?
Does it do it to get that from other trees?
Or does it just grow to be what it is?
To grow to be what it is freely,
With only God to please.
And if it isn't what it should be...
What and who is there to correct it?
What recommends or suggests to it what it must do...
To become what it is and comfort it too?
And if it isn't growing in faith...
Does God choose to get moody,
And brood?
Observing this with attitude?
Insisting Mother Nature refuse it,
Any assistence on a 'menu'...
Kept constantly reviewed.
When a tree begins to grow...
And decides not to produce branches.
Or allow a leaf or pine needles to bloom...
What affect would that have on other trees observing?
Will they begin to feel,
Maybe that tree is not deserving?
Will they make attempts to move away from it?
Or will they just let it sit...
Doing nothing to fulfill its purpose?
As the sky beckons,
To give it space and room.
Will the other trees observing this...
Watch another tree rot,
To not exist?
How long will a forest of trees,
Put up with it?
And what about the purpose that tree has here on Earth?
Who and what becomes affected...
When that tree does not fulfill its worth from birth?
A connection becomes neglected.
And the affects from that can be expected to reflect.
Somewhere in time to be ultimately discovered.
Uncovering what has been revealed,
To stir up some kind of backlash in protest.
However...
Shouldn't something about this process...
Make 'something' upset,
And furious about the lack of respect shown?
Or,
Does it condone it like us humans do?
By just looking away...
Only to complain about the shame of it all.
Or...
Does it one day become furious?
Like Mother Nature is showing now...
By unleashing Her attention grabbing disgust,
Unexpectedly disrupting as She fusses...
With all of us!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beauty of the Sky
Sitting there watching the sky
Watching the clouds pass me by
The sky is a deep blue
You can get lost in the clouds for a few
Day dreaming that you are floating on the clouds
Just you, with no one else around
Watching the clouds take a defined form
Observing the sky getting dark for a storm
Fierce lighting blazing
Lying there gazing
In amazement of the sky’s different faces
Dreaming about different places
Watching the sky turn orange and red
As the sun sets while lying there in my bed
In the early morning
Noticing the clouds forming
The purple and blue sky is grabbing my attention
It is too beautiful not to mention
It is breath taking
There is no mistaking
The many different feelings
You can observe the earth’s dealings
Just as our moods can change
The sky is a face that reflects the earth’s strains
Tornados and hurricanes
You respect its reins
Raindrops falling
Cleansing the earth for its calling
Beautiful white snow
In the evening hours you can see its glow
Appreciating the sky’s beauty
As it goes on accomplishing its duty
Lighting striking while it illuminates
The clouds depth and rejuvenates
Lying there observing
The beauty of the sky that is well deserving
Know Your Feelings
Know your feelings.
Sit and visit with them.
Become familiar.
And...
Connect to their depth.
Learn the playing of the game.
Beyond the setting of changing goal lines.
Accept those things learned and adapt.
And grow accustomed to observing facts.
And not focus on the colors...
Of that which has been installed,
To get you tossed off the playing field.
Know your feelings,
And become flexible with them.
Beyond the setting of your own goal lines.
Be prepared to adapt.
Become flexible and patient.
Know your feelings and get as close as possible.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Dark I Sit
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
A nothing a nobody
I yell at it tell it to stop
But it just ignores me
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
I’m nothing a nobody
I try to ignore it I try to block out the voices
But I have to give in
In the dark I sir
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
I’m nothing a nobody
I try not to listen try to deny it
But it speaks the truth
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
A nothing a nobody
I begin to believe it begin to listen to the voice
But then I realize they come from within
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes shut now dead now
No longer speaks to me the picture is worthless
A nothing a nobody
It’s finally quite it’s finally peaceful
But now it’s just dark
poem by Eboni Paul
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Time Approaches Near
What would you do...
If suddenly you discovered,
God was pure energy,
A light force within you?
And 'beings' of higher energies
Are very soon to appear.
From centuries out of our reach!
Ahead of us,
By thousands of years!
What would you do...
If you knew to 'them',
You were barbaric?
The lowest of all humanistic creations.
And they are observing our trivial deeds,
With displeasure they've come to stop!
To set the universe at ease!
What would you do...
When you find you've been fooled.
To worship with a faith,
In 'things' that has nothing to do with you!
And when dimensions like a veil,
From your eyes have been removed.
What would you do...
When beings with powers,
Take complete control over you?
Think about it!
But not too long!
There are other beings here...
Who are aware of what we fear!
And they are going to make it clear...
The right way to love and live our lives!
And that time approaches near!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writer's Drought
You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.
The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.
Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.
Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Easily Accessible
I am glad we all have come to agree,
That something has to be done...
To protect our children from the trash,
That is easily accessible to them on the internet.
For three hours I watched with disgust,
Some of the most appalling scenes...
I have ever witnessed in my life.
I sat there in total disbelief.
'I do have a suggestion to make? '
Let's hear it.
'Why don't we each find,
The most disgusting trash available.
Take a week in observing it.
Exchange our findings.
And by the end of next month...
Form a committee to analyze the affect,
This unacceptable filth has had...
On the minds of our innocent children.'
That's a great idea.
Anyone opposing?
Oh...
And by the way.
I recommend an observing of this filth,
After our spouses and children have fallen to sleep.
To ensure our investigations are not interrupted.
'That's another good idea.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Milky Way Galaxy
At night the sky
Becomes an entire new world
To the human eye
The moon
Sometimes as round as a soccer ball
Appears as it begins to get dark
A million tiny bright lights
Called stars
Appear like specks of dust
Out of nowhere
And soon I am outdoors
Observing the planets like mars
And also the Milky Way galaxy
With my trustworthy telescope
poem by Emily Krauss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blooming. The Innocence. And The Grooming Done
The blooming.
For the first time I noticed.
The different hues and scents.
Each with a unique,
And magificent appearance.
These are flowers,
Reaching to peak!
The innocence.
Of children playing,
As they display experience...
Climbing the monkey bars,
Closed within elementary school yards.
These are 'adults'...
At the beginning of their bloom.
The grooming done,
By mothers of freshly born pets.
This 'aliveness' felt...
When I witness nature at 'her' best.
The passing of sirens,
Rushing through inner city streets.
Enriches an involvement,
Of a life one gets...
Once it becomes obvious,
How all is connected.
And how one observing,
Becomes attached to it!
All seeking to climax,
At a destiny reached.
The blooming.
The innocence.
And the grooming done!
And I observing all...
As if all is within one.
And,
It is!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cultural Prophets
Cultural prophets observing nonstop,
That which appears...
Disconnected from a thought process.
Are not too willing to converse,
With those unconscious.
Those professing to take steps to the right...
To declare those stepping to the left,
As idealists unable to conform to the norm.
Although that 'norm' has brought upon much duress.
Cultural prophets observing nonstop,
That which appears...
Disconnected from a thought process.
Are not too willing to converse,
With those unconscious.
Since the ones who are unconscious...
Can not accept the mess they've left.
To address with a correcting of it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Most Writers
Most writers 'twould seem have moments of self doubt
But they never go short of things to write about
And to become a top writer of one a big ask
And to succeed as a writer for many seems too daunting a task.
Most writers do not write for wealth or for fame
And despite lack of success they pen on just the same
For every one hundred thousand writers perhaps one writing millionaire
Amongst the ranks of the wealthy the writers are rare.
Few writers can hope for to scale success height
For the love of writing they only do write
Few writers get published and fewer know of success
But in their writings on paper their thoughts they express.
Most writers will never know wealth and renown
And they are not even well known in their own Hometown
They never will be known beyond their home shore
They write for the love of it and little more.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Must Get Even Closer
Open your eyes.
Rise above your fears.
That faith 'claimed' you have...
It is time to put it into action.
Sever from your distractions.
God has been close...
Observing you and is near.
There is no deed done,
That God does not know.
The Almighty wishes to show this to you.
But from your own limitations...
You must let go!
You must not self inflict restrictions,
Placed upon your mind.
Now is the perfect time to bare your soul.
Ask God to release you,
From burdens you have welcomed into your life.
And gossiped by others...
This too they did find!
Choose not to walk down this path with others.
Open your eyes.
Rise above your fears.
That faith 'claimed' you have...
It is time to put it into action.
Sever from your distractions.
God has been close...
Observing you and is near.
But you must get even closer!
To know and hear His voice.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Story of a Poem (Narrative Poem)
Prepared to ridicule himself, this fool
Is guarded against the jibes
Of those he thinks less inclined to self-criticism.
How then is he to gauge his faults
And turn them into something worthwhile?
How can he define his foolishness
If uncertain as to the extent of his limitations?
How can he begin to accept the advice of others -
'Go jump! ' 'Take a good hard look at yourself! ' 'Grow up! ' -
If he isn't prepared to be objective?
Unprepared to accept objectivity as objective
'I know what I know', he spouts
Ill-mannered, inconsiderate and obstinate.
How is he to assume the more demanding role
Of the one being spoken to?
No words, it seems,
Can convince him of his stupidity.
No words, that is,
Except his own.
Um.... ah.... um.... a poem takes form.
Ironically, loneliness is his theme
Nothing else can say what he wants to say.
Happiest is he, when miserable
Exposing his misery for all the world to see.
No one, it seems, is quite as miserable as he.
He takes care not to say too much
In case,
To make his point
He admits (in the mode of a tragic figure)
That there is nothing to say.
Logically, 'there is nothing to say' explains
His actions
Although failing to describe
What bothers him.
It seems that that can only be other people.
In them, real feelings express themselves
And a challenge presents itself for him to understand them
No matter
It is they not understanding him
That concerns me.
As querulous as it may sound
It is their obsession with 'reality'
That he objects to.
No amount of persuasion can convince them
That his feelings are real.
'Such as absurd notion demands an explanation'
He hears them say, but he is only prepared
To go on dreaming -
Observing others observing him
Observing them.
His sincerity
Isn't expressed in conventional terms.
Unbeknownst to them, he cares
And unknowingly they add to his suffering
As they refuse to acknowledge his feelings.
His suffering -
A product of a trivial pursuit
For universal meanings -
Is compounded by those who think him
Lacking.
***
Lacking in those human qualities
He most desires
He turns to someone, who,
Without her knowing,
Possesses them for him.
Kindly, she admits him -
Herself lacking the assurance
To comprehend the extent of his need.
She feels for him
As one would a child, an innocent, a poet.
His feelings exist in her eyes,
And his failings form
His 'uniqueness' -
A reason
For loving him.
Sufficent reason, in itself,
For him to love her.
Nevertheless he feels
An even greater need
To justify his feelings.
Their differences,
His reliance on her
And, equally,
Hers on him
Need explaining.
As others see it
Their differences contain the germs of disunity,
And in their interdependence, signs of submission.
Again they see things in 'real terms'
Neglecting to take into account the power of the imagination.
She isn't what she appears to be
Her beauty transcends experience
With all pain absorbed in her -
He shares in her happiness
And is privy to her sensitivity.
She instills in him a new faith,
Another reason to write -
A belief in humanity.
This is what he must explain
To those who think him foolish.
But he remains aloof
Barred by a certain quirk in his character -
Whenever he tries to be serious
He gives the impression
Of being insincere.
When he tries to explain his feelings
It's as if he is the one
Who needs to be convinced -
His new found faith seems void
Without someone else to believe it.
Yet people want to listen
And give him the chance he's been looking for -
The chance to prove himself to them.
They're not heartless,
And would rather not judge anyone unfairly.
The truth is, however,
That he is such a fool
That he needs to hear his own words
From someone else's mouth
Before he can believe them.
poem by Peter Stavropoulos
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You can learn a lot about someone by observing him when he is hungry.
There is this stranger
I am always observing
- In every mirror
haiku by Peter S. Quinn
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