Igniting With a Fresh Incentive
The thing I enjoy most about writing...
Is the focus of intended content.
I may believe my creation heads one way.
With imagery I select.
Then someone decides,
What my thought process 'really'is.
And concludes my purpose is deeper,
Than my intended one meant.
With a dissecting of my original intention...
And an imposition of their own sentiments.
Am I not the writer?
Don't I have creative license?
Or at least be given the benefit of a doubt,
There is a 'root' of truth I do write about.
I 'use' to get bewildered about this!
But not anymore.
I submit my writings and patiently sit.
Reading comments from readers who 'insist'...
Upon probing further,
With 'their' interesting deepness.
Which then feeds my inspiration,
With an innovativeness that motivates...
A spark igniting with a fresh incentive.
Yes,
God does work in mysterious ways.
And in my case...
I hope this mysteriousness stays.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Faculty
Sometimes it seems so hard to work out the words,
and then again it seems not hard at all. Just write,
is as simple as that. There are times i can't seem to
work the words, other times the words come up
bubbling in my head with character and meaning.
At times i feel challenged by other writers, and i
begging to doubt my ability to work the words,
i simple read another writer and then i know i have
nothing to be worry about. I understand then that my
contest is with myself and not with other writers.
We all think about the same things, because once
in our life’s we all go through the same situations.
We all have the brain to create anything in our heads.
There’s nothing that i can't do if i focus and if i
don't focus; “you see” this word- focus is meaningful
in some ways, we need the focus, but in poetry we
need more the fantasy in our thoughts, the meaning
to our words, focusing can be important, but if your
head is not in the mood, there’s not going to be any
words bubbling up, even though you don’t need it so
much, because you can create a poem out of anything.
There’s one thing about writing, and reading poetry,
understanding the meaning behind the words.
Every word or phrase has a meaning behind, this is
where readers need to understand; for example-if i'm
drinking away my sorrows, it can mean, crying my
heart out, it can mean, i need to forget, it can mean,
a big hangover, it can mean, sleeping out in the porch,
it can mean, forgetting all you did last night; how many
things out of a phrase. Right know I would just like
to be in my cabin and sit right in front of the fire-place
with a bottle of wine and enjoy my pastoral life while
i write, amazing things.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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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
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It Will Still Make Sense
You can read it as it is,
For the rest of your life!
And...
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And not condensed...
From the meat of the purpose.
And left as intended.
There is no pretense to delude sentiments.
Or to mask evidence...
Of a truth that defies,
Embellishments used...
To boost the attraction to seduce,
A deception produced with sweetened...
And/or spiced lies.
You can read it as it is,
For the rest of your life!
And...
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And not condensed...
From the meat of the purpose.
And left as intended.
It will feed and tease curiosities.
To please a seeking of depth....
Once the foolishness has left!
Go ahead,
Read it as it is...
For the rest of your life.
Let it dust,
And its pages curl.
Put it on a bookshelf...
Or leave it by itself.
To be discovered by someone else.
To treat one's mind to intoxicate,
Much like a fine wine over time!
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And not be condensed...
From a purpose that is intended.
There is no pretense to delude sentiments.
Or to mask evidence...
Of a truth that defies,
Embellishments used...
To boost the attraction to seduce,
A deception produced with lies.
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And for you reviewed,
Like a treasured document.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LVIII: Intention
Can I ugly cry like that when it intended to be lie
Can I easily talk like that when it intended to be lie
Can I bark mad like that when it intended to be lie
Or will I set my poker face to smooth my intention to lie?
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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To be a writer
They say, when you have nothing to say
Do not say anything
They say when you have nothing good to say
Do not say anything
He is not convinced
He wants to be a writer and to be one he must write
What is in his mind
To be a writer he must write and write and write
Even when there is nothing to write
Even when there is nothing to say even when nobody listens
Even when the word is dead even when there is no sense at all
Even when he gets blind and deaf and mute even when his fingers are cut even when his mind is blank even when his consciousness is lost
Even when you are angry even when you say what is written is nothing
But trash, dung, cadaver, corpse, poo, pee, even when there is nothing
Anymore,
He writes because he is a writer and no one can stop him now.
he is
he is writing
he is writing always
he is writing always whatever that needs to be written
and here you are foolishly reading. thanks to you, audience of one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Something Else Unstated
What is it that one 'should' expect to accept?
That which is told and thought to be correct.
Or another version of it,
To then be told what was first said and heard...
One should forget since it was not meant,
To be intended to be interpreted...
For anyone to take seriously.
'Then why say these things at all?
What is the purpose? '
~Today?
I've learned not to analyze one's intentions.
Or the depths of their honesty or purpose,
To avert away from it.
It has become too easy for anyone,
To change what they initially say...
For something else unstated,
They claim to have meant.~
'Why bother to make attempts,
To have a meaningful conversation? '
~How can that be done?
When people have not experienced,
The benefit or purpose of having one.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The One Who Decides
There is no fight for terrificness,
With votes to split...
To see who sits on thrones.
No panel of judges,
Or audience call-ins...
To pick who is the best of all!
When a writer is alone,
And inspiration begins to creep...
There is no sleeping!
Maybe some weeping!
Perhaps some frustration...
From attempts to produce a creation!
But when a writer is alone,
And a thought becomes complete...
The ultimate winner is you the reader.
The one who decides,
If the message delivered...
Is one to criticize.
Or if the writer wants what's read...
To be taken to depths,
Inside one's head!
There is no fight for terrificness,
With votes to split...
To see who sits on thrones.
No panel of judges,
Or audience call-ins...
To pick who is the best of all!
The one who decides,
If the message delivered...
Is one to criticize.
Or one that makes the shivering inside...
Going below surfaces,
Unexpected and undenied.
That would be 'you' the reader...
The one who decides to take it deeper!
Giving the writer a purpose to keep,
You...
The reader,
Either laughing...
Or weeping!
With creations,
That give you creeps!
BOO! !
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I hope to be with you as a writer for a very long time, and I hope that you will enjoy reading my work, because readers are the highest form of life on this planet.
quote by Guy Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Intended With Love
I've made so many errors and typos in my work,
To leave uncorrected.
They've become looked upon,
As clarifying those suspicious about this...
That I am not perfect.
And...
If I should correct those errors and typos,
The attention intended to give the message...
A comprehensive clarity,
Gives one then an opportunity...
To see something more between the lines,
Not there as had been intended.
This writing business,
Becomes more theraputic than one can believe.
Self analysis AND with feedback?
It just seems convenient to leave typos where they are,
And errors in language useage alone.
I find this procedure more effective.
It gives the reader a chance to bestow empathy.
Believing what is observed is unintended.
However...
The writer knows typos like fingers and toes.
If there are many as it is to be noticed.
And,
It is...
Intended,
With love.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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They've Chosen To Be Winners
Picking up those pieces from a running done.
Now taking time when before they gave none.
Less they find offensive too.
With fresh sentiments meant,
They've improved.
Sticking to a purpose with a focused aimed
With minds more open.
And those attitudes changed.
A new day dawning has to them been sent.
To send defensive motives flushed,
With their fluxing minds now rinsed.
And...
They've chosen to be winners!
With those sentiments meant.
Winners.
With those sentiments meant.
Winners.
With those sentiments meant.
To leave behind their indifference.
They have chosen to be winners.
With those sentiments meant.
Winners.
With those sentiments meant.
They're winners.
With those sentiments meant.
To leave behind their indifference.
Picking up those pieces from a running done.
Now taking time when before they gave none.
Less they find offensive too.
With fresh sentiments meant they've improved.
And...
They've chosen to be winners!
With those sentiments meant.
Winners.
With those sentiments meant.
They're winners.
With those sentiments meant.
To leave behind their indifference.
They are winners.
With those sentiments meant.
Winners.
With those sentiments meant.
They're winners.
With those sentiments meant.
To leave behind their indifference.
To now say and to claim that they are...
Winners.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Clear As Its Ever Been
I remember all your sentiments protesting.
All my simple needs and with requests met.
Now the evidence is clear,
As its ever been...
You never meant to keep my requests met.
You never intended that respect.
I remember all your sentiments protesting.
All my simple needs and with requests met.
Now the evidence is clear,
As its ever been...
You never meant to keep my requests met.
You never intended that respect.
The evidence is clear,
As its ever been...
You never meant to keep my requests met.
No...
You never intended that respect.
It's clear...
As its ever been,
You never meant to keep my requests met.
It's clear....
You never intended that respect.
It's clear...
As its ever been,
You never meant to keep my requests met.
It's clear....
You never intended that respect.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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There As A Mausoleum
It isn't there sitting,
To provide incentive...
As it was mentioned to be intended.
It is there as a mausoleum,
Representing those of false pretensions.
A home for ghosts...
Claiming to have been,
A place for those with unique ambitions.
It isn't there sitting,
To promote or provide incentive...
As it was mentioned to be intended.
If it was...
It would be thriving with life.
Day and night!
But the caretaker overseeing it,
Has other internal battles yet to overcome...
As they wander the halls to wonder,
If the battle won has been worth the fight.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Emphatically Expressed
A writer doesn't write to attract readers.
Maybe gossip columnists do.
To sell images and ruin a few.
But a writer who is true,
Writes because that is what writers do.
I wrote years before anything I wrote was read.
It wasn't to impress.
Those issues express about me,
Have long been put to rest in my head.
If something I write is read...
I hope a connection is made from what I've said.
Some also make claims they too like to write.
And I say to myself,
'Liking and loving are different appetites.'
No one who 'is' a writer takes it 'light'.
And those who feel this way...
May stay up night after night,
After many a sleepless night.
And it isn't for fame or money.
Trust me on that.
And I thank God what I do isn't done for the glory.
That's another story.
However,
When my contributions do become discovered...
It will be 'seen' there is some depthness meant.
Something within me that seems never to be solved.
Something with content I can not just dissolve.
And there is nothing to glorify,
When someone who writes for nourishment...
To feed others,
Do not think themselves to eat or drink.
Not when a thought comes to possess their minds,
With a desire to be completed.
Coming with a sensation one should heed.
And most of the time this is the writer's deed.
Whether the one who 'writes' gets a wink of sleep,
Or blinks.
And no matter if what is written is accepted,
Or thought to be rejected and stinks!
This kind of discipline...
Does not seek to reach for that attention!
Unless,
Money becomes mentioned.
And only then,
Of course...
What I have just emphatically expressed,
You have my permission to ignore.
Since my intention will take upon another direction,
To excite my need to explore...
With a more deepened Introspection.
I do write.
But biting into a good meal,
Intrigues!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Unintended Blessing
the critic serves a useful purpose
criticism can contain a surprising
amount of suddenly revealed truth
comments may have been venom versed
yet these are a great source of inspiration
in identifying areas to accurately improve
my philosophy, to use criticism, for a better,
more determined purpose, as focus point,
as an inspiration, to succeed, to attain excellence
poem by Terence George Craddock
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What Point Is This You Are Attempting To Make?
Yes...
I said what I said and I meant it.
Just as it sounded as if intended.
'Even though you offended,
With an insensitivity? '
What are you seeking?
An apology that excuses my comments.
To then deny,
I was not conscious?
Yes...
I said what I said and I meant it.
Just as it sounded as if intended.
'But, you are running for public office.
To represent 'all' of the people.'
And what point is this you are attempting to make?
That I should hide my biased opinions to get votes?
'Well...
Kind of.
Or at least pretend.'
That would be like cheating on a spouse.
Or playing cat and mouse.
I think those people who were offended,
Need to get over themselves.
And awaken to have reality revealed.
I said what I said and that's how I feel.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You 'Feelin' Me?
Look...
For the record!
I AM a writer.
It is much more than liking it!
I AM it!
I AM this creative being.
I was born this way.
You know how some folks,
Can't make up their minds from time to time?
I don't understand that.
I don't have that problem.
The problem I'm confronted with,
Are those who believe I seek their approval...
Or acceptance.
Or 'tolerance' for my behavior.
And it has taken me years to convince them...
Even 'if' they did not exist,
I'd still be doing 'this'!
Or finding time to compose, act or direct.
Sing or dance or just sit to reflect.
Or write my opinions to submit in response...
To some nonsense I've read in a local newspaper,
Feeding BS to dead heads.
To inject their community hostilities.
That 'game is played all over the place!
This 'business' about fitting 'in' to please...
Has never comforted me personally,
Or my needs, desires or wishes I dream.
I'm not focused into who did what to who...
And got mad as hell!
I thought eyes were meant to roll,
Until my mother said to me...
'Boy, you better stop rolling your eyes at me.
Before I pop 'em right out of your head!
AND look at me when I'm talking to you.'
My mom had a way of getting my sisters and I
To listen to her!
It was quite a different intimidation than my father's.
He would just fix his eyes on me and not move them,
At all.
Not even blink for minutes.
Or say a word.
He was 'extremely' convincing.
Look...
For the record!
I AM a writer.
It is much more than liking it!
I AM it!
I AM this creative being.
I was born this way.
My identity is intact!
And I thank God for that.
Because the 'normalcy' of 'your' world...
Leaves much to be questioned and debated,
For the reality of it that is 'suppose' to reflect truth.
Very little of that is expressed!
You 'feelin' me?
I AM a process of evolution.
A creative aspect of life.
Just like all of nature should be.
I am about growth and change.
And none of that I am asking for
From anyone's pocket to spare.
Or decide I qualify to be who I AM.
I don't play that!
It is not a condition of my mission.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There Are Many Who Are Talented
There are many with gifts,
That are relevant as presented.
There are many who are talented,
With a seeking to reach heights.
And there are those who were born,
For the purpose of igniting thought.
And doing this without a challenge...
Since a naturalness given to them,
Is unselfishly offered to others brought.
However...
Hopefully an attention sought is caught!
Or it would defeat the purpose of a reach.
And nothing delivered sinks in as taught.
With intended depth remaining surfaced.
And a leaking occurs few see as a need.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If You Feed It Good
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes.
And,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
I'm not gonna mock you anymore,
'Cause you're good to me.
You don't have to knock,
On that unlocked door.
No more...
I'll rock your needs
When we get it heated! .
Now,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Just feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Don't shout or scream,
To be mean and demean.
I'm not your enemy.
Nor do I owe a thing....
To ya!
You can pout with a frown,
Thinking it will bring me down.
To be around...
For your clown count!
To the ground.
But,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it real good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Just,
Feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
Like it should.
Feed it good.
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
Like it should.
Feed it good.
Yes,
Feed it real good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
And,
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not Let Time Be Wasted
I intended to,
But I didn't...
Finish what I started yesterday.
I intended to,
But I didn't...
Promise myself I would stop procrastinating.
And...
I was almost there,
Until an excuse got in my way.
I intended to,
But I didn't...
Take that walk,
So to others I could say...
What it is 'they' should do,
To not let time be wasted...
With a getting nothing done,
If something to do was intended.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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