Tag: music

Another One?

Published on by Tosha Michelle59 Comments

image

I know this poem.
It’s another one about you.
In this one you’re the moon,
moving away from the earth.
The nights getting darker.
The poet seemingly losing
herself to longing.
But maybe this is just a
rough draft.
Perhaps in the revision
you’re not the moon,
but the sun she
orbits around and
you take her hand.
Moving closer to her gravity.
Entranced by her softness
and charming ways.
And I feel like I’ve lived
this poem and I know
this man. Alone in bed
I savor evey word.
And for a moment
I get lost in a fantasy
where I believe in the
poem.
I’m holding in my lap
and, in the man, the
poem’s about
His head resting
on my knee.
I memorize every verse.

-Tosha Michelle

Listen to Underneath Adam Lambert Cover by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

The Invitation

Published on by Tosha Michelle124 Comments

image

I’m dreaming of you.
No, someone like you.

Someone who receives
my invitation and can’t
wait to come over.

My house, lit up by
moonshine and heart
light, awaits your arrival.

I bake a cake in expectation.
I’m hoping to sit with you
on the front porch, and
converse in real ways
where I can sit with my
legs crisscross and
not worry about how I look
with my hair up in a bun, no
make up on. You’ll look beyond
the shallow and see grace.

We’ll see our way to the
other side of the conversation,
your side, my side, our side.
And I won’t want more
than I have, now or before.

Did you receive my invitation?
My someone, my someone like you?
I’ve tenderly adjusted the view.
No backbends or recrimination,
not a single back wound.

Come over. The door and chapter remain open.
Rest here with me. Tell me a story.
One we don’t know the ending to.
We’ll make love’s revision
or write anew.

-Tosha Michelle

But I Don’t Wanna be Queen.

Published on by Tosha Michelle101 Comments

image

Don’t sit with your legs
crisscrossed.
Sit like a queen

Mind your manners.
Curl your locks.
Priss and preen
Everyone knows the
world loves pretty.

Don’t sit with your
legs crisscrossed
Sit like a queen.

Smile.
Show those gleaming
pearls.
Never be cross or mean.

Don’t grow old,
frail or weak.

Don’t sit with your legs
crisscrossed.
Sit like a queen.

Paint your nails.
Fingers and toes.

Give up food.
Remain a size 2.

Be the princess
married to the king.

Don’t sit with your legs
crisscrossed.
Sit like a queen.

-Tosha Michelle

Silence

Published on by Tosha Michelle103 Comments

image

Sometimes even the flutter
of moth wings is too loud.
I crave silence. I even write
in hushed tones under an oak
tree where nature seems
spiritual and serenity touches
me through the dew filled daisies.
I raise my pen to the sun.
I take in the charm of fresh air,
a storytelling of peace. It’s easier
to trust in the smell of honeysuckles
and the blueness above than humans.
People vanish with the seasons and create
noise and chaos inside my head. But the sky,
today, at least, is a reliable ally.
It whispers to me in
calm meditative tones
In the quiet I breathe again.

-Tosha Michelle

Understanding

Published on by Tosha Michelle86 Comments

image

I always want the things I can’t understand.
And I want understanding
from the things I can’t understand.
I turn them over in my mind like a Rubik’s Cube,
or an outdated reference.

This is regardless, of the things I have and do understand.

What’s the demarcation between settling and unrealistic expectations?

Why am I more interested in the mist than seeing the horizon?

What is it I think I’m missing: sex, romance, adventure, simplicity, humidity?

Blocked by what- responsiblility, obligations, discipline, weather?

I don’t want the mist to clear.
I play keep away with the sun.

The wheels on the bus
turn round and round but
I’m not waiting on a ride.
I’m going nowhere.

Maybe my mind just has a grudge against me.
Look at it always wanting something more,
in spite of….

-Tosha Michelle

Loving You

Published on by Tosha Michelle80 Comments

image

Something sweet and romantic
____

Loving you is a Saturday
feeling and a Sunday stroll.
For you, the encrypted
become unencrypted.

You will never not love me,
even when our weekends turn into
Mondays.

Even when our photos
become monuments of us,
a still life of
sunlight and cedar,
the girl I was, abloom
in a field of beginnings.

Love that can’t hide
in a napkin, a coffee spill
or a blade of grass.

Liveable lives.
Forgivable.

Serene seas and mountains,
and the artifacts of
a champagne flute,
periwinkle shirts
and promises.

The litter of swoon
and our once in a
lifetime constellation.

-Tosha Michelle

Vicious Cycle

Published on by Tosha Michelle74 Comments

image

Unseen memories.
Thoughts of yesterday,
Circle an empty room.
They don’t make a sound.
Scars commiserate with
what was in a silent benediction.
Nothing stirs, except my soul.
The past is everywhere.
The past is nowhere.
Years have gone by, and
still I can’t stop collecting
dust of spent regrets.
The particles a reflection
of what is left of the light.

-Tosha Michelle

Listen to Fields – Of – Gold -Vocals and Guitar by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

Be

Published on by Tosha Michelle83 Comments

image

October, early evening.

Remember the walk in the park, at dusk,
after hours spent daydreaming? Attune your heart
to the streetlights illuminating, the leaves,
aglow with autumn. The book of trees an understory
all gold, like a good plot all shiny, tangled,
bitter and sweet. Lift your face to the crisp wind,
to the pines, to the melody in the air. Sing along.
Remember the hopeful feeling like getting the first editions
of your favorite books or a passionate kiss from someone
who understands your quirks and finds them sexy. Lean into nature.
The improbable full moon, so big and bright no camera lens or artist’s hands could reproduce. Climb into the open sky, even the night. Remember. Relax. Be.

-Tosha Michelle

For Alex. My less than perfect cover of “Wings” by Birdy. Thanks for the request.

A Letter to My No One.

Published on by Tosha Michelle84 Comments

image

To Whom it May Concern,

Forgive me for writing unsolicited poetry about you. It’s just you bring out the John Keats in me (some would say without the talent). I know I lack decorum. Is it that insane that I want to buy you flowers? Ruminate on your good looks? Try and capture your wit and grace in mad verse?

I may never walk beside you in the night, but you’re still my favorite scar/ star. My poetry longs to stir your breath, knowing in reality you are an inert thing. I look for any form of self justification to keep holding on. This will only end in tears. But still I turn to pen, to paper, to assuaged you. I hope my words are a benediction to your being. I long to neither save nor condemn you but merely lace your altar with beauty.

Your lightning holds no promise of rain, only frost. Yet, just like a misguided dove, I keep flying in the wrong direction. I’m not concerned with the cold. I’m like the wind, a contradiction. I never can right my mind for long. How do I scourge indecisiveness from my heart? I’m stuck in perpetual twilight. Nothing can be salvaged. My soul should dream no further, but it does, and I do. You’re a part of my weather now. Your humidity is felt inside of me.

I must close this letter and get back to my life. It’s time to dance and stumble around with shadows. But first, I’ll look out the window and see the dry leaves stirring and shaking as they fall to the ground, and imagine you. One last time. One more time.

-Tosha Michelle