Category: Poems
Just Walk On By
Do you see him the man on the street?
His eyes that beseech
His lips that speak of
hopelessness and despair.
His thoughts and dignity
stolen by society,
and an anguished mind
The icy hands of circumstances,
taking his livelihood
held captive in poverty’s relentless grip
People walk by him in a rush
chasing unattainable goals,
slaves to the impotent narrative
of success. trying to impress,
spurred on by imperatives
devoid of substance
Passersby consumed by time
always in a race, a constant haste
teetered to an elusive dream
bankrolled by the Joneses
their blood and sweat
revenue in the stream of greed
Lusty mortals seduced by the
whorish temptress
that is corporate America
specializing in the cremation
of aspirations and inspiration
climaxing in the loss of morals
Strangers immune to plight of the homeless
They are too busy wagging the tail of the dog
Mindless sheep devoid of sovereign reason
spineless and passive, sowing empty seeds
paying on mind to the tolling of the bell
or the beggar on the street.
-Tosha Michelle
Life’s Poetry
I sit. Heart in hand. I
create. Some of you
may turn away from
the blood. The red
spilling over. It’s OK
if you do.
Sometimes it scares
me too, but still I
hold it. Palms out.
I’m giving you what
frightens me. This
is me saying, yes, I’m
still here.
I give you my less than
moments, my insecurities,
my madness, my ideas
about life and love, my
shrine of longing.
My heart slipping from
my hands, falling past
my knees to the floor.
Falling toward your
shadow I hope you
will pick it up.
Feel the hopeful
beat that wars
with my still
soul and chaotic
mind. I give you
my wounds.
We connect through
our pain, my friend,
my reader. Through
the hornets in our
coffee cups. Our
syllables of what
we can’t forget.
As we suffer together,
fear becomes less.
Our hearts beat stronger
Place them on the
dashboard like a
plastic Jesus.
It’s doesn’t matter if
they leak on the
floorboard. It only
matters that we travel on,
even if we’ve misplaced
the map, even if our sanity
becomes displaced, even if
we drive down a reckless road
on a moonless night.
Understand, if we want
heaven and angels,
sometimes we have
to ride around with
our demons.
Understand, sometimes,
darkness is the heart of
life, of beauty, of art.
-Tosha Michelle
Hands Over Eyes
Abstract art by Yours Unruly
Hands Over Eyes
Stand behind me
Take your hands and
cover my eyes, so
I don’t see all
those doubts that
take flight in me,
so I have nothing new
to fear. No new
heartache to blindside me
Loss always coming
unannounced.
Whisper filthy things
in my ear, so I can
breathe deep your words,
drowning out the
voices in my head
screaming “be cautious”
Imploring me to not
be so reckless with
another one so
intoxicating.
Give me new skin
to touch
so I no longer feel
like a castaway
in dark harbor
full of scabs and scales
Let me feel your warmth,
as hope slips inside me.
Face to face now.
You teach me that
everything opens
with time- eyes. minds,
and even a heart damaged
by love undone.
-Tosha Michelle
Drift
Longing befell me on a sharp
right turn, wrong.
A dark disciple rose up in me
I call her nostalgia
Our love is like snow
that refuses to stick.
I am always breathing in want
and exhaling regret
in your icy air.
I take water into my lungs,
and pretend it is you
I measure sugar and salt
in equal cups.
The yearning for both,
making me desperate,
Sugar.
Salt.
Drift.
I keep looking for a blizzard,
but the sidewalk is bare,
and the treacherous sky
swears snow never fell here.
-Tosha Michelle
https://m.soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/the-scientist-coldplay-cover
Last Kiss
But now I’ll go sit on the floor
Wearing your clothes
All that I know is
I don’t know how to be something you miss
https://m.soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/last-kiss-cover-vocals-only
Istonic
Sometimes, I feel like I’m a chapter
from a long forgotten red bound book,
sitting on the nightstand, lost amoung
the newest must read novels.
Other times, i feel like a Whitman poem,
beloved and well read.
Tonight I just have a broken feel.
I raise a glass of regret to memories
that burn, drink to dreams lost, and
loves that failed. Malaise in my bones.
Nostalgia my hydrophobia.
Here’s to:
the nights that turned sour, yet somehow never eroded the palatableness of a half full glass.
I still believe in the soothing cadence
of a soft voice calling my name,
that’s there’s still a double shot
of swoon being poured into a sturdy
pitcher just for me.
I can almost hear the seductive clang of ice, the jazz of a tenor sax who’s notes decant silk sheets, and that drunk dazed look from phenylalanine released, I sway to the knowledge that love is
so much more than that.
Sometimes just a melancholy riff,
a glass knocked over.
Still there’s sweetness left to savor.
The music only dormat to those
who refuse to listen.
-Tosha Michelle
Photo courtesy of yours unruly
Mad Girl’s Love Song
Mad Girl’s Love Song
by Sylvia Plath
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
My cover of “Almost Lover”
Saturday and U2
“I have run I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
These city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven’t found
What I’m looking for”
Something Else?
Life is an imperfect story
And the poet leaves things out
My poem is telling.
But is it telling me?
Is my wordsmithing soulsmithing?
My pen taps on wood, in hopes of getting somewhere.
My mind uses words, as grapes uses wine
Glass by glass I pour myself
into the narrative
Endrunken wishes and longing,
secrets and half truth spill
red on the pages. revealing my broken
rain song, my ink crazed brains
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 
