music – Page 26 – Everything I Never Told You

Plotting

Published on March 15, 2016March 15, 2016 by Tosha Michelle71 Comments

The man I kissed on the train
was a Michelin star chef from Ireland.
We talked scallops on the way to Paris
and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Was this scene partly real or dreamed?
After I lost my car in the parking lot,
I invented a serial killer
to give the story just the
right amount of suspense
Believe me. even James Purefoy belonged in that
bar fight at Whiskey River, but
I still can’t decide if he should
speak with a British or American accent.
And when exactly should he notices me
and my long legs, because I’m 5’7 in this tale.
But sometimes I’m stuck in the world of what is
helpless to the sufficient things.
5’2 and looking at the magnolia tree in my backyard.
It’s beautiful at dusk, all tact and fact in a serene spot.
What could be better?
What could be worst?
I sigh as I sip my tea.
I can’t muster up the inclination to make it bend or sway.

-Tosha Michelle

My Port of Call

Published on March 12, 2016March 12, 2016 by Tosha Michelle105 Comments

Every time I’m in NYC
I start thinking I should
change my life.

Stop acting my digits.
Set fire to the rain with Adele.

Climb the Empire State
like Spiderman.

I’d be Vera Wang to the hilt
Stylish, polish, beautiful.

And then I think of where
I come from, my blood deep
roots of sweet tea and grits

Magnolia blossoms and
ancient oak trees stooped
over like sage crones

Of some warm song with
just a touch of twang coming
out of my Daddy’s guitar

I think of Southern charm
and those gloriously still
moments just before dawn,
when we rise with shine and
crow.

And I realize there’s a lot
to be said for flawed and small
for canned jam, for tangled forest
where blue birds lives and kudzu grows

And suddenly, I just want
to be me and who I am.
And who I am
can’t wait to be home again.

-Tosha Michelle

Upon Reaching for the Sky

Published on February 28, 2016February 28, 2016 by Tosha Michelle63 Comments

Inside her pocket
she keeps letters
she’ll never send,
and long lists.

She sits at the vanity,
brushing serenity out
of her golden hair.

Listening to lost rain
that’s surly meant to fall
anywhere but here.

Somewhere already green
and lush.

Her mind grieving winter brown

It’s February.

If she mailed her letters
and shared her lists,
who would read them?

She asked for a cup
of tears
The liquid burns
her tongue.

She listens for the
soft cadence of his voice.

Her heart repeats its inquiry.

Memories and reality
undefined.

-Tosha Michelle

American Honey

Published on February 24, 2016 by Tosha Michelle68 Comments

I miss childhood,
when I could climb trees,
unencumbered by branches.
The delicate days new born,
when hope came in dancing in
from the backyard and stayed
for Sunday dinner.
Endlessly long days that
always seem to fade into
sunsets and deliriously delectable
dreams of dandelions and
determined alliteration.
There, nights were made
of lightening and a well lit horizon-
the symphony neverending.

Now life has uprooted that sense
of joy, of ignition.
These days I’m just sound
slighted, the residue
of the morning mist,
burnt out on the melody.
Longing for backyard green,
the verve, the contentment.

-Tosha Michelle

Only One

Published on February 18, 2016 by Tosha Michelle94 Comments

She only wants to bare her body
to one man, only one to know her bones,
the sighs of her mouth, of her heart,
the naked parts of her soul.

Only one man to strip down her voice,
to breathe back her breath,
only one to know the wilderness of her desire,
to know only one man calls out to her in his dreams,
speaking her name as if it were pagan as if
it were a psalm.

She wants uncompromising totality, the near impossible breath
from water, fire, bare, possession unclothed, belonging to one man,
his being inside of her, the only one she wants
to want. His bones. Her bones. Belonging.

She wants one man, only one, to undress his soul for her only.
Knowing that it won’t always be easy
some nights his heart might ache
for the touch of new bones, the unknown breath,
the unclothed breath of someone less difficult,
but she will honor that ache and sooth it with her sweetness,
breath after loving breath, speaking to her one man,
her only.

-Tosha Michelle

Photo courtesy of lostkat

Seasoning the Seasons

Published on February 17, 2016February 17, 2016 by Tosha Michelle61 Comments

Remember youth, eating pizza at 3 a.m. and wearing t-shirts that declared anarchy? Remember the blind faith in yourself and the world? Looking back, I want that innocence. I want more of the sun, the garden, the high notes. I want time to stay green. Maybe if I pretend I can’t see it. I’ll be the ship sailing on an ocean of oblivion, not yet knowing I’m at the horizon’s mercy.

Is it really about time, though, or my desire for time? Do I want to spend my life avoiding the clock’s vibrations?

Come rest by me, take my hand and we’ll watch day stumble into evening. As I look into your soulful eyes. I think perhaps, I don’t want to be young again. Maybe it’s better if we invite every tragedy, and wisdom learned to sit here beside us. I want maturity rolling on our tongues when our mouths mate. I want the years naked between us, drinking from our wine.

Maybe, as we rest here in the stillness of twilight, the sky will open for us, showering us with petals and what we don’t want to see will seem softer, tender. And we’ll welcome whatever comes next with our t-shirts of wisdom, knowing there are still horizons yet to unfold.

-Tosha Michelle

Bedtime Benediction

Published on February 12, 2016February 12, 2016 by Tosha Michelle79 Comments

Come to bed.

We’ll nestle like a pair of saucers.

Let me press my breasts

into your back,

my hand over your heart,

Even when I can’t sleep

it’s a comfort to feel

your breaths,

to take notice of

the strength of your body

There’s a lullaby in the way

your skin unfurls.

My lips drift across

your shoulder

in three quarter time.

Every second edible

in its sereneness.

This mouthy soulful love

and a kiss for the infinite

I snuggle closer and whisper

a bedtime prayer of praise

for life and the small reasons.

-Tosha Michelle

Upon Trying to Write a Happy Poem

Published on February 1, 2016February 1, 2016 by Tosha Michelle131 Comments

The poet wanted to write
a happy poem,
something summery.
But as soon as she wrote it down,
the words, misstated the season,
and cried in that reserved,
closed-mouth way, much like
Southern belles sometimes do.

The poem tried to hold
back the sobs, to submit
to whimsical metaphors.
But it was too besot by sadness,
to enthralled with winter.
The line shuttering.
Finding preservation in angst.

The poet resigned to
the poem’s fate
decides it’s better
to pull the blinds down,
cultivate the poem’s sickness,
reside inside blue.
Feed the pen the toxins.
Knowing the poem
doesn’t want the elixir.
It only finds artistry
in the pain.

-Tosha Michelle

Abstract art by Brat Inc aka Me.

And today its been…