"receptive" poems
“Being a farmer is like being a priest;
you take a vow of poverty
and make a pact with the Lord
that no typhoon will come
and destroy your crops.”
In the rise of sedentary human civilization,
The nation’s agriculture
Became the key expansion.
Its history dates back thousands of years,
With its development,
Has been driven and defined –
By different climates, cultures, and technologies.
The Filipino farmers:
Are they now a dying breed?
Numbers of small farms has dwindled,
With workers opting for city life.
But this trend could exacerbate food insecurity!
Yes, in an import-dependent country –
Already struggling to meet current food demand.
In the face of growing losses,
And from volatile weather,
To new-fangled farming tech,
Limited education makes them less receptive.
What took such toll on the agricultural sector?
Maybe the farmer themselves,
The investors, the buyers – maybe.
Now, it’s due to the government policies,
Our programs are good, yet so weak.
There’s excessive reliance on agricultural imports,
And corruption on the upper level.
Compounding the problem
Is a younger generation –
Largely, leaving rural areas nationwide,
And depleting the pool of potential agricultural workers.
They say it’s too late to do something;
But the mind-set of the younger generation
Still we can change
And make farming appealing once again.
(9/8/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
the glory is fallen out of
the sky the last immortal
leaf
is
dead and the gold
year
a formal spasm
in the
dust
this is the passing of all shining things
therefore we also
blandly
into receptive
earth,O let
us
descend
take
shimmering wind
these fragile splendors from
us crumple them hide
them in thy breath drive
them in nothingness
for we
would sleep
this is the passing of all shining things
no lingering no backward-
wondering be unto
us O
soul,but straight
glad feet fearruining
and glorygirded
faces
lead us
into the
serious
steep
darkness
16.5k
From a distance,
the incessant chant of monsoon from south west,
sounds like an old witch practising her craft,
she is all evil and dark, one would think,
the overcast sky her sinister cloak.
But intruder under my umbrella, she is playful,
I watch this coy maiden, I desired from afar,
now she walks with me step to matching step,
tries to entice me with her soft tunes,
tender cool fingers, rubbing my cheeks,
her lover's touch unmistakable, passionate, eager
I shiver, she wants me to get in to her arms, cuddle.
I throw away my umbrella,
in boyish rumbunctiousness, run to her
her hands moving fast tickle me, pinch
then a sudden embrace, making me squirm
with deep pleasure I dreamt in wakeful nights.
The joy of life that the water and receptive earth evoke,
loud green glee around, in me creates goosebumps,
in my dreams she comes to me
and tells the secrets of
nights I long for my love and me alone.
Rain, the seductress, taught me
the passions of living and loving
she, awakened the spirit that seeps deep in to the
core of my being.
**When I lay awake in monsoon nights,
across my window she tangoes
in fierce passion with the wind,
that keeps me excited till I get absorbed
in to a dream that has love as its theme.**
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
I was treated like the VIP,
A cat and a big fish,
A hook and a big Six,
whilst visiting madam bow-peeps
rotisserie of *****
Always receptive,
Wearing open silk
working 9 to 5am.
With a little overtime,
hot funk never satisfies,
She had the way-with-all
to feign, delight; even interest,
before negotiating the price,
Two shekels,
She was classy,
kind of slick,
she tickled my ears
for nothing more than kindness,
a small token in exchange for a smile.
She popped on a tune,
as she took off her dress.
The petting started
her two hands tugging with the zipper of my jeans.
A woman's touch... Ha HA,
the rich sultry kiss of *****
tight and tasty;
***** like a ripe tomato,
Sugar fried and drunk.
She opened her legs,
her hair smelled like shampoo,
She was on her belly,
knees tucked up
as I took in the fruit,
deep holes filled with **** and shabby fingers,
hollow spit and angry poison,
head spinning to the groove,
loud and high,
The bed squeaked
and a single light bulb dangled
like a loose tooth,
Ten minutes and
two ******* love songs!
Sick and spent up,
I got dressed to leave,
I said with a poke,
"I couldn't get laid,
Not even in a ***** house!"
And now I'm back in the cold again,
only dirtier.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
Come Sincerity
Come aspiration
Come illumine my soul in ineffable ways.
Be receptive to the light my coy soul ere you sway,
For Ruffled respulsive is the vital
Guarding the hallway.
Come sincerity
Come aspiration
Come illumine my soul in ineffable ways
For I must serve the divine
Pure resolute,myriad ways.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
Ask me who is the most generous man I know and I shall speak his name
Ask me who is the most humble man I know and him I shall acclaim
Ask me who is the most altruistic man I know and his face shall be on the frame
Ask me who is the most kindhearted man I know and you will hear his name again
In my life, I've never met anyone like him again
A man devoted to his family and his community
Always preaching the word of God and leading us to felicity
Always ready to sacrifice his needs for the sake of love and unity
He taught us family, love, fraternity, forgiveness, religion, compassion, tolerance, peace and generosity
I am who I am today thanks to his teachings
He was a leader, a guide, our role model
There is no one like him
He was a father, a brother, a friend, a companion, a grandfather
16 years since he is gone but his words still resonate like thunder
You are no longer here but your teachings linger
A man who was not afraid to cry when needs be but also not afraid to yell and impose order
Always playful with kids and receptive and caring with adults
I feel privileged and lucky to have known him and call him grandpa
For in my life he has played a huge and special part
The memories I will treasure and keep them in my heart
Although he is gone, we will always be together
And his spirit will live on in each one of us forever
From where he is, he is protecting us and guiding us on our way
He is praying for us everyday
He used to pray God "Let it be I who fall sick instead of one of my family member. Let it be I who die instead of someone in my family."
What kind of man wishes for that, you ask.
Someone special I will say, a man of love
And I would like to thank God above
For blessing us with this man, with his kindness and love
I truly believe that God has gifted him with something special
He taught us not to let this world be in our heart for it is not eternal
I know he is in a better place
Watching us all with a smile on his face
I hope we are making you proud from where you are
We are still crying an ocean of tears
As we feel so empty and hold many fears
If I could just turn back the time to those days you used to laugh with us and made us feel so special and loved
Those days you pretended to be in pain when we stepped on your feet while we were playing
Those days when they were only you and us in the room with your half covered grey and curled hair
Those days we used to watch tv together and whenever there was an intimate scene you screamed your favorite word "Touc" and scared us (not that I know what it means)
Time will heal so they say
And time fades away
While a part of us is taken away
I know we will meet again one day
But until that day
Know that you are truly missed
Mame Alassane Lahi whom we affectionately called Mame Rane
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
I hope my good old ******* holds out
60 years it's been mostly OK
Tho in Bolivia a fissure operation
survived the altiplano hospital--
a little blood, no polyps, occasionally
a small hemorrhoid
active, eager, receptive to phallus
coke bottle, candle, carrot
banana & fingers -
Now AIDS makes it shy, but still
eager to serve -
out with the dumps, in with the condom'd
******** friend -
still rubbery muscular,
unashamed wide open for joy
But another 20 years who knows,
old folks got troubles everywhere -
necks, prostates, stomachs, joints--
Hope the old hole stays young
till death, relax
March 15, 1986, 1:00 PM
8.1k
A strange kind of people
whose hegemonic ways dictate
and justify them
to exhort their rituals upon outsiders
and breathe fire on those
who refuse.
They have people called Slareneg
whose job it is to decide the fate
of the outsiders.
They claim to be receptive
of foreign rites
but are known to somehow be able to
coerce others into
blindly discerning matters their way.
They even have a history of
confining their own,
the ones they care not for at least,
to do their bidding for them
even though they are of akin heritage.
These people also defecate in the same place
where they consume meals.
They are backwards.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
My head falls deep into
Her shoulders, gently,
As she would not need to nudge.
My Arm finds its place around her back,
Stalking in good terms,
I lean and feel receptive touch.
I feel as though
My approach was out of place.
My hand throttles back, firmly, But in fluid grace.
I put it out in winter soft,
That she might not resort to sob.
I prepare to leave my seat as if told,
Remarking her that it was out of love
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Tattoo
The universe
Captured
At the ends of fingertips
Like gentle tattooing needles
Synnapses firing
Chemical arrows
In sequences
Drawing patterns
tattoos
On receptive skin
Mapping new sensory
territory
memory
Tattooing eternity
In a dream
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC
stethoscope to this chest reading one of these "dubs"
as captions to italics sometimes, we lead
too patient lives, one as receptive the second as disruptive
covertly, convertedso to alleviate, vindicate
these dial tones
exchanged -so to compliment- verses in the clarity
of LP vinyl tracks
posture within degrees
to hear a “Hello?”
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 2:14 PM UTC
i miss
your naked body
thighs
spread wide
receptive and submissive
of me
being on top
dominating
looking into your eyes
legs wrapped
around me
kissing your breast
licking the sweat
tasting the salt
smelling your scent
your disheveled hair
i need to be inside
be one
connect
intimate
my ****
touching your lips
penetrating
sliding inside
your wetness
and body heat
arouse me
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 10:48 PM UTC
To the people who don’t or won’t support me,
I don’t live in your solitary reality.
I see the world in an equal and just perspective,
It’s affective, connected, receptive, near-perfected.
So I’m not going to heed your advice,
I knew as soon as I saw her, what I think is right,
I’m going to do what I was put here to do,
I refuse to listen to you and your out-dated views.
You say you will go to the city in the sky,
Way up high in the clouds, after you die,
And you say people like me will go to H-E-L-L,
Then I’m glad I’m not near you and your homophobic smell.
Plus, sending me back to my warm, homely home,
Your cult will crumble like the Colosseum of Rome.
You see, Satan is known for destruction and death,
So if you decide to oppose me, you just took your last breath.
I would kiss her right now, make you feel icky and horrible,
I would hold her hand; remind her she is adorable.
I would mess up her short, dark hedgehog hair,
I would gently hold her face in two hands and stare.
We would poke our tongues out at you, and then grin evilly,
Then skip away, holding hands, eyes twinkling gleefully.
Me and her, we don’t give a flying hoot what you think,
You’re small, insignificant to us, gone in a blink.
Me and her, we don’t want or care for your opinion,
You’re just doing what you’ve been told, like a good lil’ minion.
You go do your thing, and we’ll go do ours,
We will look up and follow the brightly glowing stars.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it,
as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately,
which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem,
sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending.
So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves,
I can feel them clenching in my gut.
As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a ***** call, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance,
my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed,
frankly they are getting out of control,
as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself,
are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place.
Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you,
even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much.
I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin,
naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch.
Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time,
I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough.
I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises,
representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation.
Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really,
and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace,
breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making,
which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly,
and the skip in my step as I head home.
So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear,
I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? ,
in the hope that you might just say yes...
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
In anticipation of the too-few precious hours in tandem, we divulged our carnal cravings at each others’ hands, but omitted fragments, saving them for some other day, finding them too truthful.
When you hold your body to mine, as you have told me you will, I want a flurry of colored breath, peach and magentas and crimsons slipping translucently from every part of me and wafting in and out and between us like a graceful fog, and not just the force of fingers that have waited too long to touch, but the electrostatic brushes of life’s restlessness falling slowly into their own gravity as we learn to trust the moment.
Our lips are full of nerves and that is why a kiss is so much more than symbolic. I placed my lips to the skin of an orange and I was met with the sensuality of the whole terrain of this world. Intimacy then, is the slow press that reassures humanity – the invitation into a world with no walls – the rush of blood that comes from being completely receptive – that is the kiss I want with your soul.
After all the epochs of lovers, these are all the same words, but they are lanterns bouncing across the plains and sparking anew in the way that the naive are always entranced by the lighter in their hand when they first learn how to light a cigarette, elated and dizzy from the ***** Twinkling.
Sometimes all it takes is a breath and I am light and wind and red paper confetti and the moon and a golden orb that turns all it touches into a shining constancy of what’s called love – and I visit your heart knowing that you can’t tell it’s me, and then I must leave– and I know that I was not in my body, but that it must have kept existing while I was gone because I always wake up in tears, and someone had to cry them.
Conventionality dies between us and there are no titles or promises to speak of. I once found security in labels, only to find that they leave no room for the inevitable growth and weathering of time. So I ask little of you – only that you are always true with me, and that you occasionally put your hand in mine.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
This feeling I have that drags my spirit
And I indulge in its lowly zest out of habit
My feet they move in a trudge like manner
Shoulders hunched inwards non receptive to splendour.
How heavy it is in my heart I weep
For a life been dealt in a single, swift sweep
Cards that has been dealt from aeons past
Oaths recited loudly so that they would last.
Amidst the crowd of mask-faced happiness
Unconvinced, I slipped past unfound lest I be careless.
Discomforted in what on this path may lie
Discontented as such that my heart whines a cry.
Rigidity of routine when sensibility took over
Bruised bad and battered well my heart tumbled after
It felt like it's the end of my dream laden days
Reality sinks in, picks on my heart and there it stays.
I don't want to leave my coveted dreamscape
I don't want to destroy my only means of escape
On the ***** of fantasy, forever I want to stay
But it's crumbling away alarmingly like sun beaten clay.
I deceive my heart into thinking that there's still hope
Truth is I may have come to the end of the rope
Heart wants to hear a faint whisper of reassurance
Mind chides heart, it judgingly delivers it's sentence.
My cries cannot be heard, a wail of futile pleas
Banging on locked doors for which I don't have the keys
So weak this spirit for it has thus been broken
Morsel by morsel, this hapless soul is being eaten.
This burden I'm carrying seem never to have lightened
It is the dark of this period I wish to have brightened
Someone, anyone help...please show me a way
In this god forsaken pit I do not wish to stay.
However there exists yet a slim little chance
Key to courage is somewhere if I could afford a glance
Chances are that I may never even find it
I'll be trapped in a hole in which I can never truly fit.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
I stepped outside long ago
if only to step some more.
This cool wind
so unlike Florida.
A welcoming to
embrace.
It'll be gone far too soon.
My neck finally tires
hanging like a bowling ball
tied and held
to one most old
and weary rubber band.
My eyes come up
on a night everyone knows.
We all have a color
coating our pupils. Mine are blue
and guilty of ogling
even if this common sight grows
sadder and sadder
until it becomes
truly sad.
Many bright dots
freckling the sky--
and what body isn't
without imperfections?
--so much ours
so many.
Too many.
Those builders
of our own time
those without grasp
of selflessness
have such themselves.
Stinging night's veil
both by presence
and prominence.
with naught subtlety.
They shine beyond all
that have ever shone.
Illuminating
glaring and blinding.
We are not so receptive
down in the dark earth
where neon signs pollute our eyes
until the sun dusts it away
only so we cringe
and close them again.
What then can a satellite show?
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
The knowledge of God is like a mustard seed: tiny at first, yet it grows so tall
It takes time and love, faith and joy above all.
Spiritual growth is a journey; dangerous yet rewarding.
Each time we step, we grow a bit. Someday, on eagles’ wings, we’ll be soaring.
But we can’t do it alone. We need the one up above
And no matter what we do, he is looking down in love.
Walking with us in the good times and carrying us in the bad,
I look to the Lord as my brother, friend, and dad.
If we have the smallest bit of faith and find good water, soil, and light
We can take root and one day be a shelter for many in flight
With tenderness and care with patience and with peace
For one so small there is so much potential for growth and increase
See what God can do with so little and make it so grand
It’s astounding to image for you and me what God has planned
We live in a world where bad things and evil walk among the good and just
Sometimes the weeds and thorns choke out the good wheat
Other times, they grow together, wrap and intertwine and to pull out the **** is to **** the wheat
Jesus, you speak in parables to try and make the message more relateable, more easily grasped.
You also warn and remind us to repent and to be careful that we are not caught up in the temptations and wiles of this earthly life. Help us Lord to be open to your voice, to hear your word, and inter the message in our hearts and in our lives. May our eyes, ears, heart and mind be open and receptive soil to see, hear, love, and understand your love and truth. You are the Way to the Father, the Spirit of Truth and Light, and the giver of Eternal Life. Grant, we beseech you, faith and understanding the size of a mustard seed that we may grow in wisdom and stature before God and man and be a refuge for all those in need. We ask this and all things in your Most Holy Name, Jesus. AMEN
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
Boring and rude?
That's a rich call, coming from you!
But rude I'll concede,
Given the circumstances -
You pester me with calls and texts,
And invade my private domain,
And won't listen when I say, "No" -
What would you expect?
That I'd be grateful towards
A drunken lush intruding my peace?
That I'd be receptive to a needy egoism
More entrenched than Catholic Dogma?
No, that is not my way - No!
You can get f**ked! And I told you -
I had to spend an hour
Convincing you I wasn't interested;
That your infatuation wasn't reciprocated;
That, when you're drunk, you're not worth knowing;
That I've heard of your glory days
And your present travails a million times;
That you can't offer me what I need -
A decent conversation, nor a decent *******
And I told you - I didn't pull punches;
I didn't lie - I wasn't playing games.
I told you in no uncertain terms
And you didn't like my Truths -
Perhaps they touched a nerve?
Rude? Sure, maybe I was,
But there was no other way
To sink these facts through your alcoholic haze.
As for boring - I'll not concede boring.
I may not lead an exciting life,
But boring? No - anything ****
You've a hide, when every conversation
Begins with an "I", "Me" or "My";
Anyone would think the World revolves around you!
You take egocentricism to a new level;
So self-involved and hard-done-by,
You feel the need to inflict yourself on others.
Adios, me amiga!
And, Hola, me Amigos!
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
here can lay the power
if you are receptive,
to let you see the world
from a new perspective
it can be the filling
or icing on the cake,
send you off to peaceful sleep
or keep you wide awake
it can liberate your thoughts
from a recess dark and deep,
make a poor man rich
or help a mute to speak
by your side all the time
like a faithful friend
it can stay with you
to the very end
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
She is the goddess,
all-receptive and coagulating
eternally to shift with
our rhythms, our wants,
our needs.
She is as old
as all the dark rivers
that coalesce into the
perfection of the sea.
She is the lady
who opens herself
and ushers us onto
our golden throne,
and urges us to drink
from her ******
chalice.
She was alive in the Way,
and in the Water,
and in the Moon,
and in the Blood
of the Ages that flows
still in the veins of a
hidden world.
She is the perfect wife,
the wise crone,
the impetuous harlot,
ill of temper and all-forgiving.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
A child's eyes show innocence
They are open to things new
They show with no discretion
They see all the things we do
A child's eye's receptive
To the joy and pain we see
It's a window, unobstructed
It's the way that things should be
A young man's eyes, they wander
They see the future not the past
They are open to advancement
They see things that we know don't last
A young man's eyes are blurry
They show them what they want to see
They show innocence is missing
They show that nothing good is free
The eyes of a middle aged man
They are the windows to the end
They see retirement is coming
They see that age is not a friend
The eyes of a middle aged man
They show regret and are all red
These eyes are always tired
They show what they should have done instead
The eyes of an old man show
The innocence of the child
They show recollection of their passage
They are full of love and they are mild
They old man's eyes look backward
More than at the future that is passed
They see the good times far behind them
They show the memories that will last
Your eyes, they are the window
To the world you see each day
They show you things of beauty
They show the world at play
An innocent sees nothing but
The world as it should be
So, take the time and clean your window
And see the world like me
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 10:58 AM UTC
I wake and see your facebook last active: '4h.'
it's 10 AM-- means the ecstasy of the evening
gut disco found you excited-- eyes wide and
intent on receptive observation as sky blankets
earth in 'hi, hello, sleep tight.' I keep myself
occupied so the slow moment of *18 *******
days* doesn't pervert my consciousness with a
limp face and a sigh of resignation-- expect us
on the magic carpet of never. because the long
haul says forever.
forever.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC