What Would Keats Do?

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Beautiful, meaningful poetry
is always possible.
Think of Shakespeare
and his sonnets.
Frost and his road
less traveled.

The poem I’m writing now
may be beautiful
and full of meaning.
It may not be.

Perhaps, it’s too early to tell.
Should I keep going?
What if I’m trying to hard
to create art?
The verses will show the pressure.

I want my poetry
to remind the reader
of themselves,
not so much the poet.
I want them to listen alone
with their own minds and hearts.

Maybe the secret
to beautiful poetry
full of depth
is not caring.
Perhaps, when I leave
poetry behind, abandon words
and have no desire to write,
that’s where great writing
will find me.

As I sit reading Anne Sexton,
I’ll remember what I once
would have sacrificed
to create art that matters.
And I’ll pick up my pen and paper
and write the poetry I dreamed of
as though I was another poet,
and as if i were the poet,
I may never be again.

-Tosha Michelle

Hands Over Your Eyes

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Close your eyes.
Cover your ears.
We’ll take a train
away from here.

Somewhere greener
Anywhere warmer.

Someplace just beyond
our reach but we’ll
reach it anyhow

Leaving the delirium
of the mundane behind.

We’ll hold court in a
seaside town.

And rinse our glasses
in sugar.

Learning the music
our hearts make when
blessed with a peaceful
beat, the sound of us.

We’ll lean into each other
and come like we
never have.

Your mouth all over me.
I’ll sing you to the edge.

Your gaze only on me
as we will dance into
new revelations, and
curl like a comma
into hopeful beginnings

-Tosha Michelle

Artwork by me.

My cover of ‘Realize” for Niles, one of my best friends. Follow his blog at http://www.jamesdennard.com
He’s lovely and likes the ladies. 😃

 

 

Can’t Ignore the Rhythm

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He’s the softest of stanzas.
The lines strong enough
for me to swallow.
I lean into his lyricism
The words light a match under
my skin.

He’s my reason to turn the page.
I breathe in his poetry.
becoming what he crafts.
Adjectives and verbs twisting
into sugar and salt.
Dazed and dazzled. I never
demand a definition.
I just bask in the white heat
moment of now.
Coloring my heart with
phrases that never compromise.
Teaching my soul to listen
to the whispered language of
whatever will be.

-Tosha Michelle

Begin Again

20130703-104055“And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid
I think it’s strange that you think I’m funny ’cause he never did
I’ve been spending the last eight months
Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again”

We Create Our Own Happiness

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Let’s take the sun and leave
the rain for other minds.
Let the light go straight
to the center of our brains.
Linger on the green grass
of a happier life. Home free,
but not homeless.
Let’s live in the world
inside of us where nothing can be lost.
Someplace where it’s always autumn and
there are plenty of leaves to break our fall.
Just you and me where’s there’s no them or they.
Showing the hollowed out existence,
the slamming screen door.
No longer waiting on the light
to save us but shining our
own brilliance. Knowing
if the light ever finds us,
we’ll light its way.

-Tosha Michelle

Upon Awakening

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When I finally emerged
from my hibernation,
the light had long
since moved on.
My image transcending the sidewalk
as I shed my winter coat.
I looked down through the stars,
the earth no longer beckoning me.
The voices of a thousand
nightingales singing hopefully,
stirring the air like cream.
I sit nestled in the arms of the trees,
tipping my hat to the wrens and willows.
All life’s little delicacies are stored away
in my knapsack for later. As I descend
into the night the moon begins to glow,
alighting the darkness like a thousand
movie screens. In the distance a
church bell rings, and for a moment
I don’t feel so alone.

-Tosha Michelle

Lyrical

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He says I’m storm water
and chocolate cake.
The hot static of hair being
brushed.

I say take me in your arms
and speak your proverbs
upon me.

I watch him undress, his hands
soild verbs. I turn away to keep
my sanity.

By the time he touches my shoulders
delirium and lightening have set in.

-Tosha Michelle

Ready

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There’s no hiding place left
for my soul.
The dark spaces have all been
lit, filled with a warm glow.
My flesh radiates heat, my skin
alive. My eyes giving me away.

Should I run? Try and find a dark alley
somewhere? The street lights shaped
like hearts seem to say “be still”.
But I’m afraid. I want to close my eyes.
But I know I’ll just end up peeping.
Finally believing in the voice I hear counting.
Knowing I don’t want to be invisible anymore.
I’m ready to be found.

-Tosha Michelle

Just Breathe

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Sometimes the air around us is foreign.
Our lungs adopting to the atmosphere.
Knowing. Unknowing. We await
as the intervals thicken or thin.
Will the air become audible?
Will the seasons brighten or dim?
Do we lay store or forge ahead?
Is it enough to seek answers to questions
or is the living in the doing?
A thought held close built around another
thought is of no use if it sits braced to
a chair reluctant to breathe the air.

-Tosha Michelle

The Chill

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Sometimes when the world and people become too much to take
I develop winter brain: a sort of icy mindfulness
where I embrace the chill and long to hibernate
with the bears, while the snowbird helicopters
over the frozen lake harassing the air and
frost bite lingers on my soul.
My heart a solid ice sheet hasn’t a care.
I inhale the silence while the palest of
green fights to break through.
For a moment at least, I remain
as cold and calm as the
white of the snow overspread
on the ground.

-Tosha Michelle