Notes from the Other Side


Sometimes sorrow turns into
irreversible regret.
We choose to live an icebox
existence.
Wallowing in misfortune’s
frosty glass.
Consorting with memories
Squabbling with dreams.

The poet too has felt life
interrupted, days that vanish
upon awakening.
I’ve known suffering and
the pull of solitary confinement.

Now looking back from a happier
vista. I’m hear to tell you,
the pitch of pain may never
be unheard, but it does gets softer,
fading into a bittersweet refrain.
The past becomes part of
your case history, to be read
by nostalgia’s light on rain
soaked nights.

In time the visible world brightens 
Let it entice you with the woo of
the today and what will be.
Take refuge in the heat of
places uncharted, linger in
the sweet realism of the hour.

Walk toward the future
with unshackled feet.
The misbegotten shadows
behind you now.
Let the smudge of the sun,
and the warmth of a steadfast
hand be your guide.

-Tosha Michelle

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Homemade 

Love is not just the property
of physics but the language
of home, a feeling of belonging,
a shareable place. Sometimes a
little patch of green.
Other times an unmade field.

Its touch sharp but malleable,
a labor of commitment and
compromise, that with luck and perseverance can withstand
drought or a sun washed out by rain.

Love is neither a spell or curse
but rather feelings inked by actions.
At times a historical footnote
At other’s an entire memoir.

Often born from the tree of life,
sweet and fruitful
Other times acrid and spoiled
Love’s at its best when brushed
with agape’s stroke
Friendship pierced with eros

This kind of love can be feasted
on for years, Soul and sugar
with a portion of salt.
Imperishable and filling.
A recipe that can be recited
by heart light and remembered
during times the light bends.

-Tosha Michelle

Sometimes Life Is?


Sometimes life is drama
And we get buried in the
angst of it all.
We fear if the darkness
doesn’t lift our eyes will
be permanently sewn shut
like a newborn cat’s.

We sit by a sturdy table
made of walnut , while
the logs on the fire burn
out, contemplating the
fickleness of luck and
human emotions.
Listening to the rain wrack
the roof and windows.

Yes, sometimes life is misery,
but if we can withstand the
bad acting and poorly written
script, Life eventually becomes
maple and sugar again.

The fire burning away
hopeless things,
the repetitive and rhetorical.
Words once heavy become light.

We see our world through open
eyes filled with the enthusiasm
that only small children and
dreamers can understand.

We find solace in the now
and stop questioning what
wasn’t or was. We appreciate
what we have and find
renewed grace in the elements.
Sun or rain it doesn’t matter.
Refuge is found in those who
love the faces of our spirit
and understand the depth
of our souls.

-Tosha Michelle

On an unrelated note if you’re still here:

In his new live performance show, John Cleese wants us to know there is no hope in this dysfunctional world .However he conveys this message in such a glorious and delightful way that in the end, hopelessness looks pretty darn good. On Monday night I was fortunate enough to see Cleese in person. He did not disappoint. During the show he pontificated on the current state of  life and politics. While his performance at times felt like a deeply philosophical Ted Talk, his trademark black humor was still on full display. During the second half of the show Cleese took questions from the audience, a highlight to be sure. 

 I wish the pictures were better but no flash photography.  For those who celebrate, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving..  I’m grateful for you all. 

Sing 

Happy Sunday. Y’all, oh my gosh, “A Star is Born” is amazing. Lady Gaga gives a Judy Garland worthy performance. I could gush all day about it, but this isn’t a movie review blog. However, my cat’s been wanting to get into the WP game and he’s always considered himself a bit of a critic, so….  Although,  I think he’s better suited to be a food critic. 

Anyway, a poem for you. Oh and. Tucker says you really should see “A Star is Born” Honestly, he thought the film was going to be about his birth.  Silly boy 😜💕
Tell me why everything
is rarely enough in a
world that is collapsing.
The sky nothing more
than cornbread crumbs.

Why do we not
notice this?

Tell me how we got lost
in a word of logins, of likes,
of tweets, a web of passwords?
Tell me why people are disposable,
and we are constantly
judging our life
by the lives of others?

When I hear music,
my life shifts.
Layers of overstimulated
brain cells shed
their skin.

Dress me
in your melody.

Let your tune speak
of shattered knees,
barbwire fences
cutting into roads.
Sing me
your pain.

I’ll share my song
with you.

I’ll tell you in notes
both high and low
how I’ve suffered
and survived.
How peace is the
county I want
to live in,
but I sometimes get
stuck in customs instead.

How hard it hurts
to fall, to fall,
but each bruise,
each disappointment is
a testament that
our system is still
functioning and
there are melodies
still left to be sung.

I’ll sit beside you as
you serenade me
and I sing the notes
back to you
as we finally pay
attention to the
sky.

The evening opening
up like a meteor,
a tail of a comet
waves to us as it
touches the sidewalk.
Satellites fall. For the moment,
heaven comes closer,
entranced by our song.

-Tosha Michelle

The Remains 

image

The ones I love,
and have been
blessed to keep,
are sleeping
as night’s low
pitch hums slowly
fades.

I walk along the lake
with only the birds
to keep me company.
The clouds sticky,
but devoid
of cotton candy,
offer no sweetness.
I move through stony colors,
a stillness in my
soul.

The water churns,
dark froth travels
in its wake.
I cry for some
inexplicable reason.

Through my tears,
I stare out into
the silence,
and think of those
who make me the happiest.
And then I wonder
about those
who have come
and gone.
The ones I have lost,
lost loves, lost friends,
a litany of history.

Memories reclaim
me for a moment.
Has life carried
them where they
want to be?
Does the dusty world
ever taunt them, too?
Do they ever
wonder why time
offers no explanation
for grief and regret?
Do they ever weep
because whatever
we’re made of,
we can never alter
the ticking clock’s
hands.

I hope that there’s
a table set somewhere
for them, and morning kisses
to greet them.

The past opens quickly,
but recedes just as
fast.

I pick a dying
wild flower from its
sidewalk home,
just as a boat
heads off into the gray,
brushed stroke
of the mist.
A lone crow
plummets toward it,
like granite.
The first faint orange
spot appears in the
sky.

Lifting my chin to the sun,
to brightness.
I discard the unbreathable,
dizzy smell of nostalgia.

I bathe in the now,
and wash my soul
in today’s syllables

Thankful for what was,
but even more grateful
for those that remain 
I know without them,
the air would taste
like nothingness.

Standing on the bridge
in the space between
yesterday and today.
I walk back toward
the scent of nectar,
of happiness
Eating up the sunshine
while I still can.

-Tosha Michelle

It’s Enough


It’s enough to just have
an idea about love.
Sometimes it’s rooted in
nostalgia, other times it’s
planted firmly in the now.
Regardless, we follow our
heartstrings through
the atmosphere even
if the notes make no sense.

We fall through sunlight
and burn ourselves out.
Dizzy with something unbridled
We don’t think about what the
sky might do
or how thw shadows might
distort or disappear.
We don’t count the moments
before we fell.
Or how the wild bees sting.
Above us. Below us, we just
see the blue hiding behind
the clouds.

Sometimes it’s enough to
just recall the days of
scarlet breasted birds
winging it, the scent of
honeysuckles, confetti winds
and lawn daisies
Knowing the Earth brightens
with just the idea of love.
And sometimes that knowing is enough.

Tosha Michelle

Soul Keepers 


There are those people
who don’t need to look at you
to really see you.
They see you as you are.
Your lesser than moments
The sadness that is opulent
in you.

They’ll love you whether you’re
noteless or the feature story
written in the best of you,
whether your feet are sinking
in quicksand, or lost among dandelions
and slippery grass.

They’ll love your voice when it
deepens with life’s desire
or breaks with the frost of despair.
These are the ones who will
revive you when you’re barely alive.
When the sky loses it’s luster,
they’ll eat the clouds for you.

They’ll never be just a drifting
wind. or a splintering shadow,
a stray unimpressed with your
offering wandering off.
These people are your constants,
leaves that don’t flinch in the bitter air.
Forever entwined in your heart.
Immovable, no matter how much the branches
of your soul may shutter.

There are those people who
don’t need to look at you to
really see you.
They see you in the darkest
ravine or the midday sunlight of the pines.
These people are the backdrop
of your life, the stars who crown
you on your long walk home.
These are those you
sing the song of yourself too.
The ones who hear the potential
in every note.
And remind you of the words
when you forget how the
melody goes.

-Tosha Michelle 

And silliness and no makeup ensued.


And this song goes out to my cat of course. 😜💕