Shameless plugs Wednesdays. It is now a thing. I’d like to introduce you to my friend Niles. Niles is not officer, but he is a gentleman. Suddenly, it’s lame sentences Wednesdays.
But I digress. Niles is like a brother to me. I’ve known him for years. He’s a lovely human being and a wonderful writer. I know he would be honored, if you would drop by his blog and check out his work. I’ve provided a link below.
Thanks,
Tosha
Autobiography – http://wp.me/p1E0N3-e3
Dedicated to Sin, Confess, Repeat, The Sometime Poet, Lana Del Rey, the letter J., Timothy Olyphant, guys named Tad, and the girls named Biffy that love them. Oh and my greatest muse, mischief.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
whistling to you with his seductive tune
He’ll beckon you to come dance in the leaves
Blowing in your ear, caressing your hair and face
Tempting you with the thoughts of his sensuous touch
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
He’ll entice you with his vigor
Sweep you away with his power
His presence so commanding
even the trees sway to his desire.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
He’s fickle and cunning.
Quick to come and go
impossible to hold on to.
Yet he ask to be notice
Begs to be heard.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
He’ll be calm and playful one minute
tumultuous and volatile the next.
He’ll scorch you with his heat
chill you with his frigidity.
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
Keep your wits about you
Board up your wanderlust heart
Let him move you if you must
but don’t get carried away
Be careful lest the wind calls your name
Remember-you’ll never know his truth intent
or which way he’ll blow next.
-Tosha Michelle
The soft snow blankets the ground.
I stop along the road.
Reaching toward the sweet bliss falling down.
My soul gets lost in the winter wonder.
Skipping like a child across a mystic white river.
Carefree, Basking in the invisible freedom
Dancing as the trees smile in the stillness.
I bow to a December moon so clear and cold
The icy hands of time forces me to keep moving on.
-Tosha Michelle
“To Autumn” by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
_____________________________
Nature is my serenity and sanity. Mother Earth is particularly enthralling during the Autumn season, Pumpkin Spice Lattes notwithstanding. (shutter)
Some shots I captured while out and about.
If nature is my salvation, music is my hope. My latest song effort. Note, the key was a bit low. I hope you enjoy the guitar and recorder.
City Haze
by Tosha Michelle
Dance with me in the city haze,
Through September grooves.
under the beauty of a harvest moon,
in pattern fields of amber.
Colored by a heavenly mist, dust of serenity.
We’ll set the night ablaze.
While the shadows enfold us
as the willow whispers
And the wind sings us a melodic tune.
Our imagination sets the beat.
We’ll find solace and cohesion,
As melancholy drains away
on cracked sidewalks of urban decay.
Everything I Never Told You 