Dedicated to Jane and Niles.
On days that should be remembered for
their cold rain, because of you all I see
is the sun breaking through.
You wrap me in a wool coat
and we wander through years of experience-
heartache, loss, hearty elms
and wilted vines.
Our friendship knotted with the binding
thread work of love.
We are the roses on the vines
Always pausing as another
flower is cut from our lives.
Knowing in the end none
of us is spared.
We walk on hand in hand.
The light of day disperses.
The light of our friendship
never shutters, never wavers.
The tint of the years fades details.
Age will eventually tint the nuances
but time can’t touch our souls.
Our heart won’t forget.
Thank you for always being
the one constant sky
I have prayed for.
Listen to You ve Got a Friend2 by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
I watered the grudge with a
fervent devotion of a priest
giving communion. I watered
it with the determination of
a drunk on his fourth glass
of gin. The destructive
clockwork of a not so
The cactus in my heart
erupting. I watered it everyday
with a can of venom. My hands
blistering over from the hate.
The fluid and its dark nutrients
taking root, until the petals
bloomed over and clotted my
brain, until there was nothing
left but arid air, laced with
regret, and the silence of
time wasted. The stale
taste of a garden grown
on the wreckage of malice
Gone. The long reign of
bitterness. The tight reign
of hurt feelings. The shards
of anger, shaken from my
eyes. I finally see the sterile
How the realization stings.
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.
Listen to For Good by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
Happy birthday, sir
find her way to your door.
Please check out my friend Anthony. He’s a wonderful artist. He did these lovely sketches of me. I hope you will follow him.
Wow She’s Good – http://wp.me/p6YgwJ-2P
It’s been awhile. I come waving a
flag of peace and unarmed.
My arsenal is depleted.
I have no time for hate or malice
I imagine like me
you want to live in peace without
the threat of guns and
claws. To awaken to the sound
of serenity, not bombs going off
in the distance.
I hope hearing from me doesn’t cause you pain.
Frankly, I miss you. Your theatrical ways,
always leaning toward a Shakespearean tragedy.
No time for much ado about nothing.
Although, everything had to be as you like it.
How you were
a master at parlor games and word play.
Your eyes a depletion
of fallen leaves and green tea.
Hair as dark as a grackle.
Arch so charming, fencing with
unseen stars. Little boy blue,
and Mary. Mary, oh, so contrary.
How our garden did grow.
Shells that pelted the ground,
causing wreckage and carnage.
It wasn’t all welts and hell.
There were days when light swelled
and sliver bells grew.
But i digress, as I climb a slide of memories,
backwards with slippery hands.
My legs lose traction,
my lungs clog with dust.
I end up on the ground negotiating
with my untapped toe.
Trying to reclaim the beat with
half recounted facts
and nostalgia’s false sense of rhythm.
Holding a few cards in the hand you deftly dealt me.
Beside me lies a map, marred
that reads let it go. Let it go.
I stand up, and realizes there’s a
tear in my heart, that I
mistook for my sleeve. I walk through the open gate,
ignoring the stained alleyways,
and street lights shaped like a question marks.
The scent of orchids lingers in
the tired air.
My soul fighting off bees and
the counter winds.
You, dear past, will always sting.