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Shakti Asana Jul 28
I want to be the potter
and you the clay
I want to work you with my hands
My fingertips pressing
now....against the keys
the board stiff under the sensitive pads
as I feel you press back against me
your lips
into me.

The clay
soft and supple under my hands
forming you,
widening you again and again
my muscles working
against your stiffer aspects
as we spin together
wetting, re-wetting
and smoothing
my hands against
your silky slick
strong and yet pliable
seeking relief
from standing strong
and unyielding

You are a deeper container
than I anticipated
and I, a roaring flood
sweep you

but you hold...

What Joy!
What Relief!

we never expected
to contain one another
without harm!
without fear!

our lines
flow together
the potter
the clay
the hand
and the wheel
we come together.

I love how we feel.
Flinging this out there without knowing if it is good or even qualifies as poetry. Who cares for merely good? If I feel it, receive it into me, and form that experience into words that I share, well, fine. We shall call it poetry.
Who judges the one in the arena? No, not me.
Self-conscious awareness kills the poet gasping for life inside of me.
Click "Save". Post. Live. Breathe.
Shakti Asana Jul 21
When I was young
My ****** energy
Went out
To seek those
Whose lesson taught me more about contrast than equanimity

Now that I am older
I see these young studs with  their pickup lines and I say
"Hey look at me,  I am ready for love."

But I am old now.
They are young.
They can't see in me
Who I am.

So I offer love.
And the ones that come
They are often broken like me.

But that's ok.

Those young guns
They will soon find out
That time waits for no one
And all our smooth moves when we're young
Don't hold up under the blistering sun of reality
That ages your face and your body.
Just so.
So you feel unattractive.
And begin to believe it.

I am vulnerable in this place.
Between the ages of

If my value was only in procreation
Then I am priceless
I created his legacy
And left with mine


It is no wonder our ****** energy wanes as we get older.

Not mine.
You can't take the one place I feel young.
Or the place I feel free.

You cannot take this passion from me.
Now that I have found it,
I won't let it go.

This is what we seek

To be young again
To seek what was
in the face of what is

It is all energy.


It starts when we are young and continues til we die...this thread of life.

What will we do with it?

****** Energy
It's a thing.

It is for creation.
Positive works.

Or didn't they teach you that in parochial school?

Of course not.

That is against the rules.
My position at this point is that a sexless Jesus creates a sexless church which creates a sexless society. Heal your view of Jesus. Start there. Starting from any other point is useless, if you are a Christian that is, in any sense of the word.
Shakti Asana Jul 18
He wants me
He says.

Don't they all?

I am tired of being wanted.
I am tired of being needed.

You have yourself a passel of kids
Out your own wahoo --
You wouldn't want to be wanted neither.

Don't want me.
Don't need me.

Bring me flowers and roses
And mix tapes
And doughnuts
On Sunday morning.

Kiss me.
Sweep me up in your arms.
Look me in the eyes.

That would send me.

Bring me.
Send me.

Don't want me.
Don't need me.

The want and the need make me tired.
The bring and the send makes me free!


He, too, is tired of being wanted and needed.

What are we to do?

Want and need one another?

Too many competing demands.

Take my hand.
Just tell me you love me.

Don't want me.

Don't need me.

Just love me.

And I will just love you.
"Expectations are premeditated resentments."
Shakti Asana Jul 17
I will fight for you
I will write for you
sing my song
for you
for you
I will sing my songs of healing,
sing my songs
my true love...

I will write for you
I will fight for you
In my heart
in my arms
you belong.

I have a right to you.
From several lifetimes through
to this one where we met, and love began


I will write for you.
Will you write me too?
Will you use the same words now as you did then?

Will you fight for me, as I fight for you?
Fight to hold onto the joy we share.

Rest now, my love.
My darling, my dove.
Aphrodite has nothing on you.

Rest your head, my weary prince.
Let me take off my dress.
And hold our hearts together until we melt.
Completed naked, wrapped in a bright yellow sheet, with my energy rising. So grateful for the gift of words, but so aware of their failings. If you, reading me, resonate with these words and with my energy, then we are in alignment, probable soul mates. If you find my words ugly, unappealing, or judge my writing maturity, then we are simply not in alignment. It means nothing about you and nothing about me. Go thy way and drink from a well that is more fulfilling. I am healed. I fear no rejection. To all who read this, I love you. I love you. I love you.

— The End —