Your fingertips across my skin
The palm trees swaying in the wind
Images
You sang me Spanish lullabies
The sweetest sadness in your eyes
Clever trick
Listen to Almost Lover by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
Hands of Gold
Spring whispers when you are near.
Breathe your name into my ear.
Tell me your stories,
especially the ones
written on ancient tapestry.
Give me flower seeds I can plant.
I’ve stumbled through the bramble
to find you.
I was not seeking this knotty retreat,
but look how my leaves
have taken to the light.
Carry me to the highest treetop.
Fly with me on the wind.
Watch over me when my mind
plays peekaboo with the dark.
When I can’t locate myself on any map,
and I’m lost a land wishing to destroy me.
Give me the gold of your heart.
The stream of your resolve.
The pixie dust of your hands.
For me, at least, your magic is enough.
-Tosha Michelle
And So It Goes
And this is why my eyes are closed
It’s just as well for all I’ve seen
And so it goes and so it goes
And you’re the only one who knows
https://soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/so-it-goes-billy-joel-cover
A Scholarly Gentleman
One of my best friends is celebrating his birthday soon and I wanted to do something special for him. Niles and I go way back and we’ve been seen some (insert curse word here) Twelve years of friendship and our bond just grows stronger.
This is my tribute to a gentleman with a lovely creative soul. Niles, thanks for being you and always getting me. Love, respect and snark always.
“The Gentleman Writer”
Seemingly readable and uncomplicated
Underneath he burns like the red sun.
Unruly ghosts tapdance in his head
He orders them in poetic verse
Laying claim to a writer’s vocation
Here his imploded dreams come to fruition
He spins his hope into a July moon
Ink becomes his salvation.
as he basks in the white heat
moments of no sound.
Knowing words are a gift
His fingers loosen the bow.
-Tosha Michelle
Listen to For Good by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/for-good
Happy birthday, sir
May the
be plentiful.
always win
And
find her way to your door.
Love Me
Love me like we’re
lost in the woods on
a moonless night,
being serenaded by
the wind, and the
ominous sounds of
a chainsaw and
maniacal laugher.
Love me like a pole
crashing into the yard,
live wires leaving their
streaks on the lush green
grass.
Love me without thought,
without asking, without
wondering if you paid
the light bill, or if you
should wear your grey
trousers tomorrow or
your black.
Love me when you’re
stuck in rush hour
traffic with a
headache, and the
jerk in the car
next to
you is blasting
hip hop
so loud, you can
feel your seat
vibrating.
Love me in a back
alley, up against a
brick wall, your mouth
on my throat, while
we move in rhythm
to the sound of
sirens and street noise.
Do it when
no one looking, and
there’s a citywide power
outage, and the looting
has begun, and a truck
jumps a curve and almost
sideswipe a bus, while
someone throws a brick
through a window.
Love me like the first
taste of bourbon, like
a blessing, like a flood,
like a barrage of light
filling a blind man’s
eyes, like eros and
agape love mating.
Love me when we’re
both too tired to make
love, when you are
lonely, when you
hate everyone and
you’ve lost your
faith.
Come lie down beside
me, close your beautiful
eyes, take my hand as
I sing you a lullaby of
longing, and I’ll
never stop as long
as you love me, as
long as you keep
loving me, just like
that.
Again and Again
I know I mention this guy a lot and honestly, it’s because I like him so much more than the rest of you. I’m kidding. I adore you all but I am super fond of this lovely Brit. You will be too. Check out his poem and please encourage him to write more. Oh and follow him. He’s sure to return the favor
Happy Friday. God save the Queen and us all xx
https://alexraphael.wordpress.com/2013/12/10/the-hand-of-nature/
What Would Keats Do?
Beautiful, meaningful poetry
is always possible.
Think of Shakespeare
and his sonnets.
Frost and his road
less traveled.
The poem I’m writing now
may be beautiful
and full of meaning.
It may not be.
Perhaps, it’s too early to tell.
Should I keep going?
What if I’m trying to hard
to create art?
The verses will show the pressure.
I want my poetry
to remind the reader
of themselves,
not so much the poet.
I want them to listen alone
with their own minds and hearts.
Maybe the secret
to beautiful poetry
full of depth
is not caring.
Perhaps, when I leave
poetry behind, abandon words
and have no desire to write,
that’s where great writing
will find me.
As I sit reading Anne Sexton,
I’ll remember what I once
would have sacrificed
to create art that matters.
And I’ll pick up my pen and paper
and write the poetry I dreamed of
as though I was another poet,
and as if i were the poet,
I may never be again.
-Tosha Michelle
Hands Over Your Eyes
Close your eyes.
Cover your ears.
We’ll take a train
away from here.
Somewhere greener
Anywhere warmer.
Someplace just beyond
our reach but we’ll
reach it anyhow
Leaving the delirium
of the mundane behind.
We’ll hold court in a
seaside town.
And rinse our glasses
in sugar.
Learning the music
our hearts make when
blessed with a peaceful
beat, the sound of us.
We’ll lean into each other
and come like we
never have.
Your mouth all over me.
I’ll sing you to the edge.
Your gaze only on me
as we will dance into
new revelations, and
curl like a comma
into hopeful beginnings
-Tosha Michelle
Artwork by me.
My cover of ‘Realize” for Niles, one of my best friends. Follow his blog at http://www.jamesdennard.com
He’s lovely and likes the ladies. 😃
My Reason
Words are irresistible.
I cling to them for salvation.
I’ve written hundreds
of poems, some, no one
should ever have to read.
I skim the edges of life
to find inspiration. Sometimes
I invent what I need.
My sentences brighten by
imagination. I baptize myself
in the alphabet, finding rebirth.
Happiness is found in revision
and new verse. I’m constantly
moving toward poetry, to relieve
this heaviness of heart and pen.
The ink echoing hope, my creative
ascension begins.
-Tosha Michelle
Can’t Ignore the Rhythm
He’s the softest of stanzas.
The lines strong enough
for me to swallow.
I lean into his lyricism
The words light a match under
my skin.
He’s my reason to turn the page.
I breathe in his poetry.
becoming what he crafts.
Adjectives and verbs twisting
into sugar and salt.
Dazed and dazzled. I never
demand a definition.
I just bask in the white heat
moment of now.
Coloring my heart with
phrases that never compromise.
Teaching my soul to listen
to the whispered language of
whatever will be.
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 