Outside of her was history.
A shroud to the past
The living beneath a life.
beyond the open door
an engraved coin, the swell
of violins, conjured spirits,
the echos of and
etching of yesterday
The yearning for a new day.
Inside of her, dwindling reason
An endless ticking watch
The watch was her mind.
-Tosha Michelle
https://m.soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/time-after-time-rawvery-raw
Sometimes I sing in incomplete rhymes.
I write in crayon and leave
my shoes beside the sandbox.
I sign my letters with x and o.
I ponder in doubt, the crisscross musings
speaking out loud.
Sometimes a woman needs
flowers out of season, homegrown vegetables, romance,
sex, and easy to read instructions.
Instead she meditates on ice cream
Jung and HGTV
Attempts to become enlightened.
Prays to paper and pen.
Looking for an all encompassing view.
Hoping for an all embracing embrace.
She offers herself to drumbeat and sage.
The rhythm under the air. She turns her heart
to some inferior door, finding something buried
in red. Hope for a moment sustained
-Tosha Michelle
The past slips forward
under the door.
Slithering around on the
floor, tangled with our
muted perceptions and half
recalled facts. It’s dines
on our regrets, our annual
if only breakfast of crow.
We study it like math,
figures, we can’t quite grasp
We equate in retrospect.
under a ghost light
We ponder its multiplicity.
We survive on a broken
calculator and flashcards
that read don’t let go.
-Tosha Michelle
“Many times I tried to tell you
Many times I cried alone
Always I’m surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone
Don’t want to leave you really
I’ve invested too much time to give you up that easy
To the doubts that complicate your mind
We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder
We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better
We belong, we belong, we belong together”
It feels safe to reside inside poetry. It’s my escape route.
Real and imagined.
Here I can live multiple lives
My feelings are diverse, if I tire of one emotion, there’s always another close as the ink on my hand.
Poetry holds my heart, and understands like water, I’m perpetually in transition. My words take on many forms. Some are steeped in reality. Others, solely fantasy, perhaps, live perceived in a parallel universe.
My soul never grows static in verse. My poet self, helps me gain confidence to live life as my real self, to have the courage to balance monotony and forgive the world its drudgery.
-Tosha Michelle
Hello beautiful people. My cover of “The Scientist”. Hope you enjoy xz
https://m.soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/the-scientist-coldplay-cover
Hello lovely ones. Just a few random thoughts from a chaotic mind. Firstly, I’d like to say that, I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to read and follow this blog. It means the world to me. I’ve connected with some really wonderful and talented folks. I’m grateful for those connections and I know that some of those friendships will carry-on for many years to come. Having said that, I will be cutting back on the amount of time I spend here. Life has taken on a very busy tone of late. I will still be posting but the frequencies of my posts will be more sporadic and sparse. My goal is to at least post once a week.
Secondly, I don’t want to get political but I will say that now more than ever, I am praying for our country.. It should be noted, I’m not even a particularly religious person. It is my hope that love and tolerance will always win out of over hate and bigotry. it’s up to us to hold our leaders to a higher standard and demand that they govern with dignity, integrity and compassion.
Steps off soap box and looks for cake. Hands you a piece.
All besr,
T.
Some years we peel
open like a fruit.
This year an orange.
We devour the nectar
or, feeling badly for the
naked fruit, we handle
it with care.
Other years are fruitless.
We search through our
refrigerators until we find
a carton of large white.
Cracking the years open
like an egg, until the yolk
break, running through our
fingers and onto time.
-Tosha Michelle
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
Everything I Never Told You 