"disciplines" poems
The most important things in life are often those we have to choose from at critical times. They very often represent and determine the course our life will take and to what extent we have in controlling or shaping it. With whatever choice we make, opportunities arise and by making the most of these we realise the relative benefits to be gained or otherwise. Through our committment and willingness to achieve a goal, irrespective of what obstacles there may be or we come across, we move forward and progress is made in our endeavour. If the goal is something we have set our mind and heart on whatever setbacks or obstacles are encountered should then be taken to be the hurdles to overcome.
By repeated experience we learn the necessary disciplines with which to train or involve our mind and body to reach our goal. When we recognise and forego or sacrifice certain habits that are not conducive to our overall progress we release more energy by which to accomplish our end. By sustained right effort we put in motion the train of events that will bring about the right results, but we should not be too attached to the fruits thereof. Too much attachment is a cause of blindness, disappointment and suffering. However with the right mental attitudes including positive thinking and actions we should learn from and leave behind past failures by always striving onwards to our desired objective or set goal.
The best way to achieve this end is to include in some way the benefit and good of all those concerned whether they be friend or otherwise which will not be easy but will exhibit a spirit of high ethical standards and character and contribute to endearing oneself to others.
_______________________________________________________________
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 4:28 PM UTC
Math is witnessed at everything
It is behind infinite things
Capable of solving problems
From simple operations to Complicated theorems.
Math possess a long history...
Once taught by Physiologoi
Improved by history's Philosophers
Now being indoctrinated by Teachers.
Heart of all academic disciplines,
Bearer of intricate formulas,
The key behind all creation
Knowledge passed through generations.
From past mathematicians
To future problem solvers
Math changed through millennia
And so its problems and solutions.
Math can never be removed
It helped the world to improve
All society won't be like this to date
Math helped us all the way.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
(for Cyril Connolly)
The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.
Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.
Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.
Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.
Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK
On a pink official form.
Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.
Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.
4.8k
Let’s learn the Social Science subjects called Sociology & Anthropology
The twin disciplines are integrated comprehensively
Sociology focuses on society & socialization
Social Processes, Social Groups, Social Movements are in every nation
While Anthropology centers on the study of culture
Here we can learn better the society for sure
As culture has characteristics, elements & dimensions
Society evolves with it through various interactions!
-04/28/2017
(Dumarao)
*SSN Poems
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 10:02 PM UTC
The dichotomy of purgatory is sprinkled with the delights and disciplines of a fretful uncertainty and steam locomotives can sound menacing when their pistons seek to establish torque on those rails of pursued destination with mesmerizing force.
I know that time is like a fondling excitement, where constellations of perceived energy fields become intellectually categorized into mechanical parts of a metaphysical ******
Universal parameters of death may generate mischievous laughter, which resound throughout the silent galaxies of cosmological meadows.
I have to say that geometrical co-ordinates automatically invoke thoughts of plain paper and hot chocolate – small figments of homosapien pastures where grazing is not a realistic occurrence.
As we perceive the eternal impressions of epistemological nihilism, let us play the game of religious patience on this checkered board of architectural bliss.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
Anthropos apteros for days
Walked whistling round and round the Maze,
Relying happily upon
His temperment for getting on.
The hundredth time he sighted, though,
A bush he left an hour ago,
He halted where four alleys crossed,
And recognized that he was lost.
"Where am I?" Metaphysics says
No question can be asked unless
It has an answer, so I can
Assume this maze has got a plan.
If theologians are correct,
A Plan implies an Architect:
A God-built maze would be, I'm sure,
The Universe in minature.
Are data from the world of Sense,
In that case, valid evidence?
What in the universe I know
Can give directions how to go?
All Mathematics would suggest
A steady straight line as the best,
But left and right alternately
Is consonant with History.
Aesthetics, though, believes all Art
Intends to gratify the heart:
Rejecting disciplines like these,
Must I, then, go which way I please?
Such reasoning is only true
If we accept the classic view,
Which we have no right to assert,
According to the Introvert.
His absolute pre-supposition
Is - Man creates his own condition:
This maze was not divinely built,
But is secreted by my guilt.
The centre that I cannot find
Is known to my unconscious Mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there.
My problem is how not to will;
They move most quickly who stand still;
I'm only lost until I see
I'm lost because I want to be.
If this should fail, perhaps I should,
As certain educators would,
Content myself with the conclusion;
In theory there is no solution.
All statements about what I feel,
Like I-am-lost, are quite unreal:
My knowledge ends where it began;
A hedge is taller than a man."
Anthropos apteros, perplexed
To know which turning to take next,
Looked up and wished he were a bird
To whom such doubts must seem absurd.
3.5k
Consistency is one kind of Discipline,
capacity for change is another.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
True artist require a muse for light,
A spirit directing them to the edge;
Where regions unexplored are bound in dark
And beauty undefined wait to be found.
Some struggle forever in the long search.
But ever wonderful is he who finds
That blessed connection where soul meets life;
As stewards creating the best of man
They become legendary, and points of hope.
I believe beautiful works are in me,
And also aspire to find my muse
To provides genesis for some great task.
I squandered everything in the long search;
I studied, reflected and looked in books,
I practiced disciplines and prayed to God,
But became so defeated I gave up hope
And sadly surrendered what I might do.
Then angles delivered me from my doom
By sending another to teach me life
For something occurred when I met you-
A living example of life as art.
While midnight mystery shines in your eyes,
Your laughter translated my grief to song.
Your gentle, generous touch gave me hope.
No other enthralled me like you have.
You alone inspire me to great things.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
Fathercraft
has been passed down
from father to father
losing and gaining
at each slow bequeathing -
less heavy-handed there
more soft-hearted here
as each generation rejects
the disciplines of the past.
So much so that I wonder
what's left of the original art
and what we've lost.
This is my food for thought
as I feed my daughter -
crumbled digestive
with mashed banana -
perhaps a favourite of mine
and my father's,
while she grins and chortles
blowing biscuit dust
and spittle bubbles
with absolute child-delight.
Food for thought
as I drink in her smile,
wipe my cheek
and laugh along,
prolonging the rare perfection
of this father moment.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
sort-of falls in line with
a certain sense of humour;
a certain need for extravagantly epic Music;
Truest of Metal
is an extension, an expression,
of the disciplines of:
Practice, Patience, and Study
in the realm of Music
as well as whatever Instrument;
some of it is, indeed, simply noise
but, then again,
Music is but ordered noise,
is it not?
I see little separation
from Classical and Metal;
though Classical came first
Metal learned what works and why
from what came before;
a sort-of Musical evolution
a sort-of Cognitive evolution
a sort-of inspiration;
Metal music has great potential,
Metal is akin to Blues and Jazz
Metal is akin to Spanish Classical Guitar
Metal is akin to Baroque styles
Metal is akin to Gregorian chants
as well as rhythmic elements
derived from the Music
of various Cultures and Tribes
worldwide.
Metal
is a moderately tongue in cheek
melting ***
for lots of styles,
and, honestly,
lots of Drugs,
such as :alcohol and nicotine
and high-energy Music;
Truest of Metal
is an Art and a Science,
and, to some,
even a Religion.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
W. S. Rendra translations
Willibrordus Surendra Broto Rendra (1935-2009), better known as W. S. Rendra or simply Rendra, was an Indonesian dramatist and poet. He said, “I learned meditation and the disciplines of the traditional Javanese poet from my mother, who was a palace dancer. The idea of the Javanese poet is to be a guardian of the spirit of the nation.” The press gave him the nickname Burung Merak (“The Peacock”) for his flamboyant poetry readings and stage performances.
SONNET
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Best wishes for an impending deflowering.
Yes, I understand: you will never be mine.
I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
I contemplate
irrational numbers―complex & undefined.
And yet I wish love might ... ameliorate ...
such negative numbers, dark and unsigned.
But at least I can’t be held responsible
for disappointing you. No cause to elate.
Still, I am resigned to my undeserved fate.
The gods have spoken. I can relate.
How can this be, when all it makes no sense?
I was born too soon―such was my fate.
You must choose another, not half of who I AM.
Be happy with him when you consummate.
THE WORLD'S FIRST FACE
by W. S. Rendra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill―
both of them naked,
both consisting of nothing but themselves.
As in all beginnings
the world is naked,
empty, free of deception,
dark with unspoken explanations―
a silence that extends
to the limits of time.
Then comes light,
life, the animals and man.
As in all beginnings
everything is naked,
empty, open.
They're both young,
yet both have already come a long way,
passing through the illusions of brilliant dawns,
of skies illuminated by hope,
of rivers intimating contentment.
They have experienced the sun's warmth,
drenched in each other's sweat.
Here, standing by barren reefs,
they watch evening fall
bringing strange dreams
to a bed arrayed with resplendent coral necklaces.
They lift their heads to view
trillions of stars arrayed in the sky.
The universe is their inheritance:
stars upon stars upon stars,
more than could ever be extinguished.
Illuminated by the pale moonlight
the groom carries his bride
up the hill―
both of them naked,
to recreate the world's first face.
Keywords/Tags: Rendra, Indonesian, Javanese, translation, love, fate, god, gods, goddess, groom, bride, world, time, life, sun, hill, hills, moon, moonlight, stars, life, animals , international, travel, voyage, wedding, relationship, mrbtran
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 5:36 AM UTC
I pray to my Lord; as the prey in this crazy
world, dressed in sheep's clothing of all
those wolves.
All lurking around with no good.
Shepherd guide me; I don't always know
where to go. Staff of mercy; disciplines hurt
of the rod, but keeps me on my track to God.
Teeth marks; and ****** holes in my leg,
went chasing on greener pastures. But instead;
I was caught down on my defence.
Wolves only see red; as they have their prey out as
a spread.
_The prey prays not to be prey; by the longest
prayer of all the sheep's prayers._
Apr 9, 2022
Apr 9, 2022 at 6:43 AM UTC
I am not praising you,
With any unwanted words.
Whatever I come across,
I just write in few words.
My pen cannot remain idle,
It just feel like writing down few verses, which I cannot tell on ones face directly.
He is a man with a passion for his work, so dedicated to his work.
With flattery words one cannot win him ever.
Send him birthday wishes, he will never love.
But with what dedication you do the work, only pleases him ever.
There cannot be any explanations for the excuses if any.
Just in plain words speak the truth.
His eyes are too sharp to judge you perfectly.
His memory is too sharp and
Blessed with great sense of humor.
Shaking hands meeting eyes to eyes,
His eyes speak of boldness.
Blended with beautiful qualities of,
Self Disciplined and inner strength.
He can sail through any storms,
which he had proved many times.
His strictness may not be liked,
as a man of disciplines.
He is a man full of life and charms.
A man, who has the courage to do the right thing.
But I will never tell,
Who you are.
I love to praise the qualities,
Whatever my eyes see,
What ever I hear,
For I know the person.
It's the plain truth I am writing,
Regarding him in my verse.
He may not read my verses,
so boldly I can write regarding him.
If someone asks who is he,
For, I will never tell.
For it can be you
or anyone who comes with
these qualities ever.
I have never seen a man, just took few hours of leave for his surgery.
Surprise it was that he directly he went to office the moment he was discharged.
So dedicated to work.
All I can tell is,
He is a rare person with so many qualities I have ever met.
Yes, I do respect him and his qualities, which he owns.
He is a unique man of rare with lots of achievements.
God Bless Him with best of health and happiness always!
Thank You!
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
You looked so big to me
That Summer in Oregon
I was only four when we
Followed you into isolation
New Hampshire seemed a world away
All ties to home and family
Shrank and faded in the rear view
Hoping new & different...would be
I left my doll outside that day
Then lied to keep my fault a secret
Your belt, that slipping sound
I still hear to this day
Spare the rod and spoil the child
Was popular back then
Americans had a right to raise up
God fearing children with discipline
The problem is you got it wrong
God disciplines, it's true
But love's the stronger, key component
One you rarely demonstrated
If truth had been a better choice
My shame exposed, as was my skin
Would I have escaped your wrath
And be now somehow changed?
She made the choice to live with you
Sadly it was a package deal
One for which I've paid the price
A remarkable value nonetheless...
My children never heard the sound
Of leather belt and buckle strap
Spare the child and spoil the rod
Have been my choice instead
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 3:14 AM UTC
I am often asked this question in comments, private notes and emails.
The short answer is: I don’t know.
I don’t know if there is an answer or if I’m the man to even try.
First, there are probably as many ways to write poetry as there are poets. I can’t imagine any one size fits all template. That is too horrible to contemplate.
Second, my method is actually a non-method. I will describe it, but I doubt it will be useful or transferable.
I have been a fanatical reader all my life. I still am. I probably read an average of three books per week. This has been going on for decades.
I have been reading poetry seriously for perhaps 43 years, including being taught how to read closely by some brilliant professors as an undergraduate and graduate student.
This has deposited an enormous mishmash of poems, sentences, images, phrases and fragments in my brain. Add to that mishmash decades of reading across disciplines, especially history, philosophy, religion and novels. Imagine that mishmash slowly marinading and fermenting.
From that random accumulation, without provocation on my part, poems emerge. There is no order to this and not much effort. I just channel what shows up. I do some retouching, but little serious rewriting.
And there you have it: my non-method. It should be obvious why I doubt it will be of much help to anyone else.
I can give a bit of advice, but only based on my experience.
Love words. Love to learn them. Love to play with them. Delight in them.
Read as much poetry as you possibly can. I doubt anyone can become a poet without doing this.
Be patient. It takes a while for the marinade to work. I’m 65 and I only began writing seriously eight years ago.
Find your own method and your own voice. You’ll know when that voice is authentic.
And then, sing out.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
All my life I have kneeled down at your altar
Sacrificing my innocence and self worth
A lamb who's blood would gain me favor
"the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist"
Yes, I worshipped you like a God I was afraid of
Old Testament wrath brewed in our home
And I readied myself to **** what I loved
As Abraham would, as sheep do for their shepherds
For I knew my creator loved me, and called me love
"For he disciplines those he loves, and he punishes each one he accepts as his child. "
By the stripes inflicted upon me I would be freed
Of this shame and unworthiness you bestowed
But it turns out "Father" does not mean "God"
Sometimes it just means "alcoholic"
Sometimes discipline just means abuse
My faith is now placed in me, and the God that made us both.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC
May the LORD judge between us what is true
and lead us graciously to higher ground,
grant peace to each of us where discord’s found,
correct us when our ways have gone askew.
May we be open to His gentle ****
which keeps and guides us safely back toward home,
stay close upon His heels, not idly roam,
find comfort in His Shepherd’s staff and rod.
He has right paths prepared where we might grow
into His likeness, freed from chaining sin.
And one way or the other He will win—
to sanctify by truth or chastise-blow.
In mercy, loving-kindness, faithfulness
He disciplines His own for Heaven’s bliss.
Jul 15, 2022
Jul 15, 2022 at 9:37 AM UTC
I would write a poem
That would change your world.
But, first you have to want
Your world to be changed.
I would write you a poem
That would find you true love
But that would change your world
And the result would be the same.
I’d write a rhymed sonnet
Worthy of Will Shakespeare
Talking about the strength
That love can give to you.
I could parse it in pentameter
And lilting phrases of pictographia
If I thought that word work
And if I thought that would do.
I’d speak of clearing your mind
And setting your spirit inner free
To caress your soul into harmony
Both within you and without you.
I’d urge you to practice yoga
And other exotic disciplines
If that would help you understand
What wonders your mind can do.
But in that poem, I would need
To practice some kind of magic
To make you set your toys aside
And focus on what is important.
I would need to show clearly
In the simplest of phrases,
That living life honestly can charm
If you remove all that is discordant.
I would write you such a poem
That repeating it out loud would
Let you be happy with being you
And let you give up being proud
Or lazy or arrogant or angry
And clear your horizons away
Of any roadblocks or envy
And remove every dark cloud.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
What is Real Love?
Love is unconditional. Is unexpected.. its understands. Its supportive. Its reliable. Its honest. Its giving. Its deep. Its powerful. Its a satisfying. Its dramatic. Its long- suffering .Its passionate. Its humble. Its attraction. Its desirable. It's unstoppable. Its intense. It's motivating.its sacrificing. It's discerning. Its diverse. It evolves. Its secure. It multiplies, divides adds and sometimes it even subtract but who says you cant get it back.. It's loyal. It's obedient.
It's strong. It's bold. It's informative. It's helpful. It's caring. It's sharing.It's fair. It's Justice. Its a rhythm. It's a melody. It's respectable. It's forgiving. It's provides. It's self sacrificing. It moves. It feeds. It seeks. It needs. It satisfies. It doesn't lie. It never hides.
It's ensuring. It's healing. It's encouraging. It's righteous. It's good. It's deliciousness. It's sweet. Its satisfying. It's beautiful. It's submissive. Its Peaceful. Its giving.Its salvation. It's inspiring. Its joyfully.. It's tender. It's merciful. It's trusting. It blossom and also blooms. It Ticks and Tocks and It twist and it turns. It believes.
It discover's. Its kind. Its reasonable. Its Instructive. It pays attention. Its admiring. Its creative. Its nurturing. Its Determined. It protects and defense. Its honorable. Its promising. Its balance. Its adorable. Its Adaptable. It bears all things. It's soothing. Its relaxing. Its mildness.Its comforting.It's enduring. Its healing. It's rejuvenating. It disciplines but only in a righteous way. It uses self control. Love makes everything feel right. It makes your heart rejoice. Its Pure. Its happiness. Its priceless
There is many levels to love.
Love in a imperfect world, you get confused with what the word really means !.. Love takes hard work to make it continue. So
Treating everything with love and love we never leave you. Because love never fails!
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC
my moral metabolism escapes me
trapped in decaying flesh
these combustible meanings
and disarming thoughts
it's like seeing the word in greyscale
through canine eyes
translating the future into wet dreams
and false disciplines
we move mountains but see only jewels
brainwashed societies block out sun rays
and trap beasts within walls
eat my heart
I no longer want it
make me a tin can
program me
create an automaton
I'd rather see in greyscale
it's pale I know
but it doesn't hurt
to lack feelings when they should be present
depend only on my metallic casings
become indifferent to this worlds meaningless agony
my notions and emotions
these eyes will be void of consciousness
lost in unoccupied nothingness
believe me
delete me
reformat my existence
I want to see in greyscale
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
blood boiling
causes chills along my back
hairs rise along lanky arms
skin pale, eyes swollen and red
eyebrows furrowed, permanent expressions of hate and anger create wrinkles matching the set dad has
he's blind to the fact he's creating them on his little girl
pain is associated with the secretion of substance P, and is relieved by the secretion of endorphins
anger is associated to the spewing of your words and the sternness of authoritarian disciplines, and is relieved in a year, with college dorms and distance of 453 miles
or relieved in an instant by running away
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
1
I say I'm a designer of systems, plans
Man's
Parts that stand together, set in place to serve
Trees and planets, too, which are unplanned by us
The observant, wise man
Tries to understand
Name the parts, pistil and stamen
Rocks, eskars
Elements.
Winter is shuddering to an end, mud roads
Cardinal pairs
Robin flocks return that will soon pair off
Buds
Soils swell
Will I live to smell it again, learn the lobelias
Understand and name the parts
It ought to be a great comfort to be so insignificant
Go among weeds, a wind
Thinking to myself
One's never alone
A dichotomous key is needed, a book of twigs and fruits
Accumulated over time and generations
Without it mine would be a blank mind
To be blank but knowledgeable
Without any machinery
In a perfect silence
That is the definition of death for which we have only to wait
But in my panic last night I thought death's inert
Grace requires consciousness
Hold on long to the senses
At least a century, maybe more
A boy hanging upside down from a fence at sunset, counting
clouds
2
Now we go to our daily practice
And chosen disciplines
Sustained by the satisfactions of being good men among our
fellow men
Women
Choosing to do this and not that
With the finite days allotted us that at first seemed like a lot
They're now few
But the chickadee's life to the chick and the cankerworm
moth's to the worm
Seem as long to them as ours to us
What question am I asking today
By now, past half a century, I should have chosen a discipline
And been satisfied
To be a war president one must have war
May you live in interesting times - wish or curse?
Squirrels, high in oaks,
Fiber, fat and protein in acorns
Strong runners, leapers, climbers
Should stay off the roads which some cannot avoid being
where they're born
Natural selection is occurring
Those that look for machinery in motion
Hesitate or don't as needed before crossing
Live in larger numbers than those whose modus operandi's
Guessing
The ravens eat the fur and guts of bad guesses off the roads
I impose my own small order
Having chosen mountains over plains or shore
Go to my daily discipline
And estimate the motions of the seas and stars
Measuring my satisfactions by my children's satisfactions
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
She burns Nova
and she is so live
I can't let her go
not without her pilot
He makes grim look like heaven
for her captain is fighter elite
wow that black clad *******
Neon will make her burn nova
He just keyed 300 disciplines
now just watch him fly
he is and he is will
I think he is going to burn the skies
On to the deck
oh sweet glory
we are warship
Neon she burns nova
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Click to make a gift
My Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
Click to make a gift
My sadness, anger, and shame concrete plan
I will travel to Rome third-party reporting
Mechanisms examining specific
Options advocate concrete proposals
Click to make a gift
Expertise relevant disciplines need
Such tools already exist our structures
Must preclude criterion zero tolerance
Outreach psychological development
Click to make a gift
This is the church house, this is the steeple
Where the Bishop dumps words upon the people
Click to make a gift
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
Swift winds run through the park, at dusk
Carried on legs of leaves
Temporary, as they blow from the path
Onto the verdant sheet of blades
Laid beside the pavement.
The contestants occasionally collide,
And tiny whirlwinds
Untether their foliage feet from the terrain
As they fall onto the track
Whistling merrily as they bounce upon the ground
And rebounce into their lane
To commence the runnings again.
No pace is kept
And each man is one moment a sprinter
And the next a marathon chaser
The disciplines remain inexorably tangled
In their fleeting eyes.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC