Category: art

And then the Frost Came

Published on by Tosha Michelle25 Comments

The clouds drank in ravens
making the pines lucid.
His shadow fell beneath
the sky. If she listened
closely, she could hear
his melodic cadence
delivering soliloquies
adrift on the wind.

He as he was
She as she became
wake. Aware.
Taking color and form.
Both somewhere between
what was there.
What’s not there. (What
was never there)

Someone you think you 
remember and can’t
quite forget.
Lost mail belonging on someone
else’s kitchen table.

The parenthesis enclosed.
No comma, no pauses.
Time takes away. Gone
in an instant particles
of the past.

She stays.
(She can’t stay)

Tired from this slow
burning off of yesterday.
That which was lost (never was)
will not become again.

She always thinks she
see gleams of him,
The one she thought
she knew,
glimpsed and then gone.

The heart can only be
deceived for so long.
The stem decimated,
drowning in crushed rose petals.
No longer powerless
to the storm.

Wind that never really
blew for her.
Easier now to withstand
His presence merely less,
but no longer wholly more.

His shadow falling,
falling into dust.
The only sound she
hears in this moment is her
voice turning into
an early frost.

To every poem there is
a time and season.
Seasons that coagulate
into lost years,
time wasted.

In this one, she scourges
the past with lyrical ease
The breeze no longer
contradicting itself.

Her pen drops ink
of ice, no longer
pointing to the sky.
The view always distorted
anyway. The final chapter
written. She no longer
cares about heart revisions. 

-Tosha Michelle

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The Heart of The Matter

Published on by Tosha Michelle21 Comments

When my life becomes
hard. I write away in
my notebook of dreams
that lives on my desk.
I take a short cut through
ink to be with it.
My pen
of angst spilling out
particles of love. desire,
fears.
I wonder how the pages
can ingest them all. My
constant purging of
emotions. Trying to
convey with words
truth before time
distorts it and it
becomes an artifact in
the Museum of
UnNatural History.
At times the fog
likes to exert control
over my verse. Longing
tend to be blind to
reality and reason.
It never sees things
as they are. The poet
trying to alter the
past and its asterisk
Poetry becomes a
contraption of denial.
Truth fight its way
through pages
watermark by tears
to sit on my back
like a weighed
pack, pulling
down hard on the
straps. Reminding me
how flimsy
my poetry and life
would be without it.

-Tosha Michelle

I liked the Tin Man song so much, I decided to do a cover. Hope you’ll give a listen

Guest Blog Post by Stephanae McCoy.

Published on by Tosha Michelle15 Comments

 

 

I asked the lovely and inspirational Stephanae McCoy if she would be so gracious as to write a guest blog post She said yes almost immediately, because she’s lovely like that :). For those of you who don’t know this dynamic lady ” (Steph) McCoy is a successful businesswoman, style setter, blogger and abilities crusader who breaks the myth that “blind people can’t be fashionable.” As a blind woman who happens to love fashion and style, Ms. McCoy founded boldblindbeauty.com, a successful website that brings women together to share in the beauty of fashion and style, provides a community that encourages empowerment and camaraderie, and makes a connection between the sighted and non-sighted worlds eradicating misconceptions and long-held stereotypes about people with vision lost”. You can find out more here. Be sure to follow.She’s one of my heroes.

About Steph

And do check out the amazing things she’s doing through her on-line store Abigail Style.

From the site:

Breaking down barriers, and giving back are the most important messages of Abigail Style. Empowering blind women to love themselves through the promotion of self-confidence enables them to walk through life on their own terms.

Independent living is achieved through focusing on individual talents and abilities. By supporting Abigail Style’s mission of improving the world, you are also aiding the Blind and Vision Rehabilitation Services of Pittsburgh (BVRS) as 10% of all profits are given to the Employment Services Division of the agency. BVRS, known for its outstanding programs, has served people from around the US.

Abigail Style

And now Stephanae’s inspiring piece.

“Shame was the reason I decided to describe myself as ‘blind’ versus ‘visually impaired’ because it was important for me to accept the word ‘blind’. Once I did this I was able to get a grip on my fear and move forward.”

I’m not sure why I felt shame when I lost my eyesight but I think it was closely tied to my personal biases and lack of understanding where blindness was concerned. In walking through the process of sight loss and facing my shame/fear head-on I was able to move forward.
Do you Face Everything And Run? Or Face Everything And Rise? Fear can motivate or repress and your response is a matter of choice.

Choosing To Rise:
The first step is doing an honest self-assessment. Like following a map, unless you know yourself, you will get lost.
The next step is to set short and long-term goals. Goals should always be written, periodically reviewed, revised and once they are met, new ones should be set.
The third and final step is to stay the course. When you get derailed, get back on track and keep pursuing your dreams. Do not let anyone, tell you that you cannot succeed.

When it gets down to it the choice is up to you. You decide how to navigate your path to success.

Talk Me Down

Published on by Tosha Michelle15 Comments

If you don’t mind, I’ll walk that line
Stuck on the bridge between us
Gray areas and expectations
But I’m not the one if we’re honest, yeah
But I wanna sleep next to you
And I wanna come home to you
I wanna hold hands with you
I wanna be close to you

My cover of Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan

https://soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/talk-me-down

The Ground’s Lament

Published on by Tosha Michelle40 Comments

image

The ground frozen,
giving winter it’s shoulder
not impressed with the cold
or its icy sword and brass
knuckles. It’s nothing the
ground hasn’t seen before.

Soon enough a warm rain
will come, and winter will
have no choice but to retreat.
Let the rain come and cover up
yards, tree trunks
Let the rivers overthrow bridges
We’ll make boats out of
billboards and give everyone
a ride.

The ground shrugs winter or
rain. It knows, when it all ends,
there’ll be nothing left but dust
No place to gather oxygen.
Soon enough there will be
nowhere to rest.

-Tosha Michelle 

Don’t Dream It’s Over

Published on by Tosha Michelle79 Comments

Don’t Dream It’s Over
Crowded House

There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There’s a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you’ll never see the end of the road
While you’re traveling with me
Hey now, hey now
Don’t dream it’s over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
We know they won’t win

Finding Bliss in The Abyss

Published on by Tosha Michelle69 Comments

Not even the sun saw me retreat.
I swallow my sadness whole.

You may ask what is it good for?
Where can it take me?

I need its darkness to find
the light, to show me the
way toward creativity

I draw blood from its
silhouette, and write
among its shadows.

I walk through purgatory
to find words.
A delicate concoction of arsenic
and ink mark my descent.

-Tosha Michelle

Abstract art by me.

The Poem That Wanted to be a Rock Anthem

Published on by Tosha Michelle50 Comments

image

I wish this poem was a rock song.
Metaphors on bass
and alluring alliteration on keyboard.
Pumping out an electrifying beat.
Dressed in red lips and tattoos.

I wish this poem was a rock song.
One you could bang your head to.
Groupies hanging out backstage
with the word band,
hoping to get a glimpse
of the rock God
of verse.

I wish this poem was a rock song,
the kind you crank up
to deafening levels.
One that spoke
of anarchy and rebellion.
Wild and unholy.
Flesh stirring.
A shivering kind of thing.

The type of song, you listen to
again and again.
Years from now,
you would take it out
and jam to its nostalgic
beat.

I wish this poem was a rock song,
but sometimes you have to sing
the song you know best.
The poet decides to write
a song of herself.
Worried notes that sing
to the solitaires and forlorn.
Their melancholy movement
withholding nothing.
The tea soaked lyrics resonant
in ash and dust.
Drinking up the low pitch
hum of rain.

I wish this poem was a rock song,
but the blues
peel from me instead.
The spirit that I know
best.

-Tosha Michelle

To paint the day in joy, a birthday poem for Tosha Michelle by Tracy Diane Miller

Published on by Tosha Michelle84 Comments

The very talented and always thoughtful Miss Tracy was gracious enough to write me a poem for my birthday. It was unexpected but such a lovely surprise. She truly is a gem.

lifeisawalkingshadow

To paint the day in joy, a birthday poem for Tosha Michelle by Tracy Diane Miller

If I were an artist
Do you know what I would do
I would paint the day in joy
All to celebrate you
What color is a smile
To decide may be tough
To capture the vibrancy of laughter
What color is enough
Could I call upon a Renoir
Might a Monet know the hue
A masterpiece of emotion
Leaves work for a heart to do
Maybe the heavens know the answer
I could ask the clouds to speak
The wonders framed in nature
Surely must know these colors my heart would seek
To paint the day in joy
A poet writes the words
For poetry holds no judgment
In the love that is often heard
A Muse may be tired
A Muse will not rest
To journey through my soul
For the words…

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