Tag: travel

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

Where He Takes Me

Published on by Tosha Michelle37 Comments

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I always go where
my muse takes me.
Sometimes, he takes my hand
and walks me
down a honeysuckle road,
where the air is fragrant
with the sweetest of words.
Blossoms of paper
falling from the trees.
My muse hands me a pen.

Sometimes, my muse
takes me somewhere
I’d rather not be.
We end up in an
isolated cabin
in the middle of a storm.
At times like these,
we argue violently.
My personal history
banging on the door,
my muse deciding to
invite my past over
without my consent.
Baggage and all.

Other times my muse
takes me out to dinner,
seducing me with
conversation and a
mouthwatering eclair,
champagne and torch songs.
Whispering naughty things
in my ear.

Sometimes my muse
packs a bag and
threatens to leave me.
Taunting me with the
missing pages.
In the doorway he stands.
Sometimes I let him go.
He never goes far.
He knows we can’t live
without each other.
He’s buried too deep
in my cortex.
We both thrill to the
synaptic friction.

Sometimes my muse
questions what I am
writing for.
Reminding me, all my longings
and words will be
discarded in the end.
My muse is such a
morbid creep.
I know he’s
right, if we are here,
we are already gone
but for now
he’s the lure I cling to,
along with the delusions
of life, and
the scraps of allusions,
I put down on paper.

-Tosha Michelle

By request,  My cover of “Camouflage” Selena Gomez Cover (for Diane)

Wanderlust in Boots.

Published on by Tosha Michelle22 Comments

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In London, I finally

understood to be happy,

I can’ t regret. I can’t

be the ballerina in

a box waiting for

someone to turn

the key, trapped on

a platform of fear.

The key belongs to

me. I am the music.

I chose when I dance.

I discovered this while

navigating my way around

the city.

I became wanderlust in

leather boots, pleasantly,

disoriented by the

history. The city itself

a museum. On my own

for the first time. Alone,

with the wind of my mind.

I started to realize

that this “delicate” little

flower could survive

without water, that it

could grow anywhere.

I didn’t know it then

but my own history

was falling into place

as if Aristotle had flown

in from Greece (by way of

Great Beyond Air) to

help me make sense

of life.

It’s the little things

that change us,

that help us gain

knowledge of ourselves

the self that sometimes

needs to shatter.

Getting lost in

Greenwich Park

Sitting on a bench

unseen in the fog.

The bird that refused

my bread.
(The little bastard)

I swear I heard him chirping

stop trying to be responsible

for fixing everyone

Sitting in a cafe debating

the work of Turner after

visiting the Tate.

Just missing the

train for the airport.

Stopping by the gift

shop selling postcards

of London Bridge and

plastic keychains, making

me realizes I’ve had

enough of disposables.

Waltzing into pubs

and new situations.

Dizzy from dancing.

and finally believing

I knew the steps

Finally understanding

the beauty of missteps.

-Tosha Michelle

The Gentleman Blogger

Published on by Tosha Michelle18 Comments

Shameless plugs Wednesdays. It is now a thing. I’d like to introduce you to my friend Niles. Niles is not officer, but he is a gentleman. Suddenly, it’s lame sentences Wednesdays.

But I digress. Niles is like a brother to me. I’ve known him for years. He’s a lovely human being and a wonderful writer. I know he would be honored, if you would drop by his blog and check out his work. I’ve provided a link below.

Thanks,

Tosha

Autobiography – http://wp.me/p1E0N3-e3

Barbed……….and………Wired

Published on by Tosha Michelle3 Comments

My friend Jane just started a photography blog. Her photos are magnificent. I really hope you will check out her work and follow. She’s a wonderfully complex person. Her photos reflect that. She has an eye for beauty and all things artistic.

Thank you kindly

jane's avatar Perceptions-Photography by Jane

While I was walking by, I thought to myself……….who is being kept in and who is being kept out.

wired

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The Darkness

Published on by Tosha Michelle8 Comments

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I feel a darkness coming on.
The build up is always the
worst part. The shadow
of depression sneaking
up on
me. Breathing down
my neck. I know it won’t
be long until it falls on
me, tethering my spirit
to a barren tree. The
landscape flatten
Nothing is flourishing
The devil stands near
by holding his pitchfork
of sorrow. Smirking
as he plots new
calamities for fragile
spirits like mine,
not a fundamentalist
in sight.
I lie down on the
ground.. I surrender
to the darkness.
For today, there
is no escape.
The empty glass
is broken, the
ticking clock is
silence. When I
awake, I will look
for a way out.
Knowing the
darkness can
never hold me
for too long.
The light in my
heart never
sinks. It just
hides like a
lost penny.
For now though,
I become less
and lesser.
Boneless,
empty, and
ready to go
I let the
taker, take me.

It’s my kind of town…

Published on by Tosha Michelle3 Comments

Chicago

BY CARL SANDBURG

Hog Butcher for the World,
   Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
   Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
   Stormy, husky, brawling,
   City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
   Bareheaded,
   Shoveling,
   Wrecking,
   Planning,
   Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
                   Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
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London Calling

Published on by Tosha Michelle6 Comments

The thing is, nothing really can phase or touch you when you are in love…and make no mistake, I am head over heels, crazy, twerking in the street Miley style, Tom Cruise chair jumping, Taylor Swift can’t touch this.. IN LOVE!!

And whom, may you ask is worthy of my undying love and affection?

Why, London of course.

I’ve had the privilege of visiting the land of hope and glory four times now, and I am beyond ready to go back. England is such a beautiful, mystical, country. I feel such an affinity for it, perhaps, because my ancestors hail from there, or maybe, it’s just the people and the lush, green landscapes that beckon me. Whatever it is.I’m hooked.

OK, so why do I love London so much?

Let’s see there’s the sheer volume of things to do, the museums, the markets, the fashion, the music and oh, yesssssss, rich history and beautiful architecture. London is a city of culture. You can fill your days with history, adventure, and art. It’s a city so diverse and so big; there’s never a shortage of things going on. The city is alive with a palpable energy that gets under your skin and lingers in your memories long after you have gone.

And then there’s the tea, the lovely accents, the use of the words, “love” and darling “the tube announcer, minding the gap, walking over the Thames at night, the glorious parks, Indian food, THE CHOCOLATE…

London is a city of artists, of rebels, of hedonists, of intellectuals, of eccentrics, of heroes and a city full of surprises, magic and endless possibilities. At least it is to me.

“Go where we may, rest where we will,
Eternal London haunts us still.”
― Thomas Moore