Windkept 

I am not she.
The view is not the same.
I sit by roses but don’t
see the thorns.
Even after all these years,
still full of the blush
of wonder

My air is warm, fragrant.
My heart speaks of
watercolor nights and
a breathless yearning.

I’m wild for you, but not
afflicted. I recite charms
through verse and song
by a bending light.

I speak in sunlight even
when the cumuli
starts to gather. Lying
face down in the grass.
Hope imprinted on my cheek.

My heart bleeds in syntax.
Just a gleaming of my
streaming soul. Writing what
touches me best.
Love. Fear. Happenstance.
A trembling mind.

The punctuation peppered
with sea salt and caramel.

I steadfastly sit by the ocean
as the boats drift away.
I choose e to contend with the
wind. Making a symphony
with the air.

Chopin playing against
the elements and tide.
Never just a passing note,
or a mere flash of a melody
burning or receding.

Here the pitch rings a psalm
of stormy serenity, a
rain-cleansed sun in a
perpetual state of grace.
The perverse strength
of fragility and hazel eyes.

-Tosha Michelle

And some music for the night 

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36 thoughts on “Windkept 

  1. Tosha, this is a really nice poem. Up there with some of your best. Can I make two comments? First, I am thinking you meant to use the word “choose” (present tense) in line 31, not past tense chose. In any event, choose fits with the verb tense in the stanza. Also, consider dropping the word “on” in the line about Chopin. It will flow better if you just say “Chopin playing against/the elements and tide.” I really love the poem in any event. Hey, check out my little 100-word challenge response. I came up with this little piece and was shocked to see that when I was done it was EXACTLY 100 words as was the writing assignment. You can read it by clicking here: https://theaccidentalpoet.net/2016/07/09/salt/

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So many wonderful elements here. Starts with a direct salvo on identity, seems a reflection on the differences between how we are and who we are. But this is not a militant scream against a divided self, but rather a quiet recognition and perhaps even some acceptance cloaked in irony… (ie: I LOVE the juxtaposition of a bleeding heart and trembling mind pulsing itself out onto the paper while still being able to reach absently for sea salt and caramel – profound sufferings and mundane enjoyments sewn up together in one moment). And there is that troublesome friend hope again, whether you fell or just lay down on the ground, either way you were brought low, but chose to feel the hope inherent in pervasive life pushing up against your cheek. There is always a bit of hubris in commenting so extensively on a poem to the poet herself (quiet chuckle), so apologies offered. OH…! and by the way, which Chopin was playing? Etude No. 4 has the frenetic rhythm to struggle against elements and would fit with burning, but Nocturne No. 2 has more of the quiet soft strength of a receding tide and the contrapuntal strength that comes from fragility and hazel eyes. Thanks for the nice piece and be well, Lona.

    Liked by 1 person

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