Listen to Always On My Mind (and mindless chatter) by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.com/tosha-michelle2020/always-on-my-mind-and-mindless-chatter
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
Dedicated to Sin, Confess, Repeat, The Sometime Poet, Lana Del Rey, the letter J., Timothy Olyphant, guys named Tad, and the girls named Biffy that love them. Oh and my greatest muse, mischief.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
whistling to you with his seductive tune
He’ll beckon you to come dance in the leaves
Blowing in your ear, caressing your hair and face
Tempting you with the thoughts of his sensuous touch
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
He’ll entice you with his vigor
Sweep you away with his power
His presence so commanding
even the trees sway to his desire.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
He’s fickle and cunning.
Quick to come and go
impossible to hold on to.
Yet he ask to be notice
Begs to be heard.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
He’ll be calm and playful one minute
tumultuous and volatile the next.
He’ll scorch you with his heat
chill you with his frigidity.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
Keep your wits about you
Board up your wanderlust heart
Let him move you if you must
but don’t get carried away
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
Remember-you’ll never know his truth intent
or which way he’ll blow next.
-Tosha Michelle
Playing Peek-A-Boo
Apathy married to assumptions
birthing prejudices-
mindless minions
breast feed on lies
Pay no mind to the stepchildren
the sex slaves
the homeless
the abused and downtrodden
The talking heads are too busy parenting discord
in a nation that loves to light torches
and cast blame on each other.
It’s easier to listen to counterfeit prophets-
Polluted pundits with their false reason
than form educated and independent thoughts
It’s easier to drink the kool-aid of complacency
than taste humanity’s pain
Salient questions
Original ideas
Be damned
There’s no time to nurture the truth
in an attention deficit society
fueled by a Ritalin dispensing media
Take Two
Infatuation such a futile thing
when the world is distorted
through a rose colored mist.
Blurred edges The landscape
formed through nostalgia’s lenses
Everything in soft focus.
.
Infatuation such a soulless thing
devoid of sovereign reason,
when the God you seek,
is an illusion..not to be believed,
in a heaven made of cardboard dreams
painted with muted time.
A Poem for Niles
This post was written for a dear friend. Happy Birthday, Niles. You are the calm to my storm. The voice of reason to my insanity. The jitter to my bug. The Niles to my girly Frasier
Without further ado, I give you my ode to you.
There’s once was a guy from Macon
who like to shake his bacon
his hips, yours for the taking
Kidding….
but seriously….
Still Waters
While other men measure success by titles and cash
He dreams of making text dance over the crevices
of uncharted pages, imaginary characters alive in his mind
He longs to breathe life into figures he has never met.
to fire his own artistic semantic round.
to pen The Great American Novel,
with sophisticated soulful prose that linger
While other men play golf and women
He’s happier with his nose in a book
Getting lost in CS Lewis and Hemingway
Sliding between his world and theirs
walking chapters to be read. Again and again
He lives in the land of mystical lions,
not fearing the tolling of the bell,
finding his lifeline in fanciful excursions
While other men long to dominant and control
He strives to be gentlemanly and bold
A silent nod to a picture page
Old world charm, lost in a photograph
Shaking the dust off his top hat
He welcomes chivalry anew.
While other men court surface friendships,
His quiet still waters run deep
As deep as the tea he seeps
He puts his shield away
Cast the armor aside
Content to share the secrets he holds inside
He caters only to a select few
Kind beyond fault to those he holds true
While other men drown in the noise of a fast paced life
He’s busy taking comfort in starlit skies
Content to linger by the stream with Whitman and Thoreau
Green fields blooming. His soul dances in the yellow light
He smiles at the passing herd, wondering if the sheep
will ever open their eyes and see?
While other men are slaves to convention
He marvels that his soul is as free as a feather
No guise needed, a peaceful mind is on his side
He travels on, marching to his own tune
with steadfast authentic steps and exquisite simplicity
-Tosha Michelle
Alternate ending
He travels on, marching to his own tune
with steadfast authentic steps
and visions of Norah Jones
alive in his bed (Note from poet, I couldn’t resist)
MUSIC
MUSIC by Charles Baudelaire
MUSIC doth uplift me like a sea
Towards my planet pale,
Then through dark fogs or heaven’s infinity
I lift my wandering sail.
With breast advanced, drinking the winds that flee,
And through the cordage wail,
I mount the hurrying waves night hides from me
Beneath her sombre veil.
I feel the tremblings of all passions known
To ships before the breeze;
Cradled by gentle winds, or tempest-blown
I pass the abysmal seas
That are, when calm, the mirror level and fair
Of my despair!
Climb Out of The Brown Paper Bag
16.4 million children living in poverty.
14,500 to 17,500 people, primarily women and children, trafficked to the U.S. annually.
Unemployment rate of 9 percent
$16 trillion dollars in debt
However, all politicians seem to do is party in semantics over party semantics. Their philosophy- how do I keep myself in power and not how can we possibly ameliorate humanity. Instead of serving the people, they serve themselves and help themselves to a fist full of dollars. Instead of protecting the interests of the people; they protect the corporations, and in return the corporations protect them- in a turgid, tacit agreement that can be compared to blind patriotism. They are no less than mannequin pimps with pens, who have acquired a penchant for back stabbing the people who put them in power. It needs to stop. It’s time to take the money out of politics and put the humanity back in.
Staying in my soap box for a moment, in my opinion, politics and Facebook don’t mix. I’ve been suckered into a few debates on the state of our country. They always end with hurt feelings and bent out of shape noses. However, I respect people’s right to express their views (even the one I find appalling) Note, I’m not a big fan of the Fox News crowd.
What sickens me is the dissension and polarization I see. It’s one thing to feel passionately about one’s beliefs. It is another, when one tries to bash those beliefs down another’s throat. There is no civility in politics anymore. There is no civility among Americans anymore. Perhaps, there never was. I just hope we find a touch of empathy in ourselves.
Sometimes, it’s not just about flags, or guns (the left…the right) Sometimes, it’s about innocent lives lost. Sometimes, it’s about acknowledging that racism is alive and well. It’s about finding proactive ways to fight oppression. It’s about asking ourselves; how can we end the senseless noise of senseless bickering? How can we love more and hate less?
We now return you to your regular schedule blog of poetry and randomness.
The Gift
I received you cold shoulder
wrapped in disdain
tied with a bitter bow
a gift of retribution
meant to flog my soul
like a petty whip
Fifty shades of fu***ed up
I should just retreat back
into my self imposed isolation,
but I always was more sinner than saint,
with a stubborn heart, a chaotic brain
and a restless soul
devoid of peace and sanity
Come closer if you dare
I’m returning your gift
and giving you one of my own
Sound and fury
Fire to melt ice
Heat the will own you
burning you from the inside out
thawing your cold facade
Flames licking at your core
Hypnotized by my light
dancing through the trees
of your mind.
igniting every part
Try and extinguishes the flames if you must
until there’s nothing left
but the smoldering undergrowth
and the lingering heavy blanket of smoke
Choke on the fumes as they soak
intimately into your soul
as you fall into a siren’s trance
Look down- you’ll see my reflection
in your burnt scarred martyred hands
Joan of Arc- you have met your match
-Tosha Michelle
Watchmaker Analogy (Out of Sync)
A toast to the last sip of sanity,
to a friendship, I thought would never end
Drink from the bitter flute of regret
as chaos and mistrust oxidize
the palate of life
Cheers to a relationship
swallowed whole by anarchy
The struggle of bosoms buddies
maderized on sea of lunacy
Kindred spirits no more
Raise your glass to a hint of
false truths, fair-weathered faith,
famished reason, futile declarations
Assumptions paired with judgment in excess-
verbal checkmate.
Here’s to “Judas’ daughter”
Dante’s stage prop, a sterile cross,
and a refermented simulacra Jesus.
-Tosha Michelle
Seductive Tea
“A penny for your thoughts” he says,
piercing me with his knowing eyes.
sinful smirk,
and picture perfect perfection
I bite my lip and blush,
fearing my face will give
away my lascivious cerebration
I look down at my cup and lie
“I was just thinking-this tea is divine”
I can never tell him
the true thoughts stuck in my head,
clinging to me like static to a balloon
Playing tag with my mind
His lips brushing mine,
nibbling, teasing
sucking, tasting,
licking, biting
His fingers reading my body
like a passage from his favorite book,
tracing fiery trails,
leaving sparks in their wake,
Bookmarking his favorite part
I can never tell him
I picture him in my bed
My heart longs
to be a tourist of his flesh,
to learn his language,
in sighs, trembles and hips
Mapping a route with my hands,
Tasting his forbidden fruit
Drowning in his exotic essence,
as we melt into silky sheets and sweet release
He asked, but I can never tell.
instead, I get lost in
soundless seduction
Sipping my tea. I sigh.
Everything I Never Told You 