Leeches and vultures
and time I can’t swallow.
Eyes on the tulips
under ice.
My heart in need of air.
Interior dialogue
Some voice I can’t decipher
endless fears,
needless worry,
and a place to contemplate rest.
-Tosha Michelle
Tag: style
Another One?
I know this poem.
It’s another one about you.
In this one you’re the moon,
moving away from the earth.
The nights getting darker.
The poet seemingly losing
herself to longing.
But maybe this is just a
rough draft.
Perhaps in the revision
you’re not the moon,
but the sun she
orbits around and
you take her hand.
Moving closer to her gravity.
Entranced by her softness
and charming ways.
And I feel like I’ve lived
this poem and I know
this man. Alone in bed
I savor evey word.
And for a moment
I get lost in a fantasy
where I believe in the
poem.
I’m holding in my lap
and, in the man, the
poem’s about
His head resting
on my knee.
I memorize every verse.
-Tosha Michelle
Listen to Underneath Adam Lambert Cover by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud
Ensnared
The wind breaks hearts
while the tangled tree branches
shelter their list
of grievances underground.
All they ever wanted was to be loved.
To the forest the tree stands
in regal glory and sweet familiarity.
All the while ensnared in the whims of nature,
the tree can’t break free from
the toxic atmosphere
The branches rustles to offset despair.
The husk marred by neglect
begins to rot
The sun attempts to change the tree’s fortune.
The pine leans toward the light, but the wind
draws it back in a jealous purchase.
Wrung out. Resigned to the oncoming storm’s chaos, knowing trying to shake it off
is futile. The tree lifts its branches in surrender. The
leaves, unencumbered by obligation, jump then fall. They would rather die than submit.
-Tosha Michelle
Own the Years
Before the years vanish
Let your body wander.
Be a lover, a traveler.
Let the theatrical lights
shine on you.
Bathe in the syllables
of adventure.
Crown the stars, and
dine on constellations.
Drink up the sunlight.
See the Nile, and tropical islands.
Take note of each sunset,
the mountains, the ocean.
Don’t let there be
a single empty page
in your life book.
Be a door swung open,
withhold nothing.
Dare to do, so you have
no regrets.
Don’t let your life
be haunted by dreams
that happened elsewhere,
and to someone else.
Haunted by the ones you never met,
the journeys you failed
to take.
Lift your arms up
and embrace what you make be.
Belong to the jungle,
the marketplace,
the English cottage,
the abbeys of Italy,
the domes, and to all
the scenes of your life.
-Tosha Michelle
The Invitation
I’m dreaming of you.
No, someone like you.
Someone who receives
my invitation and can’t
wait to come over.
My house, lit up by
moonshine and heart
light, awaits your arrival.
I bake a cake in expectation.
I’m hoping to sit with you
on the front porch, and
converse in real ways
where I can sit with my
legs crisscross and
not worry about how I look
with my hair up in a bun, no
make up on. You’ll look beyond
the shallow and see grace.
We’ll see our way to the
other side of the conversation,
your side, my side, our side.
And I won’t want more
than I have, now or before.
Did you receive my invitation?
My someone, my someone like you?
I’ve tenderly adjusted the view.
No backbends or recrimination,
not a single back wound.
Come over. The door and chapter remain open.
Rest here with me. Tell me a story.
One we don’t know the ending to.
We’ll make love’s revision
or write anew.
-Tosha Michelle
But I Don’t Wanna be Queen.
Don’t sit with your legs
crisscrossed.
Sit like a queen
Mind your manners.
Curl your locks.
Priss and preen
Everyone knows the
world loves pretty.
Don’t sit with your
legs crisscrossed
Sit like a queen.
Smile.
Show those gleaming
pearls.
Never be cross or mean.
Don’t grow old,
frail or weak.
Don’t sit with your legs
crisscrossed.
Sit like a queen.
Paint your nails.
Fingers and toes.
Give up food.
Remain a size 2.
Be the princess
married to the king.
Don’t sit with your legs
crisscrossed.
Sit like a queen.
-Tosha Michelle
Silence
Sometimes even the flutter
of moth wings is too loud.
I crave silence. I even write
in hushed tones under an oak
tree where nature seems
spiritual and serenity touches
me through the dew filled daisies.
I raise my pen to the sun.
I take in the charm of fresh air,
a storytelling of peace. It’s easier
to trust in the smell of honeysuckles
and the blueness above than humans.
People vanish with the seasons and create
noise and chaos inside my head. But the sky,
today, at least, is a reliable ally.
It whispers to me in
calm meditative tones
In the quiet I breathe again.
-Tosha Michelle
Vicious Cycle
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
Be
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.
Everything I Never Told You 