“Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!” 


Beautiful, fiery, bold, and funny, Lucille Ball was one of America’s most beloved comedians, best known for her self-produced television show ‘I Love Lucy’.The show’s success was phenomenal. It’s impact om American television legendary. Ball co-starred with her husband the dashing Desi Arnaz, who played the iconic Ricky Ricardo. Desi was also a pioneer in broadcasting. He was the genius behind what would become modern sitcom format and those lovely little things called reruns that made “I Love Lucy” known to my generation and beyond. 


 Desi and Lucy’s rocky love story is one for the ages. He once said they “loved and fought furiously” They had a tumultuous 20-year marriage. And even after they split, the pair remained in each other’s lives until Desi’s death in 1986. Despite their breakup, they still loved each other. They truly are my favorite celebrity couple. There’s a new movie coming out about them starring Cate Blanchett as Lucille Ball. Oscar- and Emmy-winner Aaron Sorkin is writing the script.  Looking forward to seeing it.  Right before Desi passed, he wrote this about Lucy and the show.

“Lucy was the show. Viv, Fred and I were just props. Damn good props, but props nevertheless. P.S. ​I Love Lucy was never just the title.” Awwww.

Some of my favorite lines from…

Ricky Ricardo: Lucy’s acting crazy!

Fred Mertz: Crazy for Lucy or crazy for ordinary people?
—————
Ricky Ricardo: What do you want me to do, starve to death?

Lucy Ricardo: Would you, please?
—————
Lucy Ricardo: There’s just two things keeping me from dancing in that show.

Fred Mertz: Your feet?
————-
Lucy Ricardo: Y’know, I’ve been thinking about shows like Burns and Allen. George Burns uses his wife on the show. Why don’t you?

Ricky Ricardo: I’d love to! Do you think she would leave George?

————
And now a few of my favorite quotes from
the Queen of Comedy herself.


It’s a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy.

One of the things I learned the hard way was that it doesn’t pay to get discouraged. Keeping busy and making optimism a way of life can restore your faith in yourself.

I’m happy that I have brought laughter because I have been shown by many the value of it in so many lives, in so many ways.

Finally, the genius that was “I Love Lucy”

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High Praises

image

Oh Goddess of rejections,
insecurities, sleepless
nights, and the sink
that always seems to leak.

Oh Goddess of loneliness,
depression, evenings spent
looking for hope in the
foggy light of isolation.

Oh Goddess of endless
chores, mundane errands,
always lurking around,
watching me toil and spin.

Goddess of painful memories
collected in a heart jar.
Unfulfilled dreams and desires.
The oil slick of wasted time.

I love you for forcing me to feel;
As I stand here holding onto
the railing of my sanity.

I thank you for the hands
wrapped around my neck.

For each tussle with the sun,
that always hides behind
a cloud of chaos.

At least I’m still here, kicking,
and dodging, the shadow crop of
my mind. I know how to make fire,
while others still struggle with flint.

For you it was never about high praises.
You live for the forlorn.
You know the insincerity of the thorn bush.

I praise you for the shattered,
the weeds, the bee stings, the
thunder clouds, every skinned knee,
wilted flowers, the dove that
refuses to eat from my hand.

Oh Goddess of imperfection,
You know that despair is the beauty
life and poetry are made of.

Thank you for teaching me this.
My tears and words sing back
a hallelujah for the pain.

-Tosha Michelle

And Everything. And Nothing..


I gave you my love
You gave me your disregard.
I lived with it.
Feeding on the bramble.
You left me at daybreak
But as night fell, I still
waited for you, everywhere.
Trying to tape the fallen
leaves back to the trees.
You were just an illusion
on the way to winter’s frost.
This is nothing no one
has never written before.
Injuries manifested in black ink.
The dimmer the light to write
becomes, the more I have
to say to you.
Now even your bare branches
have left me
This the greatest hurt of all.
All that’s renains is a disquieted
ghost, a flickering of fireflies.
This is the life of us
All the cells meant for dying.
I deserve better luck than you.
You deserve karma’s acid touch
But still I wish you well.

All that’s lost is found in the eyes of spring.
Eyes that love my beauty, not just the
outer part, but what
lies within.
The imperfect probable
mess that is me.
A season that see me as salvageable.
As someone who belongs
in the memoirs of its life.
This is my karma.
Sunlight that finally follows me.

-Tosha Michelle

No. 3905

Hey y’all. Check out the original Brit’s blog. This guy has been a good friend to me for the last few years. Just when I think he’s gone, he’s back again, in full cheeky mode. Funny, how he pops up just when I need a pick me up. He’s one of the few people who really gets me and still likes me. He accepts me as I am, and always makes me feel special and appreciated. You know the type that would give you a big hug anf be happy to pose in pictures with you making silly faces, and post them everywhere. The type  who thinks you’re cool, not for how you look, but for who you are as a person and never makes you feel less than. He will also make you up some onion gravy, but gross to that. 

You’ll love his poetry and quirky nature. He’s fun to insult too, but maybe, that’s just fun for me. Ha!  Really though great guy and his girlfriend is an amazing photographer. I mean she even makes him look good! 😜

Madstoffa's crunchy house!

Wonder Why. By C A Middleton © 2018

The mirror to his psyche smashed.

The curtain’s torn; his temple trashed.

He sees no way of shaking

The wart-ridden effigy of self.

His mountain’s crumbled into dust.

The frame of fortune turned to rust.

The signs are pointing further

From any personal wealth.

The time has come to wonder

Why the sun still shines.

As he attempts his damnedest

To erase the previous lines.

The birds have all got tonsillitis.

They croak as they try to delight us.

The clouds are full of shit

Sprinkling on our heads.

Marvin Gaye is scratched and weak.

The demons are the ones to keep.

They pray upon our hands and feet

As we curl in bed.

The time has come to wonder

Why the sun still shines.

As he attempts his damnedest

To erase the previous lines.

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He Never Loved Me

Reckless Heart

What the wise doubt, the fool
believes-
Who is it, then, that love
deceives?
-Louise Bogan


He never loved me.
where others saw a nightingale
to him, I was just a fractured claw.
Still, I gave him the gift of song

He never loved me,
yet he came into my life
trumpets blaring, the way
cream falls over coffee
on a cold December morning.

I wanted to compose him in
in sunlight, instead it was
a melody full of rain.
The sound of something injured,.
a sky broken by ash,.
The wind exhaling regret
only hinted of brighter things

He never loved me.
His heart always
lying in the tense past.
which he saw as tender.
Our future nothing more
than stick figures sitting by
nostalgia’s tree. Me grieving
for him. His mind always
on another.

The after…

Nowadays the raindrops have
arranged themselves in
a pattern of forgetfulness
My misplaced heart finding
purchase in a blade of grass
that breathes life into the
whole landscape.
How lovingly those with eyes
open prepare the earth for
love’s sake.

The gentle brush of lips
across my forehead
reminds me that their still
summertime tunes to be sung.
My lungs alive with promise
My ears no longer attuned
to darknesss.

-Tosha Michelle

A Mindful Poem 


In the brief tranquil reprieve
just before dust.
You don’t notice how
high the wind is
or the bitter in the cold

The night may carry a
satchel of bramble.
But for now you close
your eyes and listen to
the music of the air.

Focusing on the amber length
of the hour.
Your dormant heart made
melodic like a harp touched
by skilled hands

You realize you deserve more
than shuttering light and
shifting shadows. 

You who are besotted with
the fever of a waltz
And moonlit rivers
on the way to sea.

No matter how awkward your
gait, you know grace is
found in a soul that won’t
be nettled and a mind
made beautiful by the swarm
of fireflies.

You, this lady and warrior
who gets by on Southern
charm and the rhythm of
a drum that beats in three-quarter time.
Here. where prim
and proper meets sas and grit.

You who are singularity lovely
but hideous too.
A mess of colors, hungry
You refuse to live a sepia life.

For a moment as you watch
the sun set, you don’t dwell
on failed arithmetic or Dostoevsky
and his sullen things.

Instead, you reflect on the wonder
of aliveness and compose yourself
in a poem, composure found in a view
redefined . You rearrange the disquieting
into a sliver canopy of serenity.
Finding peace in your eccentricity.

-Tosha Michelle

My latest cover-Sign of the Times with a little Human thrown in