Tag: poetry

Loving You

Published on by Tosha Michelle80 Comments

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Something sweet and romantic
____

Loving you is a Saturday
feeling and a Sunday stroll.
For you, the encrypted
become unencrypted.

You will never not love me,
even when our weekends turn into
Mondays.

Even when our photos
become monuments of us,
a still life of
sunlight and cedar,
the girl I was, abloom
in a field of beginnings.

Love that can’t hide
in a napkin, a coffee spill
or a blade of grass.

Liveable lives.
Forgivable.

Serene seas and mountains,
and the artifacts of
a champagne flute,
periwinkle shirts
and promises.

The litter of swoon
and our once in a
lifetime constellation.

-Tosha Michelle

Vicious Cycle

Published on by Tosha Michelle74 Comments

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Unseen memories.
Thoughts of yesterday,
Circle an empty room.
They don’t make a sound.
Scars commiserate with
what was in a silent benediction.
Nothing stirs, except my soul.
The past is everywhere.
The past is nowhere.
Years have gone by, and
still I can’t stop collecting
dust of spent regrets.
The particles a reflection
of what is left of the light.

-Tosha Michelle

Listen to Fields – Of – Gold -Vocals and Guitar by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

Fault Lines

Published on by Tosha Michelle54 Comments

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Why is happiness so fragile?
It can disappear so quickly,
like the dandelions along
the roadside in spring.

Have you noticed how
quickly judgement comes
with those unfamiliar with
the scope of the night,
the serrated edge of
life, the blunt
edge of depression?

I sit in the grass watching
the moon rise and I
wonder if we can live
our way into happiness,
into being. I’ve spent
the whole of my life
on the precipice of
sinking deep, and far
into the bottom of
darkness. I’ve been
drawn to my limit, but
I always spring back
anchored by hope, by
faith. I always stand
back up and run toward
happiness, waiting for its
embrace, like being scooped up
in the arms of a strong man,
who loves me even if I
can’t see the horizon,
and I’m constantly stuck
between continents in
death cold current.
I never drop. I never stop
hoping.

-Tosha Michelle

Be

Published on by Tosha Michelle83 Comments

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October, early evening.

Remember the walk in the park, at dusk,
after hours spent daydreaming? Attune your heart
to the streetlights illuminating, the leaves,
aglow with autumn. The book of trees an understory
all gold, like a good plot all shiny, tangled,
bitter and sweet. Lift your face to the crisp wind,
to the pines, to the melody in the air. Sing along.
Remember the hopeful feeling like getting the first editions
of your favorite books or a passionate kiss from someone
who understands your quirks and finds them sexy. Lean into nature.
The improbable full moon, so big and bright no camera lens or artist’s hands could reproduce. Climb into the open sky, even the night. Remember. Relax. Be.

-Tosha Michelle

For Alex. My less than perfect cover of “Wings” by Birdy. Thanks for the request.

Endless 

Published on by Tosha Michelle7 Comments

I drink this silence
like water.
I eat serenity like bread.
The pines and oak reshapes my
chaotic head.
The moss green and grass
pillow my body.
Shadows uphold my unadorned soul.
Gravity thy name is Earth.
I fall toward you today.
I grow with the light,
and the beauty of an unreadable sky.
I’m as warm and as calm
as the sun bare face shinning
down on me.

-Tosha Michelle 

Incomplete Melody

Published on by Tosha Michelle84 Comments

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Sometimes I sing in incomplete rhymes.
I write in crayon and leave
my shoes beside the sandbox.
I sign my letters with x and o.
I ponder in doubt, the crisscross musings
speaking out loud.

Sometimes a woman needs
flowers out of season, homegrown vegetables,
sex, and easy to read instructions.
Instead she meditates on ice cream
and the Home Shopping Channel.
Attempts to become enlightened.
Prays to paper and pen.
Looking for an all encompassing view.
Hoping for an all embracing embrace.
She offers herself to drumbeat and sage.
The rhythm under the air, turns her heart
to some inferior door, finding something buried
in red.

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Never Saw Blue Like That”

Listen to Never Saw Blue Like That by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

A Letter to My No One.

Published on by Tosha Michelle84 Comments

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To Whom it May Concern,

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 scar/ star. My poetry longs to stir your breath, knowing in reality you are an inert thing. I look for any form of self justification to keep holding on. This will only end 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, only frost. Yet, just like a misguided dove, I keep flying in the wrong direction. I’m not concerned with the cold. I’m like the wind, a contradiction. I never can right my mind for long. How do I scourge indecisiveness from my heart? 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 dry leaves stirring and shaking as they fall to the ground, and imagine you. One last time. One more time.

-Tosha Michelle

Read Me.

Published on by Tosha Michelle65 Comments

When I began writing poetry again about five years ago, this was the first poem I penned. It’s very simple but totally me. I hope you enjoy it.

READ ME

In a lovely little book store, in a beautiful little town
there lived a freshly printed book named, Read Me.
She was leather bound with crisp, clean, bright pages
full of depth and secrets to be revealed with a beautiful story to tell.
The little book was filled with joy and promise.
If one listens close enough, you could hear her happy cries of—

Read Me!

Days went by and people would come in and admire her odd but unique cover.
Some would ever pick her up and run their hands along her spine and remark what a lovely little book.
Invariably though they would be distracted by another book that caught their eye
Or be in a rush to be on their way,
as life was hectic and demanding and there was no time to delay.
Still the little book would cry as they walked out the door.
Come back…don’t you want to—

Read Me!

The seasons went by and still the people would pass through
always noting the strange little book. Some would even open the cover
and flip through her pages but no one ever delved too deep. If they had they would have
noted all the words that filled up the pages with humor and despair, with love and disdain; it was
a simple, yet complex tale, a story just waiting to be told.
And every day the book still cried with hope and faith—

Read Me!

Years were gone now and so were the people.
The town had a new book store that offered coffee and the latest best sellers.
By now the little book was frayed around the edges her binding cracked from years of handling,
Her pages faded and yellow.
“Oh, who will read me now” she thought, “I am broken.”
The little book had all but given up hope.
She felt like a prisoner high on the shelf.
Now she only half heartedly whispered—

Read me.

One cold evening as the little book sat despondent and alone,
she was startled to hear the door of the store open.
By this time though she dared not hope that anyone would read her, still, she could not help but be drawn
to the man standing across the room, where did he come from?
Was he looking at her? As he moved closer, the little book had no expectation that he would pick her up.
Surely he was like the rest and would only pass her by or peruse her cover, remark on her
quirkiness and be on his way.
Suddenly, and to her complete and utter surprise, he pulled her down from the shelf.
Oh no, surely after all this time, could it be someone was finally going to—

Read Me!

Like all the others he ran his hands along her cover.
Here we go again thought the little book, but there was something different about this man.
He touched her with reverence and tenderness.
It felt like he already knew her story, but how could that be?
No one had ever bothered to learn her cover to cover.
Odder still, she felt she knew this man and had known him since her conception.
The man spoke softly and said, “little book, I am your reader and I am here to set you free.
I know a secret, and I want you to share your secrets with me.”
Right then and there the little worn book started to feel new again even though her pages were still frayed and her binding still a mess somehow it did not matter now that he had arrived.
She knew at last this man, her reader, would be the one, finally to—
Read Me!

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Book Review: Confessions of A Reformed Southern Belle: A Poet’s Collection of Love, Loss and Renewal By Tosha Michelle via @tdmiller820917

Published on by Tosha Michelle20 Comments

A lovely review of my first book of poetry. I’m so unworthy but deeply moved by Tracy’s kindness. My poetry at the time was still evolving. Please check out Tracy’s blog NGE and follow.

tdianemiller's avatarTheNerdyGirlExpress

Solitude is both a blessing and a curse for a poet. With the Muse often the only companion, a poet is forced to confront those overwhelming emotions prowling around the brain. While there may be some trepidation dealing with these emotions, such honesty can be insightful and refreshing. To remove the bandages covering one’s emotional scars is the first step towards healing.

Tosha Michelle is an emotionally accessible poet. Her verse puts a mirror up against the soul. In her writing, we see the joy, the sorrow, the love, the loss, the hope.

The renewal.

Confessions of A Reformed Southern Belle: A Poet’s Reflection of Love, Lost and Renewal, is a stellar poetic gem. The book provides rhythmic perfection, imagery as well the journey towards one’s roots with the comfort that nostalgia offers.

She shows us the beautiful melancholy of lovers whose destinies might take different paths but whose hearts…

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