No Words 

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October In View

I could live for the sky today.
so bright and vast
Spread a blanket on the ground
Open a basket of hope

Feast on the taste of an illuminated
world, green fields
with no fences, the sun rising
over the meadow.

Devour the middle of the white
chocolate colored clouds
No one to take note of me

Serenity in the stillness
My skin alive with the melody
of the breeze slow
dancing with the golden leaves.

I sway along with the stray wind
My face dusted by
sunlight. My worries dissolving
into sweet pitch of
a heavenly October day.

-Tosha Michelle

The Next Big Thing

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Big ideas are everywhere,
from religion to capitalism.
There’s always someone
trying to sell us something.
I’m burnt out on the peddling.
I just want to be left on the
side of the road while I still
have a little sanity.
Let nature stand for all I believe in.
As for faith, I’ll leave that to the sun.

We all die in the end,
the good, the bad,
the blissfully indifferent.
It doesn’t matter how well
you sing the hymn,
or if you know the slogan
by memory.

Life is freshly pressed and
the creases only hold for so long.
I’d like to believe in
the lottery, mail in rebates,
and a free trip to Hawaii.

In my crisis of faith,
I have moments where I wonder
if we all just fade to dust.
Our molecules scattered
in the wind.
Left with nothing but our
collective darkness,
where there are no charge
off or loopholes.

All I know for certain
is I know nothing.
Oh to have the wisdom of Solomon.
I look for assurance
in the clouds.
Punching the fog.
I fall back on my upbringing.
close my eyes and
pray for grace.

-Tosha Michelle

Just Stop

I want to reside inside the voice
of a Tibetan monk
And be lulled to sleep by the silence.
Instead the irritating cadence
of political discourse
Uncivil and unholy
The hills alive with the sound
of madness.
The breeze tinged with malice
even the birds
feel forsaken. Aimlessly looking
for just one branch
of grace. The tree limbs breaking
under the weight of
an uncertain future.
We beseech the earth for guidance.
Warring with hot air.
Hoping the world will revolve anew.

The axis and rhetoric
spin on.

-Tosha Michelle

The Grudge

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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
righteous self.

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
landscape clearly.

How the realization stings.

-Tosha Michelle

The Day Whispers

Let the sunshine caress you,
as if it were a lover.
Live today like it is everything
you have.
Don’t be afraid to let the wind
bend you.
Feel the tenderness of the garden.
Take in the color, scent,
and aliveness of the flowers blossoming.
Let the sky’s blue direct you.
between what’s your’s and what’s their’s Feel the richness of the grass
under your feet.
Let nature be the cure that relieves you. If only for a moment, be well

-Tosha Michelle

Years Later 


Years later when we meet again.  I’ll see you sitting on what used to be our park bench. You’ll give me that same sweet smile, grimmer now but still so beautiful. I’ll marvel at how I thought once  I could love you. We walk arm in arm for our last dance. We talk of the past and how it can never be taken from us but wonder where do feelings go?

I ask him if he’s happy as he thought he would be and the gleam in eyes and wedding ring tells me he is. For a moment, they are a blade to my rib cage, but then he tells a joke and in that instant. the cut doesn’t feel so deep. We are both here but not here. I confess,  I’d hope he’d see me and be presence with me like he was before, like there was no other woman waiting for him behind a door now closed to me. 

We walk toward the street he lives. I can tell he’s anxious to get home.  He mentions her name. It sounds like the ocean in the creek of my ear. He moves towards his sideways gravity. He’s reached the vanishing point with me. And no, we’ll probably never meet again.  We part with a kiss on the cheek, a barren bow and Goodbye. 

And then there’s the smell of pine trees, damp as if freshly plucked. The cemetery nearby with the dead in it, and rain from the sky falling lile a melody-the affection I had for him/ gone, like a nightingale’s rib cage cleanly picked.

-Tosha Michelle