Author: Tosha Michelle

Poet. Author. Podcast host- Chit Chat Chicks. MS Purdue. Proponent of words, creativity, kindness, and humanity.

The Prince by Sylvain Reynard (a review)

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The Prince is Sylvain Reynard’s novella that bridges the gap between his beloved Gabriel trilogy and his upcoming Florentine series. In the story, we are reunited with Gabriel and Julianne and introduced to a whole new set of enthralling characters. Notably, a mysterious and sinister other worldly being who wants the illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy that Gabriel acquired years ago. Unbeknownst to the professor, the illustrations were stolen. Now their rightful owner wants them back and is out for blood.

Reynard’s Prince is certainty no Prince Charming, even if he has the looks for it. No, he’s more of a Machiavelli prince, a master manipulator, ruthless with little regard for moral justification or the heads he might have to crush. The chasm between good and evil has never been so strongly felt. “It is better to be feared than loved.” Our dark antagonist embodies these words. However, I sense that there is more to The Prince than meets the eye. Perhaps, he wasn’t always so mercurial?

Reynard’s writing style is edgy and sexy. This novella oozes darkness and intrigue. I’m not normally a fan of the paranormal romance genre, but leave it to the sly fox to reel me in. Curse and bless you, Sylvain Reynard. I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us in The Raven.

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It Kind of Is.

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It Kind of Is.
By Tosha Michelle.

Miley and Nietzsche had it right.
It’s all about the climb.
I’ve charted many a mountain.
Hanging only by a thread.
Hope found in a spider’s web.
My limbs have felt like lead.
With bloody knuckles and knees.
Bruises for all to see.
I’ve ran into jagged impermeable stone.
Yet I rose higher and higher.
Fighting against the hourglass.
And dreams lost
I climbed.
Dragging myself toward the light.
Testing my worth.
I reached the summit in time to see
The dawning of the sun.
The breeze reborn, fresh as a new day.
I breathe in the substance of faith.
Exhaling doubt.

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Fields of Gold.

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My cover of Sting’s Fields of Gold.

Choice

By Angela Morgan

I’d rather have the thought of you
To hold against my heart,
My spirit to be taught of you
With west winds blowing,
Than all the warm caresses
Of another love’s bestowing,
Or all the glories of the world
In which you had no part.

I’d rather have the theme of you
To thread my nights and days,
I’d rather have the dream of you
With faint stars glowing,
I’d rather have the want of you,
The rich, elusive taunt of you
Forever and forever and forever unconfessed
Than claim the alien comfort
Of any other’s breast.

O lover! O my lover,
That this should come to me!
I’d rather have the hope of you,
Ah, Love, I’d rather grope for you
Within the great abyss
Than claim another’s kiss-
Alone I’d rather go my way
Throughout eternity.

Fatigued

Published on by Tosha Michelle5 Comments

Thank you for the invitation
But I really must decline.
Please don’t call.
My heart is not at home.
I just want to be left alone.
Sometimes the reason
Doesn’t match the rhyme.
My love for humanity has taken a ride.
Verbal exhaustion
Mental fatigue.
Disconnected.
The number you have reached
Is no longer in service.
Please try again later

-Tosha Michelle

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Next Year

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“The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return.”
― Milan Kundera, Ignorance

“Take to me to where you are,
What you’ve become,
And what you will do
When I am gone.
I won’t forget,
I won’t forget.

Maybe someday,
You’ll be somewhere
Talking to me
As if you knew me,
Saying, I’ll be home for next year, darling.
I’ll be home for next year.”

Winter Wasteland

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I step out into the winter of my mind.

Glancing around at the desolate architecture

Of walls with no doors.

Windows with no views.

Wrapped in sanity loose scarf.

I constantly beg for its touch.

My extremities crave its clarity and warmth.

The harsh chill of insecurity and doubt taunt me.

The frost of fear lingers in the air.

I expose myself to the elements.

The biting wind of change chills my static bones.

Forcing me to move.

The grey day is getting shorter.

I must find a way to make it over the frozen mountain of uncertainty.

I will not be a victim of my own circumstances.

The glow of resiliency lies just beyond the steel cages of my hypothermic mind

-Tosha Michelle

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Transparent Shell

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He hides his coldness behind a mask of charm.
His true intentions only to disarm.
Lies escape his lips
That never tell.
He plays the game so well.
He is an obsession
A handsome vision
With one glance you’ll be smitten.
He’ll wrap you up tight in his contradictions.
Fanning the flames
Of your incineration.
-Tosha Michelle

On and Off

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On and Off

This last year was like Gilbert Gottfried’s voice.
Annoying and hard to forget.
Well-meaning, I suppose
And quite a funny darling to some.
This last year was akin to reading Kant
Difficult to understand and once learned
Excessively demanding in its requirements.
No lesson comes without pain.
There’s renewal in regret.
I run away from self-loathing and apathy
into stirring truths and shameless living.
And a new year made up of only sexy, sassy things.

-Tosha Michelle

 

Random song. This takes me back to London and the O2 The year-2009. There’s a story there. Next time.

 

 

 

 

 

Winter Solace

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The soft snow blankets the ground.
I stop along the road.
Reaching toward the sweet bliss falling down.
My soul gets lost in the winter wonder.
Skipping like a child across a mystic white river.
Carefree, Basking in the invisible freedom
Dancing as the trees smile in the stillness.
I bow to a December moon so clear and cold
The icy hands of time forces me to keep moving on.

-Tosha Michelle