Sometimes the air around us is foreign.
Our lungs adopting to the atmosphere.
Knowing. Unknowing. We await
as the intervals thicken or thin.
Will the air become audible?
Will the seasons brighten or dim?
Do we lay store or forge ahead?
Is it enough to seek answers to questions
or is the living in the doing?
A thought held close built around another
thought is of no use if it sits braced to
a chair reluctant to breathe the air.
-Tosha Michelle
Sometimes when the world and people become too much to take
I develop winter brain: a sort of icy mindfulness
where I embrace the chill and long to hibernate
with the bears, while the snowbird helicopters
over the frozen lake harassing the air and
frost bite lingers on my soul.
My heart a solid ice sheet hasn’t a care.
I inhale the silence while the palest of
green fights to break through.
For a moment at least, I remain
as cold and calm as the
white of the snow overspread
on the ground.
-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
I’m honored to be the featured blogger of the month over at my friend Robert’s site. Robert is a talented artist and writer. Please check out his work.
She carried his image like a cherish photograph- a handsome man dressed in a soft, faded sweater, blue jeans, and loafers, standing on the beach in a seaside town on the last day of November. The sky hinting at something brighter. There was hope but no chance. The sun mournfully hid behind the clouds. The seductive and perilous waves tried to shake the image.
The image would not fade. It was the eve of the other life she would never live. In the years to follow, she would return, her heart trying to translate what was never meant to be. Her singular salvation of faded dreams and a man she loved well once, lost to the seasonal tides of life and the fatal missteps of fate out of time.
-Tosha Michelle
I want to go deep into the book of your soul. Show me truth even if the pages resists. Tell me your heart so I can understand your part. I don’t want to wade through a flimsy plot. I want a character-driven tale with meaningful dialogue. One I can read tenderly; one that makes me think. I want to feel your words resonating inside of me, to take them to a deep place, a place that honors the connection flowing between us, where a whole orchard of new chapters can grow.
-Tosha Michelle
Listen to Use Somebody Kings Of Leon Cover (Take 2) by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
The self always strikes
dissonant chords,
the world of her mind
never quite at peace.
More often, the self walks
along imagination’s street.
Here she is free from
monotony and fear.
The self wants? What?
A freezing shot of clarity?
The pulse and throb
of a sexy life?
The bruised scent of strawberries?
Piano keys and satin sheets,
a world free from hate?
The sweet salt of a lover’s skin?
The self never can seem
to get it right.
She offers herself to pen and paper.
Writing her rebellious truths.
She travels along on words
in moonlight visions,
casting a poetic sheen.
Plunging toward that place
you aren’t allowed to dive,
but the self does anyway.
Here she comes alive.
Here there’s no bottom.
No end. Here the self can
tell you anything.
Watch the self
spilt herself open.
times three.
-Tosha Michelle
“Everything that drowns me, makes me wanna fly”
For J and P
We no longer exist,
but there still residual
dust to clean up.
Butterscotch wrapped in
clinging plastic.
The pull and tug of the
invisible.
Your arms.
The only sun.
The evening a chance to
yearn for a fresh dawn.
-Tosha Michelle
My cover of Taylor Swift’ s”Last Kiss”
Listen to Last Kiss (cover, vocals only) by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
This is pretty sweet. If you aren’t following this pirate, you’re missing out on some fine booty. I’m taking about his poetry. Geez
Read Tosha’s Book! – http://wp.me/p78s22-J4
The beautiful edgy woman
with the death stare
is sure I’m a one way door.
The all American girl,
a one shot deal in
illuminated skin.
She would never suspect
that I drink in
crows like the sky,
that I find clarity in chaos.
that I drowned Barbie
in a pool of cement,
that I may look like a black and white
1950’s candy sweet darling.
But inside my heart wears
leather, tattoos, a storm brews
beneath my skin.
The years giving me
color and form.
taking me from
red blush to blood red.
as summer turns to fall.
Underscoring the
damp edges of my soul.
Finally, growing
into my backbone.
I’m the other side of her
projection now.
A soul reborn feral.
Finding beauty in asymmetry.
Nurtured by rainfall that pools
into darkness.
Filing my nails on thorns.
Naive Southern Belle no longer.
The nightingale turned
into a raven with teeth.
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 