I scribble unutterable words
until I pulverize the paper
with my crisscross musings.
My mind stung by hornets,
My pen shivers and splinters
My fingers soften with the
release of each syllable
My heart picks up speech
from the residue
-Tosha Michelle
I always shut the door on the past,
but forget to lock it.
I still find hope in the
alternate endings, written
but yet to be shot.
My gauzy veil gets
caught in the closing
curtain every time.
I compose yesterday
in my poetry.
I find solace in fastening
myself to what was.
Binded to moments long gone.
I write text to loosen the memories,
to dissolve the unrest
inside of me.
The undertone of melancholy,
my favorite feeling,
lingers in the emphatic prose.
For a poem, I fall back
into what was.
Then I put the pen down
and give myself to the now.
Letting the presence remain
perched for the here,
on my shoulder.
Hoping, one day words
will linger in today.
Tosha Michelle
My voice is a tiny grain
in his skull to be devoured
by vultures or fertilized by madness.
Evey morning as I rise I
pay homage to his stony
face. I read novels into
his stature that never moves
He never remembers anything
beyond his well preened shoes
I type with one eye open well
into the day. In stillness,
he stares narratives through me
Frantically , I write nightmares
in bold font until I am spent.
At midnight I place him back under glass.
My eggs firmly stored in his basket.
Here under the tent, we say
our final goodbye. Soon your
coffin will be lowered into the ground.
The crowd folds like fall foliage,
with promises that it will get better
and death is not the end.
What will they remember of you?
Your smile? The broach you always wore?
The photo of you on the beach
in your Sunday best, with sunglasses
as stylish as Jackie O’s.
Please send me a sign,
a popcorn kernel of hope
that your spirit lives on.
That your soul is in a peaceful
place. That days and years
from now, we’ll find you again.
I question the sky. It reflects
back light then dark. No
definitive answers there.
Yet still I search eternity,
for you. This depth of feeling
keeps me pondering infinity.
This anguish spurs me on.
-Tosha Michelle
“And the songbirds are singing,
Like they know the score,
And I love you, I love you, I love you,
Like never before.”
My cover of Songbird, Many thanks to my friend Danny for the piano accompaniment
Hello lovely ones. Every now and again, I like to plug a friend. OK, that sounds weird, or maybe I just made it weird. Anyway, my friend Alex has a wonderful blog, you really need to be following. Alex is a true gentleman and just a really sweet and caring soul. He’s also single. Ladies take note.
.
His number is….
OK, I’ll let him give his digits away.
But I digress. Don’t I always?
If you’re into TV, music, travel, photography, and kind hearted Brits who like to play twenty questions and discuss everything from ice cream to art then Alex is your guy and his blog is for you.
Follow him!!
https://alexraphael.wordpress.com/2016/04/24/lines-of-the-day-thebigbangtheory-2/
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”
The one I crave isn’t aware of me.
The man I long to hold,
my lustful thoughts lodged
in his belly like hunger pains
forgotten, forgets me.
So I become my heart’s curator
of insignificant, seeing love
this way, through blotted out clouds
and a tenuous contract that I’d never
break. The weight of words growing
heavier with the passing of each year.
Other men perform hard labor
trying to win my wilted hand.
I wish for the hush of his name.
I imitate the motions.
Living means dancing
like I know the choreography.
Then no one notices
I’m with the wrong partner.
Even now I still love the unbearable,
the unbridgeable distance
of the choreographer of my destruction.
I strike matches against my chest.
I peel back my flesh
and wear my the despair out
on a Saturday night.
Languidly, I wobble around
in my heels of suburpia
I write to dreg my nonsensical senses.
Shouldn’t art and love destroy us?
Saturated us?
Redefine us?
Burn through us?
Dark body of my soul fall through
this lonesome space.
You are the ache in my ribcage.
Come read my dreams back to me
on crumpled sheets of paper.
My heart its own Museum of
Unnatural History. I can no longer
separate desire from truth.
-Tosha Michelle
October, early evening.
Remember the walk in the park, at dusk,
after hours spent daydreaming? Attune your heart
to the streetlights illuminating, the leaves,
aglow with autumn. The book of trees an understory
all gold, like a good plot all shiny, tangled,
bitter and sweet. Lift your face to the crisp wind,
to the pines, to the melody in the air. Sing along.
Remember the hopeful feeling like getting the first editions
of your favorite books or a passionate kiss from someone
who understands your quirks and finds them sexy. Lean into nature.
The improbable full moon, so big and bright no camera lens or artist’s hands could reproduce. Climb into the open sky, even the night. Remember. Relax. Be.
-Tosha Michelle
For Alex. My less than perfect cover of “Wings” by Birdy. Thanks for the request.
I drink this silence
like water.
I eat serenity like bread.
The pines and oak reshapes my
chaotic head.
The moss green and grass
pillow my body.
Shadows uphold my unadorned soul.
Gravity thy name is Earth.
I fall toward you today.
I grow with the light,
and the beauty of an unreadable sky.
I’m as warm and as calm
as the sun bare face shinning
down on me.
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 