Tag: poetry

Heavenly Day

Published on by Tosha Michelle78 Comments

image

The sky announced the sun
on a day when the sun’s arrival
was enough.

The clouds curtseyed and then
fell away.

The dogwood branches swayed as
with divine provocation.

The poppies pondered providence
the afternoon light, and alliteration.

Lovers and children were devoting their hours
to the wind and newly sprung gardens.

Coins were tossed into fountains devoted
to wishes, on a day so bright surely all
desires were fulfilled.

All day long, the sun lingered as if
a love sick suitor hesitant to say goodbye
to the now blushing sky.

Sadly, the sun learned you can’t roll
back the hours or the day’s resolve
to fade into night.

All you can do is abide the darkness
and await the promise of another spring
struck, soulful blue day.

-Tosha Michelle

On the Clouds Eating His Shadow

Published on by Tosha Michelle27 Comments


The clouds drank in ravens
making the pines lucid.
His shadow fell beneath
the sky. If she listened
closely, she could hear
his melodic cadence
delivering soliloquies
adrift on the wind.
He as he was
She as she became
Awake. Aware.
Taking color and form.
Both somewhere between
what was there. What’s
not there. Someone you
remember and can’t
quite forget.
Lost mail on someone
else’s kitchen table.
The parenthesis enclosed.
Time takes away. Gone
in an instant particles
of the past.
She stays.

(She can’t stay)
Tired from this slow
burning off of yesterday.
That which was lost
will not become again.
She always thinks she
see gleams of him,
glimpsed and then gone.
The stem decimated but
drowning in rose petals.
No longer powerless
to the undertow.
His presence merely less,
but no longer wholly more.
His shadow falling,
falling into dust.
The only sound she
hears now is her
voice turning into
an early frost.
To every poem there is
a time and season.
Seasons that coagulate
into lost years.
In this one, she scourges
the past with lyrical ease
The wind no longer
contradicting itself.
Her pen drops ink
of flames, no longer
pointing to the sky.
Dr. Syntax gives her a
lollipop and a clean
bill  of closure. 

-Tosha Michelle

Dear No One

Published on by Tosha Michelle20 Comments

Dear No One,

Forgive me for writing unsolicited poetry about you. It’s just you bring out the John Keats in me (some would say without the talent). I know I lack decorum. Is it that insane that I want to buy you flowers? Ruminate on your good looks? Try and capture your wit and grace in mad verse?

I may never walk beside you in the night, but you’re still my favorite star. My poetry longs to stir your breath, knowing in reality you are an inert thing. I’ve looked for you in ;others, only to be left in tears.

 But still I turn to pen, to paper, to assuaged you. I hope my words are a benediction to your being. I long to neither save nor condemn you but merely lace your altar with beauty.

Your lightning holds no promise of rain. Yet, just like a dove, I keep flying in your direction. I’m not concerned with the elements. I’m like the wind, a contradiction. I never can right my mind for long. I’m stuck in perpetual twilight. Nothing can be salvaged. My soul should dream no further, but it does, and I do. You’re a part of my weather now. Your humidity is felt inside of me.

I must close this letter and get back to my life. It’s time to dance and stumble around with shadows. But first, I’ll look out the window and see the leaves stirring, shaking as they fall to the ground, and imagine you. One last time. One more time.

Dear No One, I hope to find you soon 

-Tosha Michelle

Brand New 

Published on by Tosha Michelle47 Comments

You who carry sunshine in
your hair, the sky in your hands,
and blueberry pie in your eyes

You who knows all the words
to every Chet Baker song.

Why don’t you come by my record shop?
I’ll teach you the percussive du wop

Come unearth my city plot.
Right my upside down heart
with the lilt of your melodic
voice.

Stain my soul with your graceful fingers.

Sing me your red velvet tune
with not one note of sorrow

Scrawl on my tongue
your heart song.
I’ll sing along.

Make music to a woman
not quite young, but not yet old.
My mind a score of hunger.
Patterns of passion across
my face.

Don’t be afraid to improvise
summer nights composed of
bodies and sway.
Wingtip and rosehip.
We’ll create our
own tune.

The tenor sax takes the lead.
It sounds like desire,
like it won’t ever stop.

Let’s crack the night with needle and groove.
Let the blues run off with D minor.
As two lovers infuses the dark with rhythm and spark.

-Tosha Michelle

Guest Blog Post by Stephanae McCoy.

Published on by Tosha Michelle15 Comments

 

 

I asked the lovely and inspirational Stephanae McCoy if she would be so gracious as to write a guest blog post She said yes almost immediately, because she’s lovely like that :). For those of you who don’t know this dynamic lady ” (Steph) McCoy is a successful businesswoman, style setter, blogger and abilities crusader who breaks the myth that “blind people can’t be fashionable.” As a blind woman who happens to love fashion and style, Ms. McCoy founded boldblindbeauty.com, a successful website that brings women together to share in the beauty of fashion and style, provides a community that encourages empowerment and camaraderie, and makes a connection between the sighted and non-sighted worlds eradicating misconceptions and long-held stereotypes about people with vision lost”. You can find out more here. Be sure to follow.She’s one of my heroes.

About Steph

And do check out the amazing things she’s doing through her on-line store Abigail Style.

From the site:

Breaking down barriers, and giving back are the most important messages of Abigail Style. Empowering blind women to love themselves through the promotion of self-confidence enables them to walk through life on their own terms.

Independent living is achieved through focusing on individual talents and abilities. By supporting Abigail Style’s mission of improving the world, you are also aiding the Blind and Vision Rehabilitation Services of Pittsburgh (BVRS) as 10% of all profits are given to the Employment Services Division of the agency. BVRS, known for its outstanding programs, has served people from around the US.

Abigail Style

And now Stephanae’s inspiring piece.

“Shame was the reason I decided to describe myself as ‘blind’ versus ‘visually impaired’ because it was important for me to accept the word ‘blind’. Once I did this I was able to get a grip on my fear and move forward.”

I’m not sure why I felt shame when I lost my eyesight but I think it was closely tied to my personal biases and lack of understanding where blindness was concerned. In walking through the process of sight loss and facing my shame/fear head-on I was able to move forward.
Do you Face Everything And Run? Or Face Everything And Rise? Fear can motivate or repress and your response is a matter of choice.

Choosing To Rise:
The first step is doing an honest self-assessment. Like following a map, unless you know yourself, you will get lost.
The next step is to set short and long-term goals. Goals should always be written, periodically reviewed, revised and once they are met, new ones should be set.
The third and final step is to stay the course. When you get derailed, get back on track and keep pursuing your dreams. Do not let anyone, tell you that you cannot succeed.

When it gets down to it the choice is up to you. You decide how to navigate your path to success.

Angst in Verse

Published on by Tosha Michelle36 Comments

 

cropped-wp-1465485078962.jpgMy poetry knows how to
sing the blues.
It finds rhythm in lost loves,
an empty room, a whiskey shot.
It’s cadence of roving eyes
a wallet devoid of
cash. the desire to stay.
The need to go.
Misery flows from lyrics
that refuse to let it fold.

My poetry channels
Ella Fitzgerald and
dissonant chords of a broken
someone.

It thrives on restless things and memories
that come to life in a song

Moaning the words so fervently, the ink drips
to save me, even when I’m out of tune.
And I can only glimpse
where I’ve been, not where I’m going.
The want for new history
and a new song spurs the poet on.

-Tosha Michelle

 

And on a u related and happy note. I am in love with this song. It takes me to a serene place.

 

A Mind 

Published on by Tosha Michelle24 Comments

A mind should implode, unfold, and behold all beauty, all monstrosities, lions, joined with lambs, with whales, the ocean, living words, flowing emotions, before the forest dies. Before the notes become too high to scale. Before the sliver coin flips over Before we realizes we are all mice and the serpent awaits.

-Tosha Michelle 

His

Published on by Tosha Michelle28 Comments

There’s a place
reserved just for him.
It’s not hidden.
No other bodies lie there.
A feeling-
bare walls.
Open door.
I think his eyes made it.
I say what I intend to say,
to say this affection, affectionately
not affected is true,
this sayable place that
is his.

-Tosha Michelle

and on and unrelated note
my cover of John Lengend’s “All Of Me”

I Am 

Published on by Tosha Michelle41 Comments

I’m the woman who believes in thorns,
the beauty of fallen fruit,
and lavishing love on the lovable
and unlovable.

I’m generous, difficult, and incomplete.
I have spells of sullen iciness,
and moments of hot tea and clarity.

I’m the woman who can only be
of this world for moments at a time.
My soul affixed to solitude
and one darkness after another.

When the lights finally come back on,
I confess I like a warm arm around my waist
and a strong shoulder to rest my chaotic head.

I’m also partial to masculine fingers
that know how to coax my color back,
under silk sheets, with creative words,
and hands of purpose.

I’m often confused. Do I succumb
to the screeching crow
or pay homage to the nightingale?

I’m the woman who would go
anywhere to leave you,
but will beg you to come with me.
When we get there, I’ll fight with you
over the map and then kiss you
on the street.

I’m an expert at backbends.
I practice them every night
under memory’s disco light.

I hide an extra heart under my bed
in a packed suitcase of longing.

I’m the woman waiting for good enough
to be enough. Still, always wanting
more of much. Knowing life, like art,
is what we make it.

We all deserve something more than nothing.
I’m insignificant, and at times narcissistic.

I’m the broken woman.
cracked, bent. Damaged.

I’m the woman becoming whole,
becoming more me with each new break, with each new tear in my heart 

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Night Changes”

Listen to Night Changes by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud