Writing is sweat and drudgery most of the time. And you have to love it in order to endure the solitude and the discipline.
quote by Peter Benchley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Solitary Man
Sometimes I feel like a solitary man.
Under the night sky writing what I can.
No one else is moving or driving cars.
The world belongs to me under the stars.
While pondering in my solitude
Without a thought or plan,
Thoughts jump into the mind
Of this solitary man.
I don't know where they come from.
They are just my own surprise.
Sometimes I'd swear that they have come
Through a different set of eyes.
In prison I know that solitary
Can drive a person mad.
But in those I once sent there,
For the solitude they seem glad.
The Lord needed His solitude
For at one time forty days.
And again when in the garden,
Where for the souls of men He prayed.
So in my time of solitude
I also have time to pray.
It's when I feel the closest,
To Him in my night each day!
poem by Robert Edgar Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writing Is Like A Diet
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it...
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it.
Those who do may not sleep,
At night.
Or discover they have lost an appetite.
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
Those who ask how writing is done...
Usually have no idea,
Of what they must overcome.
Some believe writing is nothing but fun.
But those committed...
Know writing is more like a spouse,
That can be quiet as a mouse.
Then at other times a shouting occurs...
Heard from the inside,
With a wish to come out!
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it!
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of That Which Has Created The Earth
Everything has an order.
Everything has a discipline.
When those believe,
They can disrupt an order...
That has strict discipline,
To attempt to impose their wishes...
As if this skips the attention,
Of that which has created the Earth...
They from birth have leeched upon.
And they...
Created by it from within,
A Supreme Inyelligence?
THAT is the ultimate ungratefulness.
THAT is the ultimate display of arrogance.
And 'that' arrogance ultimately ends,
As is to be witnessed.
Without a weapon used that could possibly defend.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Discipline Of Love
You naughty girl: so sharp and dry
Don't fill yourself with foolish pride
You wanted me to notice you
But when I came, you cut me
Why did you do it?
Why did you go and spoil the fun?
Why did you do it?
You need the discipline of love some discipline
You wild child
How sweet you smile
Your crystal ball it's broken
Why did you do it?
Why did you go and spoil the fun?
Why did you do it?
You need the discipline of love some discipline
Take notice now: my turn to talk
The gate of love it's narrow
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Kind of Devoted Discipline
Many do not understand,
This kind of devoted discipline.
Some don't understand the benefits of discipline,
Period.
And it is difficult for them,
To connect success with a drive that is focused.
Some people believe luck is involved,
That comes to assist achievement.
And not intention...or,
The sweat of hard work and sleepless nights.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Colette
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.
I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.
I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.
I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.
I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."
Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!
Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .
But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.
Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:
for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .
Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet's Rue
I remember as a young boy
Sitting on top Mount Parnassus
Consumed in writing I enjoyed.
Mostly poetry to express
At the time my innermost thoughts
While below my childhood playmates
Romped and played and most often fought.
And myself trying to translate
Feelings into coherent thought
And writing them down on paper.
I recollect those times that taught
Self- discipline behavior.
Yet if I lived it all again
I would be one of those children.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It got so bad that by the time I was graduated, the only reading I did was in order to get the grade and the only writing I did was in order to get the grade.
quote by R.A. Salvatore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Solitude Of Prayer
In the solitude of prayer
deep
Lost in moments in between weep
and sleep
In the solitude of prayer
Lonliness finds a rest
Survived another test
Brings out our best
In the solitude of prayer
With nobody there
Except those far away
Reminded of their distant care
In the solitude of prayer
You pray for their smile
For their personal trial
Silently, all the while
In the solitude of prayer
Dreams seem more near
More hope than fear
Thoughts of those past those dear
In the solitude of prayer
Pray for their souls kind
Whose memory is still in your mind
And in your heart
In the solitude of prayer
Pray for your dear friends
Whose heart's you defend
As your own heart they mend
In the solitude of prayer
As for God's wisdom
And his love
As all love comes from above
In the solitude of prayer
Find grace to forgive
And to truely give
And to live
In the solitude of prayer
Recall how to dream
Of warm embraces of affection
And of love returned in your direction
In the solitude of prayer
Pray with conviction
Pray for the impossible
Without fear or restriction
poem by James T. Adair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Working Up A Sweat
Aw, When you touch there, honey
Makes my blood perspire
You got my body flaming
Like a California fire
Pulsing, pounding, pushing
No longer in control
Heatwave in my brain
Smolder in my soul
You got me workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
I've been playing all night long
Time I was gettin' home
But I've got no place to get
Spontaneous combustion
Scientific fact
But your approach to friction
An unnatural act
Bells I hear ain't fire drills
I hope you understand
It's a bona fide five alarmer
Melting in my hand
You got me workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
I've been playing all night long
Time I was gettin' home
But I've got no place to get
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
Yeah, yeah
I've been playing all night long
'Bout time I was gettin' home
But I've, ooh
Dante's famed inferno
Was a trip to hell and back
But you and a bottle in a cheap hotel
Screams pyromaniac
Bandages came off today
Really feeling sick
The hardest part's explainin'
All those blisters on my - nose!
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
I've been playing all night long
Time I was gettin' home
But I've got no place to get
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
I've been playing all night long
'Bout time I was gettin' home
But I've, ooh
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
Workin' up a sweat
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm not one for walking the beaches humming a melody. I love the discipline of sitting in the studio, writing and listening. That is my domain.
Up in that room I decided that I would write one story about each thing that I knew about. I was trying to do this all the time I was writing, and it was good and severe discipline.
Ernest Hemingway in A Moveable Feast (1964)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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A Working Man's Blues
The other day, after nearly 50 years of working
as a custom draperies fabricator, I had a down day.
This little limerick style ditty resulted-
For every order there's a season;
A time to sew and a time to sweep,
A time to bill and a time to pleat,
A time for sweat and deep regret
For an earlier job I didn't keep.
Ah! That seems to help
poem by Joseph Anderson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soothing Night
Troubles steadily rise
and pains start throbbing
in the morn at dawn.
Drudgery and toil
travails and sweat
pervade throughout the day.
Soothing touch
of the angel night
relaxes the exertion
and we wake up
a giant refreshed.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Translating love
Oh, how to report to truth
the many shades of love?
Saint Bernard of Clairvaux,
monk of a silent order
writing what he could not speak,
writes of love for brother monks
without embarrassment;
expatiates upon the Song of Songs,
erotic metaphor, with passionate, pure heart;
finds so many Latin terms
for all the shades of love,
of which we can translate to English speech
but a modest few – love, delight, affection, charity,
true friendliness; the glowing heart…
Then, pen laid down, the saint
returns to narrow cell – and love:
in silence, stillness, solitude,
pursues translation's lifelong art,
but now beyond all words;
holy love into the human heart.
Oh, how to report to truth
the many shades of love..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Solitude
How many times have you told me you love her
As many times as I've wanted to tell you the truth
How long have I stood here beside you
I live through you
You looked through me
Ooh, Solitude,
Still with me is only you
Ooh, Solitude,
I can't stay away from you
How many times have I done this to myself
How long will it take before I see
When will this hole in my heart be mended
Who now is left alone but me
Ooh, Solitude,
Forever me and forever you
Ooh, Solitude,
Only you, only true
Everyone leave me stranded
Forgotten, abandoned, left behind
I can't stay here another night
Your secret admirer
Who could it be
Ooh, Can't you see
All along it was me
How can you be so blind
As to see right through me
And Ooh, Solitude,
Still with me is only you
Ooh, Solitude,
I can't stay away from you
Ooh, Solitude,
Forever me and forever you
Ooh, Solitude,
Only you, only true
song performed by by Evanescence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inasmuch as society cannot go on without discipline of some kind, men were constrained, in the absence of any other form of discipline, to turn to discipline of the military type.
quote by Irving Babbitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lazy and Dazed
People want to get paid.
But do not want to invest...
Their time,
Or patience.
Or a discipline that is stressed.
They want their temptations fed,
With embellished sweetened treats.
They prefer not to sweat at all...
Even if it means,
An opportunity is there within their reach!
They will stay lazy and dazed,
By their own delusions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Come Alive In Writing
I come alive in writing
Even if the writing means nothing to anyone else-
I come alive in writing
Even if I am totally deluding myself as to its value-
I come alive in writing
Even if at times while writing there is an underlying hopelessness and despair -
I come alive in writing
As if writing is what God has given me to do-
I come alive in writing
As if through it I can truly give to and help others-
I come alive in writing
As if life has meaning through it-
I come alive in writing
Even when I sense the writing is not good or great
As I would wish it to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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