Tag: poems

Answering in Lyrical Sighs.

Published on by Tosha Michelle58 Comments

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You don’t understand
my obsession with words,
with pen and paper.

You scoff at my lyrical sighs,
my iambic heartbeat,
my free verse of thought.

You plug your ears
as I read a Shakespearean
sonnet You don’t understand:
lilac dreams, aster stars,
or the need for a backstory.

There’s no money in poetry, you say.
You can’t fathom getting paid
in the sighs of the wind,
in quiet time, in a cathartic release.

You don’t understand
how writing saves me,
how it makes me strong.
This is where I reside best.

I’ll never get the hang of
your card game of monotony.
I’m over middle management.

I’m happy to live
in what you would call
my frivolous obsessions.

I don’t want to be
underwhelmed and uninspired,
somewhere between over the hill,
and the grass is never greener.

You can be the door slamming.
The late hours, the keeping up.
Throw your money at the wall
and call it success.

I’ll sit here with my pen and paper,
listening to the wind,
through the pine trees
releasing the hurricane
beneath my fingers,
and write a poem
about something
you’ll never understand.

-Tosha Michelle

The Sky is Falling.

Published on by Tosha Michelle53 Comments

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If you think you are the
sun, think again.
You are the sky
holding the sun up,
trying to change the world
one dawn at a time.

Even if you don’t have time,
notice the new day.
We are so busy we forget
we’re out of milk.
We forget how we use to
hunger for a fulfilled life.

At first there was vitamin D
in excess, now just deficiency.

We can’t live if we are constantly
trying to escape our reality,
ourselves.

I’m a litany of doubts.
Wondering if I should lower
my expectations.

Maybe I’m still the sun.
Maybe the sky is your
hand.

I remember when our sky of delusions fell.
You spoke to me only in scars.

I’m trying my best to be
your nightcap, your safe route,
your whimsical merry go round.

Imagination echoes
in every chamber.
Hope lingers.

Is it enough?

The sky cries “Forget it”.
Sometimes, we are just lost.

-Tosha Michelle

My latest cover. My friend Danny requested “An American Trilogy” He also requested I sing it sans music. I did my best.

Listen to An American Trilogy (for Danny) by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

She’s

Published on by Tosha Michelle53 Comments

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She ‘s Beatrice and Delilah.
an illusion, a crime

She’s a skyscape that slips
from blue, to grey, to red.

She’s a spider web over
a bank vault.

She’s the pull swirling
in his chest.

She’s a whisper of longing
stuck in his ear.

She’s a wilder life, the sweet
seed, his heart’s core.

She’s a sigh, ragged and
melancholy.

She’s a crushing need
a helix of yearning.

She’s chemistry and anatomy.

She’s the witching hour’s
pleasures of bourbon and sin.

She’s soaked in summer,
spun in contradictions.

She’s a flame grabbing what
it wants, a tumultuous embrace.

She’s a thousand lips bruising
his skin.

She’s a back arching, guttural
moan.

She’s rhythm and release.

She’s as intrusive as a power
outage

She’s as frustrating as a
misstep.

She’s as elusive as spindrift
night.

She’s a woman set in his type,
born in ink, language spilling out.

She’s what he conjugates.
The artistry of his craft

-Tosha Michelle

Dragon Tales

Published on by Tosha Michelle39 Comments

dragons-loyalty-award

I’ve been nominated for the Dragon’s Loyalty award by The Passionate Shepard. If you like your poetry on the romantic and sensual side, be sure to follow his blog

https://thepassionateshepherd.wordpress.com/

I am usually terrible at following up on these awards but when the shepherd calls,. I answer. I’m just a humble sheep. 🙂

The rules are:

•Display the award on your blog.
•Announce your win with a post and link the blogger who nominated you.
•Present 6 deserving bloggers with the award. (Scroll Down)
•Link your awardees in the post.
•Write 7 interesting things about you.

Facts (I’ll let you decide if they are interesting or not):

1. I always mishear lyrics. For example, the song Caribbean Queen. The lyrics ‘She brushed by me in painted bluejeans”. I heard. “She touched my mink and blamed it on me”. That doesn’t even make sense.

2. I’m bit OCD when it comes to cleaning. Sadly, I live with a bunch of slobs. Lucky for them, they happen to be adorable.

3. I was a nerdy, awkward kid. I’m a slightly less nerdy adult, but still incredibly awkward.

4. I’m gullible. My family finds this amusing. They are always trying to trip me up with outlandish stuff  Example The Fonzie bird. Don’t ask. Just know I fell for it. I’m not stupid. I always excelled at academics. I’m just susceptible to nonsense 🙂

5. I appear to be meek, soft spoken, and sweet BUT I can be stubborn and temperamental. I’ll cut you! Kidding (hides knife)

6. In college, I had a band with my boyfriend Matt. We played festivals, wrote our own music, and thought we were the sh**. We weren’t 🙂  However, I’m free to sign autographs after this blog post. 😉

7. I love people and have many acquaintances. I give freely of my time. I’m often overwhelmed. However, when it comes to friends. I only have a handful. I open myself up to a select few.

Now for my nominates. 😉

1. Geetha her poetry is beautiful (as is her heart)
https://geethaprodhom.wordpress.com/

2. Christian- he’s a wonderful writer I’m hooked on his prose. His face isn’t bad either.
This is My Therapy

3. Niles- Southern gentleman, Arsenal fan,tea drinker, lover of women and books. He’s also one of my best friends.
http://jamesdennard.com/

4. Eric- poet extraordinaire and a really lovely human being.
https://myswordandshield.wordpress.com/

5. Deb- the Midwest wonder. This woman can write her pen off.
http://cdogco.com/

6. Jane- the queen of snark, condos, goldfish, and photography. (also a one of the chosen few) Check out her beautiful photos here.
https://perceptionsphotographybyjane.wordpress.com

Little Boy Blue and Mary Quite Contrary

Published on by Tosha Michelle58 Comments

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Dear Past,

It’s been awhile. I come waving a
flag of peace and unarmed.
My arsenal is depleted.
I have no time for hate or malice
laced air.
I imagine like me
you want to live in peace without
the threat of guns and
claws. To awaken to the sound
of serenity, not bombs going off
in the distance.

I hope hearing from me doesn’t cause you pain.
Frankly, I miss you. Your theatrical ways,
always leaning toward a Shakespearean tragedy.
No time for much ado about nothing.
Although, everything had to be as you like it.
How you were
a master at parlor games and word play.
Your eyes a depletion
of fallen leaves and green tea.
Hair as dark as a grackle.
Arch so charming, fencing with
unseen stars. Little boy blue,
and Mary. Mary, oh, so contrary.
How our garden did grow.
Shells that pelted the ground,
causing wreckage and carnage.
It wasn’t all welts and hell.
There were days when light swelled
and sliver bells grew.

But i digress, as I climb a slide of memories,
backwards with slippery hands.
My legs lose traction,
my lungs clog with dust.

I end up on the ground negotiating
with my untapped toe.
Trying to reclaim the beat with
half recounted facts
and nostalgia’s false sense of rhythm.
Holding a few cards in the hand you deftly dealt me.
Beside me lies a map, marred
by revisions.
that reads let it go. Let it go.

I stand up, and realizes there’s a
tear in my heart, that I
mistook for my sleeve. I walk through the open gate,
ignoring the stained alleyways,
cobble stone,
and street lights shaped like a question marks.
The scent of orchids lingers in
the tired air.
My soul fighting off bees and
the counter winds.
You, dear past, will always sting.

-Tosha Michelle

Granny

Published on by Tosha Michelle59 Comments

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I’m snapping green beans
I bought at the store today,
thinking they would remind me
of Granny and sitting
at the kitchen table,
listening to her “well,
when I was your age” stories.

Hoping that just for a moment
I could hug her again,
feel the sureness of her being,
her sweet familiarly.

Go back before dementia
stole her mind,
and cancer her body.
The days of sweet tea,
peppermints, and house dresses.

Granny could solve any problem
with a hickory stick or a stern look.

I miss her, even now years later,
I can’t help but compose
her in a poem- warm hands,
dark hair, sadness
that never left her eyes,
a lifetime of hardships

For a moment I’m ten again,
and Granny gives me her Irish grin.
Something soft but fierce about her.
Finding joy in an orderly
home and things done right.

How solid and healthy
she looks laboring away
over green beans.
Singing her favorite hymn
“In the sweet bye and bye”
Light shimmering through the room.
Real but unreal.

“We shall meet on that
beautiful shore”
Her notes gradually
becoming fainter.
The words descending,
echos from the past.
Love in every syllable.

I listen as evening opens
around me.
Sorrow changes its pitch.
Thee last of the sunlight
streams in the windows.
Swelling, even as it
disappears, even as it waves goodbye.

-Tosha Michelle

Not Quite Love in an Elevator

Published on by Tosha Michelle34 Comments

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Some people keep in
touch via the phone,
the internet, weekly
lunch dates.

You keep in touch by
pissing me the hell off.
Lightening up our
elevator display
of toxicity until
we’re stuck between
floors.

Listen, do you hear that?
that’s my head lacerating
on the wall.

My sense of peace
fractured.
Go ahead pick the bone.
I’m done battling
scratched glass.
Drag me through it.

It’s time to rinse
off the anger,
and nail all 1483 of my
grievances to your
sanctimonious door.

Martin Luther and me
the grand reformers
He sowed in grace.
I’m more prone to
mace.

Maybe, I’ll just try to
lose you in a place
I’ll never find again.
Unraveling your
foothold or finding
mine, up your………

I’ll save the hair pulling
spear throwing, and
obscene gestures of
distain for terrorists
and guys named Tad.

I’ll just vent my anger
in a silly poem
Snide as my temper,
but light as numbers
with no equations,
letters missing
sentences, and a
poet whistling
satirically at madness.

-Tosha Michelle

The Bliss of Madness

Published on by Tosha Michelle39 Comments

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I always find meaning
in madness.

It’s hard to know
who we are at times.
Our attention wavering
before the buttons are undone.

Plans run off with good ideas.
The future -crumbling paper mache
Our art supplies scattered
on the floor.

Now what will we do
with our hands?

Let’s put on
our mad hatter shoes.
Lose the map.
No phrase book needed.
Grab your backpack of
sin.

Take my arm.
I’ll be the voo doo
you do.
Try and not trip over my
tangled spirit.

Come with me
and let’s stroll down
a road that
will never lead to Rome,
but might lead to precinct
of hell.

Don’t worry, darling,
we can play king of the hill
on the torrid slope.
We can rattle the gates
Break the windows.
Take all that’s nimble
Dine on crumb cake
and bitter tea.

Jazz up the day.
Sun up the night.
Trust in chance and
let the cocoon unravel.

Afterwards, we’ll
distract the unmoored
shadows, and frolic with
sanity’s debris, while
madness steals the sky.

-Tosha Michelle

Swim

Published on by Tosha Michelle30 Comments

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The afternoon is sunny,
light falls warm
The breeze through the
car window full of lilacs

Soft air caresses your bare
arms. Everything is a hazy
green.

Nothing in the day speaks
of grief, but its there on
the news.

This should be a universe
of promise, of expectation.
The death of innocent lives,
feels so out of time with the
sky’s forget me not hue.

You think about rolling the car windows up,
shutting out the blossoming world.
letting winter settle in
Fear unpacking its suitcase
in your mind.

Consumed with rage over
black hearts and evil ways.
Terrorists stealing
what should be preserved

Their shrapnel of devastation,
an infinity of darkness
littering the ground
My hate is bigger
than your hate

You fight the urge to give in
to give up.
The world is breakable, but
your spirit is not.

We are all here trying to find
our balance on this broken
wheel.

Your heart constricts in a
fist of humanity.

Love pours out, gold as honey.
A living lightbulb goes off,
illuminating the transparent
glass of intimidation.

Hope waits beyond despair
You note how the heavens
embrace the sky.

The blue so deep, so thick
You could dive into it
You could swim in it
until you reach the other side-

The Fold Into Winter

Published on by Tosha Michelle36 Comments

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I’m walking through the
Queen City,
moving toward what?
It’s late
November, late afternoon,
The light, leafs
through its book of buildings.
Tall high rises,
The trees telling a back story.
My thoughts are
dark, tangled, melancholy-
as my thoughts
tend to be. This is not a
forlorn plot.
I’m content, enough. Biding
my time, on Trade Street.

In the distance. I hear the
bluesy notes of
a saxophone. For a moment
the sky opens
for me. My imagination shines
like an angel.
The air is so vibrant and busy
my whole body
feels weightless. I let my mind
wander down a
rainbow path. Time turns around
I am the princess of a
lightless country. Free from
the angst of
my mind. The molecules part
for me. I breathe
in serenity. The horizon clear.

I hold tight to the illustrated pages
I listen to the noise
of magnolias. I’m released from my self critical ways.
The words behind words are full of
grace… for once
devoid of longing. I brush a bouquet of daisies
from my hair. My own avant-garde
parade- lace, glitter,
sunflower seeds. I hold tightly to
the plot even
as the sun decides to deviate
from my happy
narrative, turning back into
clouds, tumbleweeds,
and hornets.
I accept the fragments from
the sky. I have
no choice. The stained alleyways
beckon me.
All I can do is keep walking
All I can do is live this life.
Write this life.

-Tosha Michelle