Murphy’s Law (the good kind)

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My Granny was Southern and Irish (a fierce combination) She was full of wisdom, spunk, and character. Lois Murphy didn’t suffer fools, and she wouldn’t put up with any “backtalk” She was also one of those Grandmothers, who always reminded us grandkids of the hardships she had to endure growing up. You know the type to talk about walking ten miles to school and back in three feet of snow. Although, we lived in the South, and snow was often hard to come by. Still, reflecting back, there were life lessons in all of these talks. It was from my Granny, I learned that pretty is as pretty does, that those chores won’t up and “git” done themselves, and that judging a book by its cover is rarely a good idea. When she spoke of a simpler time, a time without TV, where families conversed, and children entertained themselves by playing in the fields. I recall as a child thinking, how tragic for them. Looking back now as an adult, I think how wonderful. I ponder what I would say to my children if I had a” back in my day” talk. It would probably go something like this.

You know kids, when I was your age, real housewives, were just that real. The situation, was something you did not want to get into, although to be fair, I think that still holds true; in order to even be a quasi-celebrity, one had to have at least a modicum of talent for things like singing, dancing, and acting. It wasn’t enough to just be rich, good looking and have a flare for drama, and sleaze.. In order to achieve hero status, one had to do something heroic and noble Substance, style, and class, meant just that. Social networking involved hanging out on the playground or pajamas parties.

I would tell them of a time before 9-11 and the war on terror. I would mourn with them the loss of innocence, but at the same time, show them that flowers grow through the unforgiving cracks of even the best and worst laid sidewalks.. I would say, children, human beings are remarkably resilient ,and can survive and flourish just like those flowers. I would tell them that as long as there is love in this world, there is hope.. I would then share some timeless truths that a dear lady imparted to me  like, pretty is as pretty does, that those chores won’t up and” git “done by themselves and to never judge a book by its cover.

This song goes out to my Grandmother, my angel. I love you. I miss you everyday.

Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle- a review

A lovely review of my book Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle: A Poet’s Collection of Love, Loss, and Renewal.

James Dennard's avatarjamesdennard.com

Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle: A Poet’s Collection of Love, Loss, and Renewal is the first book of poems published by Tosha Michelle. In its pages, readers will find an unique voice; a voice that cries out for universal good in the form of justice, understanding, and love. Her love of books, writing, and creativity in general, come through in vivid display as well.

Join her as she explores the trio of themes from the subtitle: love, loss, and renewal. Fall under the trance of her melodic wordplay, just as I did years ago. Yes, hers is a familiar voice to me as I am fortunate to call her my friend. And I am excited for others who will be introduced to her talent by this book. A word of caution though- be careful of that narcissistic, rock star cat of hers.

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Read more of Tosha Michelle’s writing here

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Political Discourse. (Come on, baby. We can work it out)

Recently, I’ve been reading up on political discourse for an upcoming show with Canadian philosopher Mark Kingwell. If you haven’t read his work, you’re missing out on greatness. Brillant guy. Note, I’m on his payroll. Kidding. I’m just an admirer. Don’t make it weird. I have an innocent fixation with his mind. My friend and co-host of La Literati, Niles, is all about his body. (Just kidding.) Given the recent mid-term elections, I thought I would post my thoughts on civility in politics, or lack thereof. This was actaully something I posted back in 2012, but it still rings true, despite the promises by the Republicans and Demorcrats to turn over a new leaf and learn the art of compromise. I’m sorry, but cut the bull sh#$. Now, who’s being uncivil? There’s already a fight brewing over immigration laws. Could another government shutdown be in the works?

In 2012 I wrote:
I have a general observation to make about the vilification that goes on in the political arena, not to mention the hate-filled, public discourse between Americans. It is sickening. It’s demoralizing and demeaning. What happened to showing decency to others? Just because someone has a different point of view than you doesn’t mean they are morally bankrupt, a terrorist, or ignorant. It simply means they have an opposing view.

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Isn’t America all about diversity? Must that diversity lead to dissension and discord, to the embattled and embittered democracy? Forget sexy, we have to bring back civility and decency, respect and consideration, for each other, for the candidates, for ourselves, for our country. If we want ethics back in politics, then we must put them back into our lives as well.

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And while I am on my soap box. What happened to integrity in journalism? You know conscientious journalists who vowed to serve the public with thoroughness and honesty? I just don’t see it much anymore — at least not on news shows that are more about ratings than accuracy in reporting. The talking heads are the worst. All they are, are corporate marketing interests, delivering entertainment substance, governed by polls, projected ratings and sponsor demands. What we see is well-crafted hype for dramatic value by an eccentric cast of cartoonish characters¬, sound journalism be darned. (Editor’s note: The public would do well to rely more on newspapers and their associated websites, and public broadcast media – organizations where the journalistic values of fairness, thoroughness and accuracy are still held in high esteem.)

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As an aside, I’m thinking Iceland is the place to be — clean living, stellar education system, virtually no crime, wonderful food, quality healthcare, political indifference, literacy rate of 99 percent, not too small, not too big. They gave us Of Monsters and Men.  I love America. God bless us, but we could learn a few things from this small peace-loving country.

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Falling Slowly into Fall.

“To Autumn” by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

_____________________________

Nature is my serenity and sanity. Mother Earth is particularly enthralling during the Autumn season, Pumpkin Spice Lattes notwithstanding. (shutter)

Some shots I captured while out and about.

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If nature is my salvation, music is my hope. My latest song effort. Note, the key was a bit low. I hope you enjoy the guitar and recorder.

https://soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle-woody/falling-slowly

Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle: A Poet’s Collection of Love, Loss, and Renewal.

My book of poetry, Confessions of a Reformed Southern Belle: A Poet’s Collection of Love, Loss, and Renewal. is now available on Amazon. I would be honored if you read my words. I’m certainly no Whitman. I don’t claim to be. My poetry is simple and a reflection of me. You’ll find a melancholy, introspective, and somewhat snarky woman between the covers of the book. A woman who is no stranger to loss and heartache, but a woman who also has experienced love in its purest form, along with moments of great bliss. This book is an expression of my heart. Is it a work of art? I’ll let you be the judge. I can tell you, it was a labor of love. Be gentle.

I’d like to share the Foreword with you. Note, it was written by USA Today reporter, Ron Barnett.

Foreword
How do you write a foreword for a book of poetry that has you on the verge of tears, then laughter, then soaring through the high places only a true poet can take you? Hang on, and check your preconceptions, because Tosha Michelle is about to take you on a journey through depths of the heart, and you won’t return unchanged.
I have a particular bias in support of this beautiful woman-child, because I am the guy she calls “Dad.” I’m actually not her biological father, but I have loved her deeply since before I married her mother when Tosha was eight years old, and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way about me.
She was always a witty little girl, with an incredible imagination and a talent for storytelling. And growing up, she read – a lot. She had some vision difficulties and would hold a book right up to her nose to read, but it seemed like she could read from cover to cover in a few minutes. I’d like to take some credit for her writing, being a writer myself, but I think she soaked it in on her own mostly, through all that reading she did as a child. She developed a love of words and stories and the worlds they transported her to, and her talent blossomed as an adult.
She also spent a lot of time with her grandmother, and around the good folks of the small town of Walhalla, South Carolina, where she absorbed the Southern culture that marked her personality and writing style. She has broken that mold, as the title of this collection hints, but is forever marked by the richness of the Carolina ambiance. The pathos of love lost early in life, recollection of the pains of adolescence and self-doubt still haunt her sometimes, but she has found her salvation through creativity – through expressing those dark feelings in verse, and in her singing. (If you haven’t heard that, you’re in for another treat.)
I’ve been a writer and journalist for a long time, and part of that time as an editor. When I read material written by others, I invariably find myself mentally editing, changing things around to the way I would have written them. In this collection, however, I found very little that I would touch as an editor. Tosha has an incomparable sense of rhythm and diction and style that are uniquely hers.
I’m no poetry critic, and I am biased in this case, but I think you’ll agree with me that her poetry is for the ages. She’ll take you through the depths of melancholy and loneliness with “Yearning,” and sing a “Love Song to the South” that will take you back to a simpler, more beautiful time. She’ll have you cracking up with a poem about her cat, dancing with her “Goddess of the Night,” and ready to take on the world, with “One Voice.” One of my favorites is her expression of soaring of the universal soul in the Whitmanesque “Edges.”
And everything she writes cries out with the words of the poor little forgotten book on the shelf – Read Me! Go ahead and turn the page.

The Fox on The Run. Twenty Questions with NY Times Best Selling Author- Sylvain Reynard

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My thanks to SR. I apologizes for the formatting. WordPress is being cankerous. (GRR)

Randomness

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 tell the tale?
Wonderland would be fascinating but I’d have to return to the real world.
2. Happiness is _____the satisfaction of all our deepest longings.

3. Can we have happiness without sadness? On occasion. But certainly not without marmalade.

4. An author with whom you would like to have lunch? Saul Bellow.

5. If you were a drink. What would you be? Why? A shot of Laphroaig Scotch. Neat.
I’m afraid the only answer to the ‘why’ question I can come up with is rather rude so I’d best leave it unanswered.
6. Once, the movie. Are you familiar with it?
No, I’m sorry to say.
7. Does darkness soothe you or frighten you?
Both. It depends on the kind of darkness and whether I’m carrying something that could be used as a defensive weapon.
8. If you ruled your own country, who would you get to write your national anthem?
JS Bach. Or Sting.
It’s a toss up, really.
9. What makes you nostalgic?
Classic children’s literature.
10. Narnia or Never Land?
Narnia.
11. Do you remember your dreams?
Yes. I dreamt of being a writer, once.
12. What’s your favorite time of day?
Morning, after I’ve had my first coffee.
13. What’s your favorite season?
Autumn.
14. Does pressure motivate you?
It can but it can also demotivate. So a balance needs to be struck. Speaking of which, when I lack demotivation, I turn to this helpful website: http://www.despair.com/demotivators.html
15. Would you rather live to write or write to live?
Live to write.
16. What published book do you secretly wish you had written?
The Brothers Karamazov.
17. Are you the paranoid type or calm, cool and collected?
Oh, I’m definitely paranoid. (Looks over shoulder)
Technically, one is not paranoid if there really are people who are trying to get you.
18. What would qualify as the afternoon of your dreams?
To spend the day in Florence at the Uffizi Gallery and then dine in a piazza.
19. Are you more like the sun or the moon?
Moon.
20. Do you hear voices?
Frequently.
They swear a lot.
Please tell our readers about your upcoming projects.

Thank you for inviting me to answer 20 questions and thanks for asking about my projects.

I have a new series coming out, which is set in the underworld of Florence. The first work, “The Prince,” is a novella that links the Gabriel Series with the new series. “The Prince” releases January 20th

http://www.amazon.com/Prince-Gabriels-Inferno-Florentine-Novella-ebook/dp/B00NUMIOY4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1415028778&sr=8-1&keywords=the+prince+sylvain+reynard

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Then “The Raven,” which is the first novel in the new series, releases February 3rd.

http://www.amazon.com/Raven-Florentine-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00KWG9JL8/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1415028884&sr=1-2&keywords=the+prince+sylvain+reynard

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Upon a Time Once.

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A Upon a Time Once.

What once was,
but never was.
A story left untold.
Tomorrow’s forever forestalled.
Today’s regrets,
Yesterday’s dreams.
Memories turned cold.
Lost in bittersweet’s
What could have been

-Tosha Michelle

Stay

Stay with me
And sit awhile
On the porch
In the swing
And sway
With me.

Stay with me
Hold my hand
Sing to me

Tell me stories
Of magic and pixie dust,
Of wrestling with dragons,
Riding unicorns,
Of a valiant prince, and
The damsel he so loved
Of Narnia and Elysium,
Far beyond, the looking glass

Before the Pied Piper plays his tune,
Before the clock strikes midnight,
Before the wolf bares his teeth,
Before the hourglass runs out,
While there’s still time,
To wish upon a star,

Stay with me
And sit awhile
On the porch
In the swing
And sway
While once upon a time
Slowly fades away…

-Tosha Michelle

CAPTAIN SCARLET

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-193

 I wrote the poem below for my mentor and dear friend Colin Smith. He had just turned fifty the time. I wanted to honor this milestone in some way. You see Colin has changed my world for the better. His guidance and support have been invaluable. He has taught me to see the sublime in the ridiculous, to slow down, to breathe, to be at peace with the world. (The world is easy; it’s me, I still struggle with). Mr. Lovely has been instrumental in awakening my rebel spirit, a spirit that no longer sits meekly and quietly in the background, paralyzed by fear and insecurities. I have found my voice and purpose in life. .We are not meant to be stagnant. We are meant to move, to be, and to give back. We can change the world for the better (Tosha 2016. Rock the vote).. I’ve grown and blossomed so much through my interactions with this soulful Brit. Colin will always have my undying gratitude and affection. He’s a bit of a paradox, a punk rocker and an academic Ph.D. in one hand, guitar in the other, Professor and hellion. This poem attempts to chronicle his journey it’s not my best bit of poetry. I warned you. It may not be a work of art, but it was a labor of love.
Note- the quoted lines are lyrics from Colin’s songs.

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CAPTAIN SCARLET
ByTosha Michelle

I

“Every since I was a child all my dreams been running wild”

A baby is born with the heart of a warrior.
A restless spirit, a soul full of magic
In need of a place to call his own.
Into his life walks a beautiful woman.
Singing to him her sweet motherly song.
He will be her son now, and she will be his protection and hope.
These are the days of security and peace.
A blessed refuge and reprieve, but alas not meant to be.

II
“Hate is like a battle, love is like a war”

A little boy grows feeling lost and alone.
Clinging to his mother, she alone is his home.
Escaping from his father who is militant and mean,
Berated and bullied it’s always a scene.
He loses himself in rockets and dreams.
These are the days of fear and survival,
Where contempt and abuse are his arch rivals.

III
“My adolescent dreams are nightmares in the streams.”

A teenager he becomes, defiance his mantra,
He’s out on the streets, looking for peace.
Drugs and needles he seeks. Hedonism and Dionysus he meets.
A life on the brink Chaos and havoc he reaps.
These are the days of excess and rebellion
A manic season of an outlaw and hellion.

IV
“We’re the kids from the block we know how to rock.”

Adulthood finds him a punk rocker with the band.
Girls and guitars, he’s pissing on czars.
His future looks grand. A rebel is taking a stand.
JJ, The Cardinal, -The Blood is the plan.
These are the days of desires and extremes,
Fighting the establishment and rocking sweet, sultry things.

V
“Loving you religiously is doing in my brain.”

A man full grown now at 25 he’s half-way to today.
The girl of his dreams, a bonnie lass is she,
He takes as his bride and a life of passion they lead.
In a few years, a daughter comes along.
Filling her daddy’s heart with song
These are the days of stability and chaos,
Anguish and bliss, and love not without risks.

VI
” I don’t want fortune. I don’t want fame. I want a piece of history.”

A time of changes comes on strong with 30’s drumbeat marching on.
His mind begins yearning as he develops a hunger for learning,
His thoughts, they are a turning, his soul burning.
Off to college, he goes. The seeds of knowledge sown.
These are the days of highs and lows,
Of books and enlightenment and he grows.

VII
“The bouquet of insanity left me a wreck, but I won’t forget.”

The 40”s find him on his own; his family gone.
Somehow, somewhere, someway it all went wrong,
Some things in life are not meant to be.
Sorrow is all he sees, but time moves on.
Through adversity, he finds his strength.
The depth of his spirit, humanity is his link.
Finding his Magna Charta, he realized his purpose.
Justice and liberty become his new song,
A magnum opus for us all.
These are the days of devotion and emotions,
His soul for humanity is causing a commotion.

VIII
“The road less traveled, it’s the one I’m own”

At 50 now what will be will be.
He has miles to go before he sleeps; He cannot rest life is still a test,
But his future is anything but bleak, His spirit far from weak.
Riding out the highs and lows, Tempering the desires and extremes,
Ordering security and chaos, Challenging the unchallengeable dream.
Understanding from experience, he fights the true outlaws and hellions
Humanity his devotion.. Lost in emotions

These will be the days of Renewal and Survival. Rebirth and Revival
A rebel causing a commotion, a life in full motion.

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Midnight in the Garden of My Mind. (someone get the weed whacker)

Random  thought of the day- If Lady Gaga and The Goo Dolls went on the road together; would they call it the Gaga Goo Goo Tour? By the way, why does Gaga live for the bear claws?

But, seriously….
Introspective thought of the day.- I have come to realizes that; I’ll always be a square peg, just trying to fit in, one foot in this world, the other, God knows where. Hopefully not in Crocs. UGH! Although, happiness is within and surrounds me, there will always be an undertone of sadness and melancholy that resides and resonant to my core. I welcome these emotions with open arms because I am a masochist. I also have a lady boner for that old sod, Heathcliff (the moors, the angst, etc) Did I just type lady boner?

In addition to being maudlin,  I am a restless spirit, a spirit who has pieces and shards of interest splayed out in every possible creative direction. But to each its ultimate standard of expertise I can’t seem to reach fully.. Sometimes, I feel like my heart is flying in over my head, bouncing off the walls, the ceilings, yet confined within a certain room. Striving to break free and soar.

I believe I can fly.
Still trying to find my wings.
While I look, grab a pacifier and blankie. Give a listen.

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