Winter will always take the light.
The birds will go too.
The cold returns.
The leaves abandon the trees.
You live with it.
You survive.
Knowing it doesn’t matter,
you still hold the birds in the
lushness of green.
The magnolias bloom.
Alive in your mind.
-Tosha Michelle
On those rare occasions when the
stars in the sky fail not to disappoint
And even the earth is winded from
the sky’s beauty.
Stop. Just for a moment
and let the night light absorb you.
Our lives are painted as simply and as
haphazardly as a pre schooler turnned loose
with their first art kit. Leaving a trail of x’s
and o’s behind us in the grass until the
entire lawn shifts.
Tonight, for a second, let’s tear away
the leaves from a trees and dance
with the branches to the song of
a whippoorwill
In the morning, the sun
will pull us forward.
-Tosha Michelle
Our love was a dark continent
we shared, violent and untamed.
It was unholy and seductive and left
destruction in its wake.
We were wind and fire.
Hot beginnings and painted
roads that led to secret gardens.
How quickly heaven was lost to us
when the sky destroyed the night
and the night decimated the sky.
When the lightening struck
we weren’t surprised when
the tree limbs splintered.
Knowing the branches couldn’t save us.
The storm burning away what
was left of the twisted roots
but never the wildness of our hearts.
The moon and I still yearn
for the chaos. Stealing our
breath and taking out sanity away.
God, how I wanted the pain,
the pleasure to abide,
but you can’t control the weather
Now the aftereffect remains.
and the wind goes on.
Closing all the windows as the
chill sets in. The cold comes
and you live with it.
-Tosha Michelle
Today I sat on a swing
and swung for hours.
I could do this forever.
Perhaps I’ll be a child,
cradle to grave.
Flying through the girlish shadows
of the magnolia trees.
Eternally in love with the beauty of life.
I am most myself when
I recall my innocence, the nectar of sweet fruit
You’re welcome to join.
Come swing with me.
We’ll sing a duet and watch
our melody fly high above the breeze
our lyrics floating into the evening,
marking the setting of the sun.
In the aftermath, we’ll sit moonlit, and heart swept.
There in the meadow with our spring minds
and a cotton candy glaze.
At peace we won’t begrudge
the extinction of the day.
-Tosha Michelle
My rendition of “Dream”
Self doubt creates a slavish universe,
where we are constantly lugging our
insecurities in a backpack up a hill
that gets farther away the closer we get.
Along the way we keep looking
for disaster while trying to breathe.
Our catastrophic mind only perceiving danger,
creates a wedge between reality and self
where we only see the flaws and fractures.
Forgetting where we buried the bounty,
forgetting their is a bounty. We attempt to control
our bodies without mastering the spine.
Our souls become a membrane of
hopelessness, happy to reveal all we are not.
Our foolish spirits chose to adhere.
In our hand we hold a gun and a map of our head.
We journey on trying to find our way
with a broken flashlight, forgetting to
open our eyes, we cut our foot
on a shattered mirror. Briefly, we stand still,
and await clarity’s arrival. Satisfied. We turn and
head back towards self worth.
Finally, remembering, we hid the key
to the treasure chest
in perception’s drawer.
-Tosha Michelle
Guess what? It’s not Sunday. I can’t stay away from you people. I think it’s safe to say I have an addictive personality. Fortunately for me, I’m not much of a drinker and I’ve never tried drugs. I suppose there’s worse things to be addicted to than blogging. Dr. Diva, I’m looking at you.
The following poem is a commentary on politics and politicians in general. I apologize for the bitter tone of the post. I’m just truly fed up with the current political climate.
Amplified darkness.
No music, just noise.
A voice of self, of selfishness.
The handiwork of greed.
This me-ness of rancid meat.
Broken into bitter bits, then
cut into sharper pieces.
No integrity as a whole.
Just hungry overgrown babies
crying and clawing, howling in
the wind, choking; on the last bit
of protein. Washing it down
with well water; trying to soothe
their unwell throats.
We the people become the soil
trying desperately to reabsorb
that which is lost.
Only there’s no pureness left
just toxicity. Acquainted only with squalor
and dehydration. Constricted, but still
we resist and hope for higher ground.
-Tosha Michelle
She spent the month of July
with Emily Dickinson.
The sun burned her eyes,
but she read on.
Her cat napped at her feet.
Nearby you could hear people
playing volleyball.
When inspiration failed, she
looked for a thing with feathers.
She wore an old t-shirt that read
“Heart, we will forget him”
You could see her reading,
into the evening. Her face
lit by moonlight. Every word
her night cap.
While others slept,
she thought about Emily
and what she would do.
Having arrived at a poetic conclusion,
she takes out pen and paper
and writes with modest ink.
For a poem she loses herself
in a room of another life,
in a house far away in Amherst.
Knowing she’s just a small star,
basking in the glow of another.
She composes verse about
her summer companion.
Emily the loner and recluse.
And shares how her favorite
poet became her muse.
-Tosha Michelle
Leeches and vultures
and time I can’t swallow.
Eyes on the tulips
under ice.
My heart in need of air.
Interior dialogue
Some voice I can’t decipher
endless fears,
needless worry,
and a place to contemplate rest.
-Tosha Michelle
Knowing that I’m less than a diamond,
no emerald or pearl, only mere glass.
I’m not afraid of being common,
or choking on insecurity’s bone.
I carry no bitterness in my veins.
Just a faulty valve of naivety.
My blood pulses with compassion.
The flow of humanity.
Brokenness, the barbedwire
fence I like to call my soul.
I trip over needle and thread
trying to sow a stronger spine.
I back tack kindness to my sleeve
and watch as my heart slips to the floor.
Hope perches on my breastbone.
I listen to it’s tune, wanting to soar.
It drowns out the murmurs
of negativity and doubt.
Finally unencumbered,
I sing along, the words repeat
“go on” “go on” “go on”.
-Tosha Michelle
.
I know this poem.
It’s another one about you.
In this one you’re the moon,
moving away from the earth.
The nights getting darker.
The poet seemingly losing
herself to longing.
But maybe this is just a
rough draft.
Perhaps in the revision
you’re not the moon,
but the sun she
orbits around and
you take her hand.
Moving closer to her gravity.
Entranced by her softness
and charming ways.
And I feel like I’ve lived
this poem and I know
this man. Alone in bed
I savor evey word.
And for a moment
I get lost in a fantasy
where I believe in the
poem.
I’m holding in my lap
and, in the man, the
poem’s about
His head resting
on my knee.
I memorize every verse.
-Tosha Michelle
Listen to Underneath Adam Lambert Cover by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
