Just Stop

I want to reside inside the voice
of a Tibetan monk
And be lulled to sleep by the silence.
Instead the irritating cadence
of political discourse
Uncivil and unholy
The hills alive with the sound
of madness.
The breeze tinged with malice
even the birds
feel forsaken. Aimlessly looking
for just one branch
of grace. The tree limbs breaking
under the weight of
an uncertain future.
We beseech the earth for guidance.
Warring with hot air.
Hoping the world will revolve anew.

The axis and rhetoric
spin on.

-Tosha Michelle

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Not Quite

There are two or three men
desperate for her.
They beg to see, to touch,
to give her things,
the ocean and coastal terrain.

She’d give in if her head and
heart weren’t tied
up in him, trying to teach her
body not to yearn
for a waterless hill, the tidal waste.

Seconds of minutes of hours of days
wrapped up in him
So much connected to him, it now
belongs to him.
The illusions of shooting stars in
his realm.

Tonight she can almost see the
constellation or consolation
depending on her vantage point.
Stubborn in her convictions
She clings to the his crest, illiac
and shimmering peaks

She calls for him through a
whimsical sky.
For a moment she can almost
hear his cadence 
but it’s only the whiskey drenched
moans of two or three
other men answering her through
a solid earth.

Resigned to sleep now. She drowns out their sound
Knowing only in singing dreams is the puff and mist of him found.

-Tosha Michelle

Read All About It.

I long to undress your layers
like pages from a newspaper
until I’m down to last weightless
page.

I want to read the cloud of your
fine print and run my inky fingers
over your columns and creases
until you billow around me like
bedsheets.

Count me among your most
avid of readers.

I feed on news of you
until there’s nothing left
but the rustle and feathery
crackles of a newspaper
well loved.

-Tosha Michelle

Airborne

She’d like to think they were like the sun
and earth, their paths inevitable.
She’d like to think they were
crazy for each other.
But maybe she was crazy for him
and he simply sane for her.
Her yearning overtly personal.
His covertly distant.
She saw the light around his face,
besotted with his essence.
The planets orbiting as
morning and evening came.
And she knows now what he felt
for her was temporal- affection
and trust but without the romantic
notions she longed for.
A tragedy for her.
A comedy for him.
Two bodies flying through the sky,
one pushing closer.
The other pulling away.
Always drifting and wafting
at a heartbreaking distance.
A whim of the atmosphere
and unwoken eyes.

-Tosha Michelle

Interview With Tosha Michelle

I was interviewed by the exceptional and talented Amanda from Mandibelle16 If you get a chance check it out. She really came up with a wonderful set of questions.

Amanda is also a gifted poet. Her poetry is full of depth and beauty. If you aren’t following her, you should be.

Mandibelle16

Happy Monday! Welcome to my bi-weekly interview series. I am happy to share with you September’s second interview: the fascinating, beautiful, and gifted poet,Tosha Michelle from the blog — Everything I Never Told You: Lucidly In Shadows, Poetry From A Hand That Writes Misty. 

Please take a look at her blog here: Everything I Never Told You


Tosha Michelle


1. Tell Us About Yourself Tosha? 

My name is Tosha Michelle and I hail from the land of grits and sweet tea. I’m a poet and author of two books — Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle and Self Help toSelf Harm. The first is a chapbook and contains some of my earlier poems. The latter is my silly take on the self help genre. I’ve written things since I was a child but I didn’t take up blogging until about five-years-ago.I’m also an abolitionist and Academia addict. I’m…

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Talk Me Down

“I wanna sleep next to you
But that’s all I wanna do right now.
And I wanna come home to you.
But home is just a room full of my safest sounds.
‘Cause you know that I can’t trust myself with my three A.M. shadow.
I’d rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone.
I wanna sleep next to you.
But that’s all I wanna do right now.
So come over now and talk me down”.

And The Truth Spills Out.

imageFrom the archives. Happy Saturday. Have a wonderful weekend.

Let’s imagine that
you love me,
and no light can dim,
no faucet can leak,
and no one can take
you away from me.

Let’s imagine you love my risotto
and seared salmon,
and that you drink the wine,
the Scotch, and the tea.
Your eyes constantly on me.

Let’s imagine I’m what you imagine,
and I can cook risotto and seared salmon,
and never let your glass run dry.
All with my eyes on you.

Let’s imagine we had chemistry to spare,
that we are all warm mouths, and entwined limbs.
The eyes of the sun and the mountains.

Let’s imagine we weren’t the long read,
that took moments to unread.
The storm cloud that spilled
from our shattered wine glasses.
The headlights that flickered out.
The seared salmon that went cold,
the burnt risotto in the pot,
the empty glass in the leaky sink.

Now let’s focus on one true thing.
Your lying mouth and treacherous kisses.
The way you hurt me. Your eyes always
on the next best thing.

-Tosha Michelle