The Dance

image

I’m a fool for words.
I can’t stay away from
them. They define me
and defile me. We dance
out of step, out of time.
Occasionally, we find
our rhythm. Dancing
the language of the
soul. At those times
I like to kick my heels
up in a perfect dive.

I must confess. I’m
envious and in awe
of those dancers who
never seem to stumble,
always in sync with their
poetic voice. Never any
near misses.

I’ll never be the Steve Jobs
of poetry. My words owned
and beloved by the masses.
I’ll never master
Shakespeare’s waltz,
but I will keep swaying,
even trying is a sort
of dance

Perhaps, it’s not so much
about the dance but the
intentions of the dance.
The potential of fluidity
in our bodies as we move
across the green grass

This is the world I
feel most at home in.
My bare feet not
dancing on a rooftop
over a city that glistens
but rooted to the ground.

I’ll never stop dancing.
I will dance, my small
dance of corn maze art
for myself and for those
dancing fools like me
smitten with words.

-Tosha Michelle

Hands Over Eyes.

image
Abstract art by Yours Unruly

Hands Over Eyes

Stand behind me
Take your hands and
cover my eyes, so
I don’t see all
those doubts that
take flight in me,
so I have nothing new
to fear. No new
heartache to blindside me
Loss always coming
unannounced.

Whisper filthy things
in my ear, so it can
breathe deep your words,
drowning out the
voices in my head
screaming “be cautious”
Imploring me to not
be so reckless with
another one so
intoxicating.

Give me new skin
to touch
so I no longer feel
like a castaway
in dark harbor
full of scabs and scales

Let me feel your warmth,
as hope slips inside me.
Face to face now.
You teach me that
everything opens
with time- eyes. minds,
and even a heart damaged
by love undone.

-Tosha Michelle

Exquisite Hate

jon_stewart_shrug

Hate can be orgasmic
There’s a certain pleasure
that comes from loathing.
For example, I hate
Jason Derulo’s music
I hate it with an almost
palpable pleasure.
I equate it to the delight one
feels when shot nerves
reach their peak and
everything explodes
Throat, voice, heart.
Climaxing in a scream
that sounds almost as
awful and as sexual
as “Talk Dirty to Me”

There’s bliss in the
release. Freud might suggest
that perhaps Derulo’s music
is just a sign of something
deeper. He might say,
“Think back to your father”
Did I mention I hate Freud?
Electra complex this, creep.

I hate spinach, the ungodly
noise of motorcycles.
the word mucus, fake flowers
Nazis, porcelain dolls,
the scent of jasmine,
Fox News, texting
pumpkin spiced anything.
People who prefer socializing
to reading, the feel of wet hair,
Wimpy, whiny men.
I adore hating them.

Detesting is delightful
It tastes delectable on
my acerbic tongue
I’m addicted to abhorring.
And love loving
so much more for it.

-Tosha Michelle

Twenty Random Questions with Peter Hammarberg (Author of Antillia)

11040509_10204859554794932_6257111704842526109_n

I’ve known my guest today since the days of MySpace. Back when the site was cool and Tom had perfected the selfie game. A time when John Mayer was waiting on the world to change, and Donald Trump was just a blowhard with a TV show. Times have changed, but the man of the blog hour has stayed the same. He’s still the same affable, charming guy of yesteryear. I’m thrilled to introduce you to him.

Peter Hammarberg is a man’s man. He reminds me a bit of Hemingway with his rugged good looks and aptitude for the English language- Peter is a word herder dwelling in the northern wilds of New England. He’s been called a “Magnificent Bastard” and “The Patron Saint of Bourbon and Hearty Laughter” by genuine Cony Island sideshow performers. In addition, he has a tache that even Tom” Selleck would envy.

You can find his debut novel Antillia. at Amazon. A must read for Sci-Fi enthusiasts and anyone who enjoys well written fiction.

http://www.amazon.com/Antillia-Order-Lucifuge-Book-Volume/dp/0990839702

You can keep up with Peter and his shenanigans at:

Twitter @p_hammarberg
IInstagram: @h_mt

You can also follow him on WordPresss at hammermountainarts.com (Do it!)

My thanks to Peter for taking the time to engage in some tomfoolery,

Twenty Random Questions

1. If you were Alice, would you rather stay in Wonderland on the other side of the mirror, or come back to the real world to share your story?

Wonderland is a terrifying place. If I wasn’t killed by some whimsical psychopath and managed to make it home, I doubt I’d share the story– That’s a sure-fire recipe for padded rooms and colorful pills in wee paper cups.

2. If you were going to write an article about yourself, what would the headline be?

“Who Moved My Bourbon?”

3. If you were a drink, what would you be? Why?

I already have a drink named after me: The Hammer’dberg. It’s real simple to make. Take a pint glass, pour two-to-three fingers of bourbon (depending on your day) into it, then a dark beer. Best paired with either a cigar, bon fire, or a couch.

4. What childhood fear do you still have as an adult?

When I was a pup, I was afraid of ghosts. It took me a while to realize that they’d follow me wherever I was. I was the one haunted., not necessarily the places. I’ve come to terms with that. I don’t fear it anymore. I never poop alone, thanks to them.

5. If you could choose just one thing to change about the world, what would it be?

I’d like humans to get over themselves. We take ourselves too seriously.

6. What’s your favorite poem?

“Dinosauria We,” by Charles Bukowski. It’s the closest thing he’s written to a prophecy poem, and it’s chilling. He talks about the things to come, and you think, ‘Yep…’ To me, it’s the written equivalent to Grieg’s In The Hall of the Mountain King. The tone has a building, subtle frenzy until it explodes.

7. Does darkness soothe you or frighten you?

Give me darkness, and put a sock in it. I’m trying to sleep. My brain is like a stone-struck hornets nest when there’s light.

8. If you ruled your own country, who would you get to write your national anthem?

Dom Kreep from the band Kreeps. He’d make the song fun and spooky, which I’m sure is what living in my country would be like.
I’d say Wesley Willis, if he wasn’t dead, but… he’s dead.

9. What makes you nostalgic?

Songs. Scents. Comic books I haven’t read in a while. They bring me back instantly for better or worse. I think, ‘Cripes, that was another life. I’ve gotten fat,’ Then I partake in question 3 and forget where I put my pants.

10. Clowns. Creepy or cool?

I don’t have a fear of clowns, but I respect their creep factor. Unless you’re talking about a sad clown flipping pancakes in a foreign flick, I’d say creepy. Pogo, Pennywise, and Ronald are a few of the scariest.

11. Do you remember your dreams?

All the time. I’m sure psychiatrists would have a field day with me.

12. What’s your favorite song?

To me there is no such thing as a favorite song. There are far too many amazing tunes out there to pick one. It also depends on the mood.
Fight song? Twilight of the Thunder God, by Amon Amarth.
Romance someone’s face song? Love you to Death, by Type O Negative.
Life is a strange place song? Saltair by Kreeps.
Inspirational song? Do It, by Wesley Willis.
The list goes on…

13. What’s your favorite season?

Autumn. Crisp air. Trees aflame. Halloween. The world feels more vibrant during that time. Pour yourself a Hammer’dberg and sit outside for a spell.

14. Does pressure motivate you?

Pressure can suck it. I’m constantly under it. Even when there isn’t any external nonsense happening, my favorite pastime is tormenting myself with incessant “what if?s”.
It’s a real problem. I need Vanilla Ice to solve it.

15. To what extent do you shape your own destiny, and how much is down to fate?

This is a tricky one. I’m not a fan of “there’s a plan,” because then free will is an illusion. But I do like the theory of shaping the universe to your will. Put the thought out there and allow it to move you. Then again, they say ‘You can’t win the lotto without buying a ticket,’ so I have no idea. I guess whatever works for you is the answer.
And that’s what they call a “cop-out answer,” kids.

16. What published book do you secretly wish you had written?

None. The way I see it, if I wrote the books I loved, they probably wouldn’t be that lovable. That’s not to say I wouldn’t do a good job, but there are reasons certain books are amazeballs.

17. Are you the paranoid type or calm, cool and collected?

Paranoid. I don’t think the toaster is a government spy, mind you, but I definitely have moments where I’m too high strung for my own good.

18. What would qualify as the afternoon of your dreams?

Walking through Portsmouth New Hampshire with my wife, as we drink coffee and scheme diabolically.

19. Are you more like fire or the earth?

I’m too lazy to be fire. I’d say I’m more like an old, haunted forest.

20. Do you hear voices?

All the time. Especially when I’m trying to sleep, I hear all the worries and doubts. It’s sad, really. When I tell them to shut up, it’ll change to theme songs of shows I can’t stand.
I’m really my own worst enemy.

Bonus question:
What are you currently working on?

I’m putting the finishing touches on a bizarro/horror novella called Gravenfrost. I’ve gone the path of Lovecraft, and created my own New England town to fill with creeps and spooky shenanigans. The story is focused on an FBI agent named Doyle and his investigation into a ghost hunting tv show host losing his mind and murdering his cast and crew during a “hunt” in a place nicknamed The Devil’s Domicile.

I’ve had a few beta testers read it, and I’m getting a lot of positive feedback. One even told me she was doing laundry in the basement when the book popped into her mind. She was so creeped out, she hurried like mad in order to get back upstairs. That makes me smile. If all goes according to plan, it should be available this October from Hammer Mountain Arts.

Crushed Flowers

image

And these are my flaws
My vices.
Impatience, a tongue
sharp as a guillotine.
Caffeine. Chocolate.
Sarcasm on every occasion.
And unquenchable desire
to be loved.
A heart that is an
exhibitionist who
weeps upon
my sleeve

A fear of monochrome
colors, thunder,
the undone,
petty gossip
and letting go.
A hunger to be kissed
often and with fervor.
An awkward shyness
around new people.
A fascination with
the lure of a snowbound
life.

Not being Christian
enough to turn the
other cheek or Zen
enough to just be still.
The knowledge that my
life is unimportant
in a world with a noose
around its neck but
writing about it
anyway.

I often prefer the company
of books and my cat to
other human beings.
I live nside a cluttered
mind in a pristine house.

And not listening closely
to my Granny and her
treasury of wise words
Most which I have
forgotten, but
I do recall her saying
you must learn
to take what will
be with grace,
that our flaws
bind us
to humanity,
and to never forget
even crushed
flowers are beautiful.

Static

image

People with nothing to say

Emotions running high

Reason running low

Verbs and nouns

with no substance

Adverbs and adjectives

with no pretext

Spilling out

on an anvil of facsimiles

 

Slowly the chasm

grows until

there’s nothing to transmit

Just words without sound.