Prose; Blessings


blessings

(I wrote this eight years ago but forgot about it.)

The memories of the past tumble down the hill like rocks and wash over me…

like so many waves that crash on the shore

only to go out to sea to be mixed in with the foam, the seaweed, the plethora of gorgeous salt life that heals and evolves all life.

The salt tears only last one minute to transmit my signal.

The heat, the pulsing in my muscles, the steady beat of my heart in the workout show that the source of being in my blood, my body, and my breath, given to me by this Perfect Earth will erase, heal, and forever dispel the smaller pieces of Earth that are to only be absorbed into all that is.

Bless the body.

Bless the blood.

Bless the heartbeat.

Bless the plants and trees and flowers and small creatures that give us pure, big, joy.

Goddess protect the children from harm through all Mothers and Fathers that honor you…and dispel The Sleep Walking Takers like so many rocks falling into the sea where they too can be transformed by the waves, the salt, and the seaweed given to all as a good gift.

Bless Mother Earth that has given us every good, perfect thing as we travel this elusive journey of pain and death and wake up to Perfection.

©Lisa Townsend, 12/2/11

 

 

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Prose; Blessings


(I wrote this seven years ago but forgot about it.)

blessings

The memories of the past tumble down the hill like rocks and wash over me…

like so many waves that crash on the shore

only to go out to sea to be mixed in with the foam, the seaweed, the plethora of gorgeous salt life that heals and evolves all life.

The salt tears only last one minute to transmit my signal.

The heat, the pulsing in my muscles, the steady beat of my heart in the workout show that the source of being in my blood, my body, and my breath, given to me by this Perfect Earth will erase, heal, and forever dispel the smaller pieces of Earth that are to only be absorbed into all that is.

Bless the body.

Bless the blood.

Bless the heartbeat.

Bless the plants and trees and flowers and small creatures that give us pure, big, joy.

Goddess protect the children from harm through all Mothers and Fathers that honor you…and dispel The Sleep Walking Takers like so many rocks falling into the sea where they too can be transformed by the waves, the salt, and the seaweed given to all as a good gift.

Bless Mother Earth that has given us every good, perfect thing as we travel this elusive journey of pain and death and wake up to Perfection.

©Lisa Townsend, 12/2/11

 

 

Prose; Snow Crystals


(Thanks to everyone for all the likes on this. I love writing prose and will continue.)💜

I lose my gaze in a myriad of crystal snowflakes
wending their way to the earth.

I wonder if they could be the scads of tears, prayers, thoughts,
and meanderings of humans all over the Earth
who didn’t quite ascend their minds to the pure, white-hot, burning light of well-being to be absorbed by the sun?

The snows will always return until humans are magnetic and hot…

The snows return to earth under
the sacred gaze of bright cardinals robed in red and
chickadees who speechlessly honor and guard their sacred prayer.

Their temple is truly the bare tree,
The faithful, the crystals, kneeling to bow to the cold wind easing to a snail pace…
the evergreen, the stalwart, pounding, sacred heart of the earth who doesn’t even know what forgiveness is. It’s unnecessary.

Blessings to all the Earth’s living to be born again in the winter white.

©1/2/11 Lisa Townsend

winter image

Prose; I Make My Bed


 

Woman-making-bed

I make my bed as though someone other than me might want to lay on it to relax…

Doubtful.

Fans, fanatics, stalkers, jealous husbands, jealous siblings, errant preachers, starry-eyed parents, and students all seeking some higher bedding more like a cloud…nothing low to ground where I am.

Doubtful.
It’s so…fake.

“THIS is who you are”. “THIS is who you are”…”This is who you are” rings the cacophony.

I am not going to spend my last breath, defying all of you because you are surface dwellers; American Idol, Desperate Housewives watchers. Fantasy. I hate TV.

I’m glad my son can cry and be tired. It means he’s human. That’s all there is.

I’m glad I can kick my ex out of the house for insulting my talent. It means I’m human.
All I have is myself and time…

Let me divorce all that is not calm and in balance.
Ring out the true madness that jumps up…to lightness.
Jumps up…to levity
Jumps up…to where gravity is turned upside down.
My feet are my head. Who cares? Must we always walk?

I want to live in a dimension where upon meeting someone I like, I kiss them with ridiculous abandon.

©Lisa Townsend-2011


	

Prose; Elemental Woman


Fire and Ice

Woman… fire in chains walking through mans’ ice storm.

There is barely anywhere for us to rest on pliable earth, caressed by dew-kissed grass and flowers and visited by genial insects and creatures.

Man is a covetous, territorial beast, contemplating a meal, food for his belly, something to drink, and metal coins, hardware and paper and food from the earth; animals and fruit. They come from her blistering fires too from which he creates.

He craves the warmth of her fire that never dulls and memory of the Sun before the ice came to steal human souls.

Suspicious of her, he does not understand nor can he control her unless…he loves. Her fire can melt or burn and he only steals some warmth for a short time.

A man who loves is a magnificent animal, one that knows no limits and has unbounded strength. He has the strength of the earth, turned from ice and the sun combined because he is the seed willing to lose its cover in order to allow Life.

He willingly takes her to him, feasts, shares, adores and provides a safe place for her fertile ground to grow the eternal seeds she holds from before the time of The Dragon. She holds them still.

But he cannot stay next to her for long or he will melt.

He tries and survival beckons his traverse, summoned by a great dirge of possible conquest and the illusions of mind and heart that he believes are real because his core does not yet burn with equable insight.

Frozen, halcyon outsight of a gelid wasteland is still his birthright.

The feracious earth was given to her as a prolific garden and she waits yet for his icy heart to warm the arable soil for her so she can grow the fruit of breakable man in virile beauty, not in frozen, acrid death and blood.

He is…breakable because he is mortal! The seed must be broken in the soil to become eternal!

She is still in unyielding chains, unloved, unprotected, terribly alone in her vital fire that cannot be momentarily extinguished.

The Sun gave birth to the earth, to ice, to Time and its incessant movement will not cease.

The erudite Magician has given him the wand with which to channel her calescent magic because her heat increases.

Time must move forward but the dextrous tools of man can only thrive if they are forged with the luminosity of her body, to tend the garden of the Earth.

It may lie fallow and untended unless the fire that man discovered can be born in him by tending to her heat. Then he will remain.

Until then he will die, just as he was born.

Lisa Townsend-written on February 17, 2018

Antarctica

 

Prose; Skin


pick a tomato

The shell of a turtle, a carapace, guards your continuance of electric water, straight to your brain, pulls your vibration down in by degrees.

Your skin like a husk full of ridges on corn smells sweet,

hard to pull off at the bottom, tassles so soft on my face, the smell of earth.

Your arm was warm and pleasant as the first tomato of summer in my hungry hand.

Let me bite into that luscious fruit, so sweet and tangy

 or a mango stream of juice down my chin.

I’m distracted, clement smells from your back

Why are so sweet yet so smart and severe?

No end to touch makes my breathing peaceful.

I feel happy…oh god I’m doomed.

Indeed, it only lasted one day and you ripped your skin from me again.

At least you can’t take the memory from me.

Words can never erase actions like skin can never cover feelings.

 

Prose; Balance; Sex as Source Energy


sex-is-source-energy

Authority, document, Testament, creed

Usurps my Love and all Earth deeds

Nurture, Earth, yearning passion, lust

absent fondness, potent throbs concuss.

Strength, virility, manly vigor, force,

potent beat, vacant blow, profuse throbbing course

Pound THE BOOK? It’s the loudest?

Leave my heart on the floor.

You are absent, your soul knows no swell or full core of

my love or your love, the book just ignores.

Woman’s body is feared, she makes life on her own

once man’s seed is deeply sown.

Yet her body creates the greatest of gifts,

a child, not great thoughts that cause a great rift.

 

 

 

 

 

Prose; Gray Day


gray day.jpg

The sky is much grayer lack of light and still prayer.

Tree bark darker wet mud dragged upstairs.

No grayer will be in that Michigan sky, mournful woes sad goodbyes.

Sad goodbyes to the bright sun that shocks eyes now in May…

Appears a huge orb high in the sky,

We say “What’s that big orange disc by day?”

Who hides behind clouds that we hate.

Oh please dear sun, we beg for your warmth,

We can’t take one more grate of this fate.

My son says, “I don’t know what is better, gray sky or the snow?”,

His smug face looks at me with a smirk.

He’s eighteen and he’s jibbing his mother so low

But he’s serious, he prefers this to hurt,

The hurt of the sun burning down on his face shining wonderful light in his eyes

He was born in a snowbank at the end of this month

Eighteen short years as I rank.

I’ll forgive him this time as there won’t be much more

Of his smart-alec ways to imbibe

He’s going away, out my front door

And that’s when my heart may just die.

Jan. 30, 2017

 

 

Prose; My Only Child Turns Eighteen Today


He went from twenty inches long to 70 inches long.  Something or someone pulled him into this big, strapping, broad-shouldered, sweet, brilliant man.

Well, legally he’s a man, but now he needs to launch out into this crazy mess of humans bumping around, unaware of how their thoughts and feelings create their life.  He is a calm, kind soul so he won’t be skinning anyone alive, but he does tend to be honest in a very charitable manner so most people won’t get off scot-free from his observations.

ALEX

The day of your birth, a crisp, cold, crystal day

In my memory, eighteen years ago holds sway

Who do I value most of all?

It’s you my son so big and tall

May your life have adventures that take your breath

May you jump in feet first, unafraid of death

I know that’s odd for a mother to say

But my son has seen death like it’s yesterday

His father is gone, a year ago now

He loved our son dearly at his final bow

I’ve held the ship level as best I can

Mostly alone with some helping hand

The men do die, often you know

The woman on her own in the ice and snow

Remember that sometimes people need help

A hand or two is all when they yelp

Just as we have done in these last two years

Keep your friends close as you move through the tears

But there’s fun to be had, plenty of that

As you move around life from the last place you sat

Run the race strong, keep your head up son

And be a good friend ’til your Earth life is done.