Tag: music

Seasoning the Seasons

Published on by Tosha Michelle61 Comments

image

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 by Tosha Michelle79 Comments

image

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

Human- The Name of Her Being

Published on by Tosha Michelle109 Comments

image

Imagine the soulless trafficker
holding a young girl’s life in his hands.

Imagine the young girl in front of him,
eyes glazed from the heroin
he’s forced her to inject.

The unturned years stolen.

Her body’s lexicon
the clamor of sharks to blood,
the swarm of hornets.

Raped. Beaten. Used up.
Innocent debased.

He’s taken it all.
Leaving burnt trunk and a once
flourishing root decimated.

Imagine sprayed bullets,
sparkling on the
grimy warehouse floor.

Imagine the now bulging
eyes of the child, the girl
who doesn’t stop being dead.

The tragic wreckage of greed
splayed on the ground.

Let her gone dreams haunt you.
Don’t allow her to become
an apathetic byte on the news,
incapable of ruining your family’s dinner.

For a moment at least,
be conscious, not comfortable.

Allow her to bare her teeth
and demand that you see her loss.

This child, born into a world
she couldn’t overcome.

Let her eyes be a memory,
that the universe
isn’t always civilized
or wash and wear

Let her blood spill on everything,
the table cloth, the fine china,
the prettily pressed clothes.

See her. Feel her pain.
Let her shadow be your shadow.
If only for a moment, look back.

Hear her whispering her name.
Let her name be your name.
Human. The name of her being.
The name of your being.

-Tosha Michelle

Gravity

Published on by Tosha Michelle79 Comments

image

From a distance
I make out his shadow.
My eyes cling to the bruised
way he stands.
Below him lies a sunlit garden.
Green, luminescent.
The dew is so heavy it must sit down.
The breeze feels like a hopeful lover.
There’s nothing I don’t see in him.
Beauty’s edge.
The tip of grace.
The hint of masculinity.
He’s in my misshapen skull,
below the skin.
I’m drawn to his sensual gravity
I wish fabric away on a four
leaf clover.
Under his clothes I’m bare
I plummet. I fall for-
toward his sexy order,
Shifting heat, molten.
Release is found on impact.

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Million Dollar Man”

Listen to “Million Dollar Man” Lana Del Rey Cover (piano and vocals) by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

Upon Trying to Write a Happy Poem

Published on by Tosha Michelle131 Comments

image

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…

I Wish

Published on by Tosha Michelle48 Comments

image

I wish I could shield you,
from sorrows.
From the broken candy dish,
the alarm clock
that always rings too early,
the frayed ends
of a doormat,
Donald Trump’s hair,
the economy that
never truly recovers.

I would save you from
endless bills, the sink
that always leaks.
Depression that leads
to pill filled mornings.
The inglorious path
to old age.
The trumpet’s ominous sound.

You say that’s life, baby.
Make love and music
while you can.
Praise the rhythm of living.
Follow the wind
of your heart.
Happiness starts
when we leap, when we fall.
When we infuse our
bodies with sugar and
spark, squeaky hinges
and all.

-Tosha Michelle

The photo and cat are mine.

The Soul Collects Thorns

Published on by Tosha Michelle49 Comments

image

The soul collects thorns.
The heart hoards regrets.
The mind feast on memories.
The rose profligates.
We were a mutation,
a fender bender, a war
yet some piece of you lingers
in me and I won’t give it back.
The shrapnel remains in the wound.
Think of the stain
that never comes off a shirt.
The burn mark on an empty pan,
left too long on the stove.
Just because we’ve had more than we could take
doesn’t mean we wanted too much.

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Love Yourself”

Double Life.

Published on by Tosha Michelle54 Comments

image

Remember when our nights mingled?
We paid our hours
in caresses and sighs.
The ache and the savor.
Our bodies a map of hunger?
We were red and blue
in equal measure.
Then we put desire away.
Photograph ourselves into today.
The clasped heart in a closed bird cage.
Clothed in yesterday’s what might have been.
Colorless. Now when people look at us
I wonder if they know
we are inside who we used to be.

-Tosha Michelle

Upon Missing The Train

Published on by Tosha Michelle79 Comments

image

You thought you were at an impasse,
a standstill. But that was just your heart
slowing down to acknowledge the pain

You don’t realize there are worst things
than missing the train, busting
your knee, the morning wasted.

Running from your past.
Drowning your demons in gin and pills.

You prefer a prescription pad
to a subscription to pain.

Widowed from your feelings.
You crave the next fix.

Anything to get you where
you’re going.

You look for a treasure map
scrawled in a dome of stupor.

Where the winds remain static
and the gravel never get stuck
between your toes.

You swim in a diluted river
by trees that don’t shrink or grow.

Nature weeps for the despondency of you.

I weep for the unlived life beneath you.

-Tosha Michelle