"cultivation" poems
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life…
in basic form
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
Red streaks of thin hair, finely cured,
Sugar-coded skin, sweet yet sticky inside…and then you sniff,
Freshly sliced with soft cries for help, the grass grows,
Dried in the most delightful setting; a miniature shadow of the sun,
The initials share a basketball in one palm-
-The pop from the stereo reflects the ripple of a king-
-----------------------0----------------------------0-------------------------
A complete package within, once the engine has revved- the liftoff-
Find yourself inside of her powers; the majestic magic maneuvers the mind,
Mend many memories and flick the switch on the motionless projector,
Guilty pleasures please the people and protect peaceful guidance,
Keep close the cultivation of a captivating lover-
-She will rise in your soul like helium in the lungs-
--------------------0--------------------0--------------------
She, who I breathe for, calls my name; forever entering the cave,
I broke off a chunk of everything she has grown to be,
Crumbled, chalk-like pollen, piles into mounds of distraction,
I set flame to the lone match and touch the wick- a silent sway-
She burns, her hair still a fiery-ruby blend, but like all living expectation-
-The ash separates and with the wind…she performs flips-
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
Your face, full of elation.
Sweet perfection, no frustration.
Summer memories, nostalgia hemorrhage.
Let's stay here, far from Anchorage.
What you've taught me, you might never know.
Wherever you are, that's where the wind blows.
Currently, these currents take me to you.
An act, time and again, time could never subdue.
While we do reside in the days long after,
Never could these months be a diminishing chapter.
I can feel them still, as relevant as ever.
The prime cultivation for something that will grow forever.
Close your eyes, I'm sure you can see those nights.
When loves only concern was to avoid a sugar spike.
This new captivation, this magnified fixation,
The love savior, our separate emotional asphyxiation.
That innocence needs not be continually longed after,
Because for now we shall continue writing, until we reach our final chapter.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
quick dandelions
blowing with ease in all wind
are weeds not flowers.
Dandelions change
simply, growing quickly – all
need no tender care.
Roses and tulips
take man's hand, and are rare, hard;
grow with water, sun.
Worthy love: sweet, rare
takes cultivation and care –
unlike weeds: flowers.
Upon the foot of spring, dandelions run
rampant, and weakly – quick, seemed flourished, fun.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 2:04 AM UTC
I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation
It's People who look up, look down, left and right
Desperate for information
We never looked inside for much needed inspiration
Instead,
We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation
I've lost toleration for the weak minded population
Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation
Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation
If this is my "generation"
I’d rather live in hibernation
You can take this as retaliation
I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination?
I swear,
It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication
Different voices yet the same conversation
Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive **********
Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation
**Who the **** do you think you are? a star?**
You're no constellation
You expel no illumination
Your personality is a narrow cultivation of
Seedy corporation,
Media publication,
And lack of moral stabilization
Let me give you clarification
Meditation is my detonation
Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation
We all have a fixation on giving into temptation
Putting ourselves in situations were
Passion is stimulation,
Trust is manipulation and
Love is ***********
Pour out your heartache in perspiration
After *********** we expect a standing ovation
*** is nothing more than sensation*
....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
Beautiful minds endure erosion of time.
Beautiful faces fade with time.
Beautiful minds come with years of cultivation.
Beautiful faces are shallow promises.
Beautiful faces are lucky inheritance.
A beautiful mind, your soul truly reveals.
By
Wyle Tan
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
is it love
or the parasite ?
my pilot bulk
aims for relief
it pursues this via
your romantic correction
in public arena
a library stair
(i never prior encountered you)
one step as foreigner
the approach
and upon a swift internal pendulum
i make witless incisions
hurried mended sentences
directed stuns
invasive
i demand the compromise
of your company
hastily push at boundaries and
you're not so accommodating
but
on a further occasion
same building
we exchange a battering of conversation
that
then
matures
into barter-like use of language
despite my harassments
a civil cultivation is unearthed
tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen
loosen my demanding appearance
disregard my dignity
a skin suit about the ankles
you're open in a vein of similarity
you flesh out your own controls
we've progressed quickly
there's an aped conduct
and flashing attitudes
this time we share table space
a nearby café
we have become quite unmanned
repeated meet ups
upon humours we adjust small habits
and shake on perceptions where we overlap
it becomes
more an overlay of rationalities
than resented promises
fast time passes and
i move into your living space
i pick a wildflower
and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table
we agree on its colour
we agree on a book to make our bible material
we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share
the clothes i am to wear
i switch to your diet
and you cease taking medications
we sleep on your lawn like children
and bring down the night sky for comfort
during the day we wear our sleep
like a lubrication for our chores
and go about our productivity
in genuine partnership
yet
i feel we're just out of reach
of some dark harm
we are an excellent sample pair
it is all vital
we grow stronger the more we quiz it
recycling our **********
refine our agreements
await further impulses
and come closer to plug
so..
do we please love
or simply indulge a parasite ?
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
Harm no one, the inevitable thought of a miniscule Agamemnon,
The insufferable, the pious, the deceiver,
And the devout, the sheep, the lamb,
Lead me I follow, Follow me I will train you,
Despicable, For here there is only nothingness disguised as a cruel sacrifice,
I believe in nothing, in circles, in patterns, in physics, in atoms within atoms, in life that studies itself,
I believe in the arts, in music, in poetry, in dreams that are breathed into existence through an artists touch,
I believe in family, in pure love, in unconditional acceptance, in forgiveness and the cultivation of hope,
I believe in people, who's emotions rage like the sea, who's ideas raise whole cities, who's dreams are to find peace and understanding, who sometimes are misled but are never beyond the good within themselves,
I believe in life, in growth, in the earth, the mother of us all and the sun, the father that watches his children basking in his warmth, I believe in trees that give us oxygen and water that gives us life.
And so I believe in the underdog, the unseen, the overlooked, the underrated, and the unappreciated, I believe in the here and now, the present moment, the kiss, the dance, the wine, and the open hand. There is nothing of your cold religion, or your angry god that I need. Because life is all around me and beauty is in all things here and now and forever.
Space spirals on and the river of time still flows in all directions, it is eternal this holy thing and it is without end, no mans demonic godhead will ever bring it down and this disease called religion will eventually be cured.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
The wall departed and I saw fog,
A pale touch and it turned into smoke;
The fairy tales wither away,
Found the lost fantasy world at bay;
The nomadic world will never flock,
This land is for the farmers of smoke;
Cultivation of tripy fields,
We wait for the harvest,
Every seed of our fate,
Deep down stored in the locked closet;
The field’s on fire every day, every night,
The inner self at its peak,
With the gods of water we fight;
The fields turn into ashes,
And we rise for a new yield,
Like a phoenix, from the ashes of ****
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
_No orange rhyme_
Just a word rhyme,
a range you read with your eye.
_No orange rhyme_
Just a few slices with morning porridge,
I prayed before to keep homage.
_No orange rhyme_
Just me nearly close to courage,
a couple more words to speak knowledge.
The know is hanging off the ledge,
where dreams fell into being dead.
In over my head,
so over in my head, to be
back again at knowledge.
_No orange rhyme_
In amongst any line,
hard to find an orange line,
That's so sublime inside this
orange rhyme.
_There's no orange rhyme_
But just an orange blossom,
inside Orange County,
If you need a few, I brought some.
Sing how, and I'll follow with howdy.
We'll have some orange juice,
while we both wear orange shoes.
Groove on in an orange grove,
just like the cultivation of an
orange group.
**** on some orange's mint,
amongst the oranges picked.
_And talk about no orange rhyme_
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC
Walked through the paddy fields
Following a brown dragonfly
Standing Scare crows made of hay in old clothes and a hat
Row of women working in the fields
White herons feeding from the shallow water
Looks like white pearls on a green necklace
Children chasing a calf with a loud cry
Folk songs of farming from the village are heard far away
Some fields getting ready for the cultivation
Men ploughing fields with white oxen
An old man guiding a flock of quacking ducks to their way
Waiting for them to cross the lane like nursery kids
Running with a bunch of paddy in my hands
With a pleasant smile of the dragonfly following me !
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
Everyday, I see people's thirst to be the tree
The tree bearing precious fruits for others to eat, seeds for others to replant
The tree providing shade for others to cool
The tree releasing oxygen for others to breathe
The tree providing home for others to live
The tree looking beautiful for others to admire
That is many people's desire
But remember, the tree was once a seed
It took time for the tree to grow
The tree had to withstand adverse weather conditions
The harsh weather built the tree a strong foundation
Don't stress, give in to your cultivation!
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
You blame not
when I am not with you.
You welcome
when I come back to you.
You nourish
when I am open to you.
You flourish
when I am your conduit.
There is no mention
of the time we're separate.
There is no pressure
to be a certain way.
There is no guilt
in being distracted by life.
There is no shame
in being wrong about things,
even yourself.
You are compassionate.
Though,
When I chase, you elude-
(because you are already there in me.)
When I stay, you egg me on
(because you are pure energy.)
When I capture, you escape
(because you are ethereal)
When I accommodate, you amaze
(because you are all-creative)
When I name, you become anomalous
(because you defy labels)
When I control, you boycott
(because to control is to disrespect).
When I let go, you comply
(because by letting go, you let it stay).
You are nothing as you are everything;
the things we perceive are your reflections.
Though you are no singular thing,
that is what allows you to be everything.
You are each person,
but very few people are you.
You are infinite wisdom,
thus can no one define you.
You are a pattern, a fractal of Philosophy
that can be reflected and lived
but not that can be told or taught (other than perhaps by example);
for it is subjectively based on One's existence and mindset.
Based upon One's path:
***It is simultaneously the greatest gift and curse
for One to have One's own path:***
No one can dictate for anyone else their path
because no one has the path of anyone else,
nor can they know of the path of another.
It's neigh impossible for one to know one's own path;
you must always be seeking to discover it; to let it unfold.
One can and must learn to be more sensitive to One's own path;
That itself takes great mental cultivation,
which in turn takes a willingness for One to learn things about Oneself that One might not like,
not to mention Practice, Self-Discipline, and Patience.
None of which can anyone do for You
but You.
::
It is up to you and you alone how worthwhile your life ends up being;
physical reality is a holographic maximum-security prison for your Chi
but the holographic prison is merciful by the grace of it being holographic.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Day eleven, I'm missing you
and I'm feeling like sinning,
maybe I should start from the clement beginning.
Day one, I see no more sun for I am alone
contemplating how I accrete age
and how many seeds I have sown.
Day two, palimpsest problems
weigh in heavy on my choices
and my mind has many voices.
Day three please don't look inside hollow me,
the pregnant wasteland of my heart
has been growing ruin from the very start.
Day four and out all my emotions pour,
I'm breathless from a sight of you
and my whole world returns anew.
Day five is crepuscular in nature, a perpetually playful night,
authored by your omnific fingers
and hidden behind the curtain, a sun just out of sight.
Day six, I've uncovered a skeleton making me love you even more
and I asseverate promises,
becoming blurred by family uproar.
Day seven is driven by a sensation of imbrication
and we know an end is coming,
lost in the easy salvation.
Day eight starts with our bodies huddled and our minds muddled,
you are a plagiary of my emotions
forgotten in loo of body illustration and soul cultivation.
Day nine is propelled by the intoxication of an end,
conclusion of what extent?
and filled with eristic thoughts of surrender to this utopian ascent.
Day ten and you're caught,
in my arms is where you ought to be,
and I keep hearing how just awakened you sought for me.
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 9:56 AM UTC
*I have been born to this affluent world
Rich with diversity and nature’s delight
So many wonders mesmerize me
Benevolence is the essence of this abode
The microcosm reflecting the magnanimity
Immediately I was accepted as a tenant
Being fed from the abundance of cultivation
Fertile soils yielding bountiful harvest
Feeding me to make me stronger
I walk upon this earth with pride and joy
To see mankind and animal kingdom thrive
The camaraderie between and nature and us
It still does not say, “You owe me”
We are indebted to this planet for the largesse
Yet, not rich enough to pay back the debt
I am just a tenant, wonder if I can repay
Only way I can do that is by nurturing love within
And not to destroy this space at will
Only I can love the earth with my heart
And help, in my way to nurture its purity
Many more to come after me can be a tenant here
Let this be a reminder, we are not here to plunder*
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
My allegiance to be a leader
Leader of my culture
Vow to righteous cultivation
Raise my right fist
And I tell you this
I will never quit
Low souls I will always lift
My determination is greater than or equal to my liberation
Truly in the past I've gotten content
Bent
Ripped
Torn
Hesitant
Forgot why I was born
I ask for your forgiveness
While I'm a realest
I know I have to be rigorous
And stay consistent
Because now days everyone who's put in position loses their coherence and fear the consequences
Like why work so hard to be a star?and get everyone to witness,
Get everyone's attention
...
But don't have a mission!
PUT A CAMERA IN FRONT OF ME
TAKE A MILLION PICTURES
MAKE A DOCUMENTARY
I CAN BE COMPLEMENTARY
GIVE ME ENDORSEMENTS
I DON'T EVEN WANT THE PROPORTION
I'LL GIVE IT TO THE DISTORTED
MAKE ME A RAP ARTIST
AND PUT ME ON THE RADIO
LET MY VOICE BE HEARD THROUGH THE STEREO
I hope I don't speak this into existence
Because all I need is a microphone with my voice coming through the PA system
It's a shame that I might need security
But it's not strange that I might need security
If I attract too many brown faces and people who come from unfortunate places
That's where they draw the line,
Speeches for memorabilia
But my work will be erased
Hope I don't sound incredible
I would not sound ridiculous if you remember our intellectuals
They don't accept anyone who's exceptional
They don't want to see anyone who has a big dream in their retinal
Hopefully I can manage with
About 30 plus years of residue
Give up?
Naw that's just what the rest will do
Fight for our lives
And take a chance with my life
Whatever it takes to restitute
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Blot out the whole emerging gesture
To demonstrate leading astray thy pace;
Don't rebound to toil and wrestle,
Be temperate tilt not at any rate!
Outrun ne'er surpass in celebrity quartan,
Submission ties settle better productive gain;
Prepare to ignite flame of fixed canon
Must evade excruciate feeble in vain;
Riches give delight yet defend not,
Slaking thirst aqua less attract rabies;
Pride of sagacity weak riot crazy spot,
Mere contentment if alive relay miseries;
Deny not troth behave alike recuperation
Spurt what ambition turn amative thee;
Man! thou hold energy to alter cultivation
Please the almighty by culminating blemish free;
Only provident would give certain dexterity
With vigour, venture, assume design marvelous;
Where its sacred light confirm privity:
Personality seems observing rare not fabulous.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 6:40 AM UTC
The paint is chipping, the Christmas tree shutters hanging
Green on gray, brick stoop and twin column mouth
Opens to creaking stairs that made sneaking out commando work
My room made your favorite shade is gone, death to ugly orange
I used to think of it as my laboratory, safe haven for exploration
And abstract cultivation, I bled my innocence into the floorboards
There are still fist-sized holes along the stud that I detected
Remnants of the games I played and the four that I connected
The basement is still damp and dreary, the wooden cage for laundry suspended
At the bottom of a chute that you told me was the tomb of a curious girl
My weight bench, secondhand and mixed pounds with kilograms
Living in sin, vowed never to be defenseless training endless
The attic lends its hospitable hand to trapped bird and cobweb gems
Quarter-circle window kept by chain hungrily swallows smoke
Shelves packed so tight with yellowing knowledge and petrified wood
That if spiteful spark made love to
Musty air and
********** embers, I would never make it out
Déjà vu as backyard grass soothes badtripbitch with tingling tips
Of leathery flesh, ready to be buried and wormed in its bedbox
Overwhelmed like militia in failing keep against advancing hordes
Until nature’s handsome sprouts remind me life is beautiful, always
The trumpet vine grows hideous and spiny, roots reaching deep
Settles in its site and survives all assaults man-made
For a blink during the year its vermillion nectar tubes take flower
The hummingbirds find love outside my window in their bloom
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
a city old in trades,
in cultivation of the arts
based on industrious commerce
of its citizens who boast
the world's oldest commercial fair
the city in which
Martin Luther and Melanchthon
led fierce disputes
with delegations of the Pope
where J. S. Bach found stimulus
and time to master
harmony and rhythm
close to perfection,
(and that was shocked listening
to Leibniz's monadologies),
the city of which
Goethe spoke with praise,
that saw Napoleon defeated
on the nearby battlefield
(and built a monument of quite
imposing ugliness one hundred years
after the fact),
this city suffered hard
from two world wars
followed by over forty years
of dreams gone sour of a new society,
until, most recently,
this city once again
became a catalyst of major change.
Yet those who kept their meetings
at St. Niklas' church
and by their stubborn protest
helped to reunite
a country separated by walls for generations -
those you don't see,
walking the streets of Leipzig now.
What strikes the eye
(besides the crumbling blackened ruins
of former glory,
and strip-mined land
just out of town)
is Wall Street's new frontier,
the bustling peddlers of new easy wealth
as they appear on every street downtown,
offering anything from oranges
to shoes and South Pacific cruises.
Ramshackled pre-fabs built on shabby parking lots
already stake the claims of big banks,
business and insurance companies
that promise earnings, safety and security
to eager though bewildered customers.
"Pecunia non olet" says the poster
of the postal savings bank,
and shows a happy pig
rooting in money.
Old stores, in order to survive,
have started selling
new and shiny goods
to happy new consumers,
only a few resist
and hesitate to walk a mile
for the melange of
fast food, cigarettes and *****
offered at makeshift stands
that seem have come
to symbolize the great new freedom
of the new Wild East.
* * *
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Color of the leaves of wearing dokhona
On the waist, with abwi danga
O dear you go to pluck vegetables
I am seeing on the whole way.
Long black hair and beautiful out
Very shy with your pink lips,
Tooth split in show
You greetings to me.
O dear you pluck vegetables every day to go
Vegetables fern, leaves of taro,
Sometimes, and bhutua shibung manimuni etc...
Sweet seasons of sing song.
I loved you
Nature's calm in the soul,
Your eyes pointed at the fights
I saw in your eyes.
Smiling become quickly
You grab the fish go to waterfall,
Sometimes to go pluck vegetables cultivation of land
My edge and become shy.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
Everything was dreary
...And bleak.
And my skin happened to look red and splotchy.
All I had wanted
Was to binge on coco flavanols and overdose on caffeine.
I hadn't moisturized my skin after my shower, or put cover up on while it was still moist and warm. My veneer had not been established.
I told myself it didn't matter..
But really this issue was the cultivation
The turning point of my day.
Then I put my face on.
The grey, somber mask turned to Lovely, Feminine Pink.
As I spread the beige cream across my complexion, I felt something shift; insidious.
I felt the ******* I had been enslaved to.
I had been the one
With no friends and no sellouts to lug around with the rest of her baggage.
I had been the one
Who gawked and sneered
At the self-medication of the lonely girls who looked oh-so attractive
With their gleaming, hair~framed faces
And popping eyes.
What have I become?
I now claim this self selling drug
As my own.
What does it mean? What does it say about me?
Even more importantly, what does it say about you, and your stand point?
Do you put your face on, or do you let your soul bubble out of the surface of your complection?
FACE
A FACE
A million faces, pretty ones.
It's time to face the place of natural grace and replace the superficial first impression we chase.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
a few seconds left
a few minutes
a few hours
a few days
i'm spinning in circles,
twirling the sky,
and the dizziness decreases.
every second hand's tick echoes infinitely
echo echo
a glance, a hand-wring
I pick my nails.
Time
the departure and arrival of the present
Evolution of the future into the past.
The grass is growing
The surroundings groan
while i try to open my eyes
tense with
anticipation
excitation
gas tank almost empty
big capital e's have never looked so attractive
Now, the doors will be unlocked,
And ripped off
And crunched, crushed,
And incinerated, obliterated.
Oh,
what a refreshing breeze
smells like sunflowers,
pomegranates,
and honey.
Let's neglect new barriers.
I can see
the pores of time.
I'm the future
a crane, an eagle
an equal
The doorknob's key is in my hand,
An axe in the other.
All those years
of inescapable limitation to
the view from a windowsill,
they will soon be the senile, wrinkled remains
of tears, of fears, of jeers.
Soon, I will soar
Escape this world of sore
Existence at the core
Of the personalities who tore
At the pained cultivation of my soul,
Who decided it was best to close my doors,
I know, I swear, these shackles, held in the hands of unmuffled cackles,
Will disintegrate in nothing
but dust and flies to blind their eyes,
Keeping them, from once again,
Binding me into void oblivion,
I am blinded by triumphant tears,
They'll evaporate eventually,
Leaving behind puffed and swollen emotional Glory.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 8:43 PM UTC