Dusty


man on a dusty road

My lover came over to visit with me last night. We’re mostly friends so we just talked. That’s how it is with lovers; free flow.

I noticed how cute he looked but his sweat pants had quite a few holes in them. I said, “What’s this about?”

He said, “I’m dusty but my soul is clean.”

This literally happened last night and he literally said this. After he left I went to a jazz gig downtown and my friend sang a tune brilliantly but first, she showed me a rip in her shirt at the hem. I take all of this to mean a broken heart is an open heart. A broken soul is a clean soul. I’m not sure it matters but they were both African American and very dear people to my heart. It all spills over.

 

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Don’t Make Any Promises


GIFT from Raul for my birthday 2017

Flesh together…

Music playing in wide, open, complex harmonies,

Refulgent breeze brushing your pungent thighs,

Kisses as warm and true as the sun,

My breath is your breath

Just don’t make any promises because tomorrow comes

And everything changes on the turn of a dime.

Don’t yearn for anybody but yourself because you are all you’re assured of.

Attach to that.

Don’t say “No.” to me because I’m right.

People disappear within minutes as do things of Earth.

It is true folly to hold on tight to anything or anybody.

Just let go, let the wind blow,

And don’t make any promises to me.

3/24/19

brave or broken?


broken_heart1Sometimes broken passes for brave when in truth, every day you live with a full cup at the feet of a Universe that loves and watches over every one of us equally and asks us to always have an open heart to serve our fellows. In the end, we are all ONE. It’s ok to be broken. It’s the heart of a warrior. Respect is called for, not pity.

Who sticks?


grain of sand

A tumbling grain of sand in life’s waters…

Who is gritty and sticks to that grain and who doesn’t?

The grain of sand slowly become a quartz crystal…or the destiny of becoming a mirror, or some precious stone.

Who is gritty, sticks, and helps me expand and who doesn’t? This is the difference between personal love and the love of all who cross your path.

May 26, 2012-Lisa K. Townsend

What Causes a Man to Love a Woman?


April showers

I don’t love you! he says in the winter before he’s even met her.

The woman loves him first.

Love comes from the woman and grows.

First she loves herself, then him, then it begins.

Then she shows it.

The fructiferous, fecund spring floret

entices, gesticulates and wafts her

puissant, firm yellow, orange, or red hips

and engulfs the inconversant, comatose, innocent

male insect into her luscious, succulent, wet, petals

from the morning dew…

He wanders in, unwittingly, smelling the familiar pollen

gifted by the stamen.

Hermaphrodite freak, as arable and luxuriant as can be.

The blossom accidentally feeds the male with her nectar

and in, keen, eager, yearning for her ambrosia that is the natural wine of love…

he is silent.

You don’t love me? You haven’t drunk a drop.

When a woman decides she wants to wrap her wet pussy around a particular man, kiss him deeply and long, give him her sexual energy, her feelings, and activate her heart, he thinks he fell in love with her all by himself and initiated it. Then she feeds him a delicious meal. Don’t do all of that woman unless you’re sure you want him to stay!

Her body and her will took him if she knows what she’s doing. That’s my problem. My body wants to do all of that but I like being alone. Damn. I can’t lure him in then step on it. Women do that to men too much.

She picked him, started it, covered all the bases, and he finished it.

But can she continue in that love? Nature keeps changing her. Maybe she shouldn’t start at all because autumn will come again, then winter, and she must die back and return to the soil.

They are both undone and it’s only spring.

Longing


kissing

 

Languishing, ardent desire isn’t a painful kind of suffering,

It’s fulfillment; the kind that worries lacking it.

Your voice…a deep bell struck under water causing small

ripples in my undertow.

It’s engorged life, fertile effulgent, flaming magma-like flow

Not too much! You’re perfect.

My sighing kisses embarrass for a moment while I check my breathing

It’s a strong, mutual heartbeat echoing through my body

And I believe I am undone…again.

 

Skin


pick a tomato

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, tassel 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.

 

Don’t Make Any Promises


GIFT from Raul for my birthday 2017

Flesh together…

Music playing in wide, open, complex harmonies,

Refulgent breeze brushing your pungent thighs,

Kisses as warm and true as the sun,

My breath is your breath

Just don’t make any promises because tomorrow comes

And everything changes on the turn of a dime.

Don’t yearn for anybody but yourself because you are all you’re assured of.

Attach to that.

Don’t say “No.” to me because I’m right.

People disappear within minutes as do things of Earth.

It is true folly to hold on tight to anything or anybody.

Just let go, let the wind blow,

And don’t make any promises to me.

3/24/19

The River


mountain and riverI only want the resolute, beefcake mountain to stare at, smell, climb, jump up and down and to live on.

I want to avoid the vehement river rushing past it like a circumbendibus detour on the highway to hell.

Just let me go straight up the mountain on the trail!!!

No. The higher perspective at the summit will remain unattainable if you don’t cross the river, and the river is not going away. It’s a fact of nature.

Women and Men.

Emotions and Logic.

 

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

The sea