For You, Love Always

Captivated and infatuated by love’s delicate spirit, poet Braeden Michaels composes a collection as timeless as the dawn of time: from budding first glances to whispers of a heart broken yet mending to vows in forever to the exhilaration of a lover’s touch to joy in parenthood and the reverberation of desire. Here is love in all forms. New love. Learned love. Growing love. Surprising love. Love through the ages from a man for his woman. She is the compassion that forever sits still. She is the scent that lingers on his skin. She is the enchanted sea of grace. She is the sunflower’s breeze in his eyes.


My books are available here.

Shadow of Tyler Boulevard

With inflation, a blockbuster blast reeks carnage
With inflation, we depreciate the minds of a exasperated society
With inflation, a ruckus erupts and commotion explodes
With inflation, economic indicators are ignored
and bullies are savored
With inflation, an empty suit lacks comprehension and consequences

And Tyler Boulevard will lose its character
And Tyler Boulevard’s existence will turn cold

With inflation, pennies evaporate and the cost of living rises like a hot air balloon
With inflation, the prosperous hibernate and the money laundering is glaring
With inflation, the embassy’s schemes are outlined with chalk and paint
With inflation, the fear monger salivates from a haunting distance
With inflation, the downward spiral staggers and the nations posture weeps

And Tyler Boulevard will lose its integrity
And Tyler Boulevard’s remains will shiver

With inflation, the Capitol Hill henchmen’s stench is pungent with greed
With inflation, the arrangements and the intentions are to eradicate the foundation
With inflation, the crowded distractions come from all angles of the compass
With inflation, the animosity drips freedom with a blaze
With inflation, civilization works with a handicap and walks spiritless

And Tyler Boulevard will lose its luster
And Tyler Boulevard’s shadow will fade

With inflation, corruption is at its highest peek and the lows are dwelling in caskets
With inflation, it’s number eighty nine in the radical bill to change the landscape
With inflation, the intellectuals want us to be a copycat of Venezuela
With inflation, the middle class will disappear in the snap of a democratic finger
With inflation, the earth will sit on an axis as the sky will read its eulogy

And Tyler Boulevard will be crippled for generations
And Tyler Boulevard’s demise begins with those who live on islands


My books are available here.

She use to be my enraptured muse
A mystical raindrop that drenched my entirety
guided by purity, kindness and authenticity
unveiling the sentiments in navy ink
written in the coveted firethorn notebook

In the afterglow she disappeared
Stillness was the enemy

She use to be the prayer between both hands
A snowflake cleansing my weary tongue
navigated by a sweet hummingbird whistling
displaying the verses with a keen eye
penned in a diary surrounded by flames

In the afterglow she vanished
tranquility was the rival

She use to be my northward carnival
A buzzing gypsy crooning in my orchestra
maneuvered by truth, sympathy and light
revealing the lines with unseen impressions
authored in a journal of mysterious flare

In the afterglow she escaped
serenity was her shadow boxer

I couldn’t make her remove her beloved wings


My books are available here.

Antidotes tasting like black coffee
A chalk outline of Patterson’s grumbles
China dolls parade 13th street with
residue on the corners of their mouths
Adversaries hack up off colored jokes
under a jagged and teary eyed sun
whispering forgotten fairy tales
“I can’t shine, I don’t have time,
I’m lost and forgotten in these rhymes”

And the ghost of Patterson counts his secrets
Smears his name at the gates for attention
Picking the lock, shouting at the kingdom

Romantics playing hopscotch on
cracked and overused sidewalks
Protagonists and thieves banter
in the smog at Jameson’s bar on Kingsman
Cynics and skeptics erasing evidence
of hope on belligerent walls
Butterflies flying over restless Samaritan’s
chained to oxidized dumpsters
Walker struts with a nervous alibi

And the ghost of Patterson counts the bullets
painting his name on the golden walls
Crouched down, yelling at the kingdom

Walker stalks the neighbors, wrestles with friction, and turns into a killjoy
Leaking out minor details and spilling of a lethal homicide filled with inquiries
Butterflies swarm the garden, surrounding a sealed box
Sounds of an ax break the venerable crate
Intriguing signatures, bag of money, and a letter from Patterson to a world class criminal
Conviction and Walker go hand in hand

And the ghost of Patterson sheds its feathers
Staring up at a dot of light,
Staring down at a dot of black,
Cemented in a glass underworld

Television is a disturbance of luster and plentiful
Television is a scandalous invention
Television is a disruptive mechanism clogging
your arteries
Television is a vacuum sucking the cells from your cerebellum

And the imagination crumbled
And the ingenuity succumbs
And she seduces hour by hour

Television is nerve gas crippling your legs and motivation
Television is a apparatus blended with hype and inferior hogwash
Television is a machine gun of information with a steering wheel
Television is a junkyard of contraband with sounds of justification

And the mind evaporates
And the muscles sit
And she seduces hour by hour

Television is a volatile substance with a grin
Television is a crutch with a bomb chained to your feet
Television is a fifty two inch rectangle civilians idolize
Television is a glass religion with no faith

And she seduces hour by hour


My books are available here.

Invigorating flare, divine storm
Slipping into a harmonious dimension
wrapped up in all of your inferno
vicious kisses, candy like touches
immersed in your tactile desires, my muse
Taste the hunger of the blazing star

And the electricity ripped the champagne sheets
And the sparks lit up in the tragic skies

A liquid sigh, voluptuous wildfire
gliding into a psychedelic mist
surrounded by your musical sirens
delightful growls, exotic whispers
sparkling in the moonlight, my muse
craving the thirst of the blazing star

And the provocative motion burned
And the ricochet sent shockwaves

whiplashed tension, pulsating snake
spiraling into a smoldering spasm
toes curling, spellbinding tongue
breathtaking havoc accelerating
oblivion touching nerve endings, my muse
yearning the skin of the blazing star

And the enigma was quite exquisite
And the mesmerizing fever glistens forever


My books are available here.

I’ve watched you become the acrobatic apologist
I’ve heard about the yellow fellow who broke your melodic heart
I’ve recited the third page from your journal pertaining to your inadequacies
For your wounds will heal in the garden
I stand as your protector, silver shield, and the knight in the desert
My love for you is a basket of gold
I’ve witnessed the boy who cemented crippling demands
I’ve stared at the smeared carmine lipstick
on your oval mirror and that reads
“The chip on my shoulder weighs a ton”
I’ve scolded the gentleman who made claims of manhood
For your discolorations will be cleansed
I stand as your defender, eagle’s eye, and sword
My love for you is fearless and is a scent of heaven
I’ve growled at the heathens who replaced love with immaturity and lust
Daphne, my beloved, your fantasies and dreams are sacred
Your darkness can shine in our universe


My books are available here.

I use to wear a serenading taxi cab colored sweatshirt with a patch of of birds heading south for the winter to Morgan’s house
She’d always laugh at the caption below
“Are we there yet?” and pour me a drink
She paraded her fathers den that reeked of nicotine and late night affairs
Flipping through the eclectic taste of albums
Spinning the quarter in the afternoon air
Indecisiveness roaming like a soldier
Morgan was the advocate of passive aggressiveness
Mumbling curse words and playing with a rubber band in tangled dialogues
Morgan would often lean in and tap her fingers on my thigh as if she was playing the piano
Slightly obtrusive and deliberately coy
Consistently playing word games with my emotions
Shouting “Love is fickle, but you could dance with me for a nickel”
Often devilish wearing a copper halo
Tossing idioms between stirred pauses
Blatantly ignoring the officer in the pictures on the olive walls
She referred to him as the man that dragged her from state to state
Leaving her in decorated homes with meaningless jewelry
Constantly toying with closeness and distance with my lips in the sanctuary
Shaking my head from the autumn perfume
From month to month my title changed from tool box to aberration
On that fateful hour I made the doorbell sing and no one replied
Glancing down at the welcome mat I picked up the ivory envelope
Ramblings were engraved and cemented
Paragraphs leaving a starry eyed melody
Entranced by the last line that catapulted reality
“The officer who claims to be my father hasn’t taught me how to say goodbye”

Loveless Eyes

She rambles within her scattered and spinning monologue, a speech incomprehensible

She scrambles the phrases unapologetically and unleashes long winded statements

Continues to prance inside her lies, behind those loveless eyes

“I spend my life to prove others wrong, those are the lyrics to my tragic song”

She clarifies the subject matter in a bow to one gender

She defines the topic with tantalizing innuendos to the other gender

Continues to wear that disguise, to hide
those loveless eyes

“I spend my life to prove to others that I’m right, those are my words in this never ending fight”

She’s threatened by others intellect as her insecurities bite

She clings to the accusations and defends her spotted purity

Continues to prance inside her lies, behind those loveless eyes

“I spend my life to prove to others that I’m on the right direction, claiming that I don’t need anyone’s affection”

Forgetting in the end to love herself


My books are available here.

I coughed up a tangled fairy tale
A translucent liquid composed of quicksand
and psychedelic castles in the air
Dismay biting a breeze of reverberation
Lust was an unforgivable bottle of poison
Trapped between sincerity and admiration

For you and the wind that wraps me up in
clouds of dust, I surrender
For you and the sensitivity that twinkles like a star, I surrender
For you and your sacred taste of sweet affection, I surrender

Forgive me, if I need too much
Forgive me, if I desire too much

Caught up in the endearing glances
Unspoken words, intoxicating voice
Inviting and lost in a whirlwind
Confusing thoughts, mixed signals
Unhinged cravings, lava sensation

For you and the wind that wraps me up in
clouds of dust, I surrender
For you and the sensitivity that twinkles like a star, I surrender
For you and your sacred taste of sweet affection, I surrender

Forgive me, if I need too much
Forgive me, if I desire too much

A wicked charm alluring
Sweat pouring, rhythmic tongue
“Magic not seeing what was tragic”
Insatiable endless night dancing
Clawing and reaching for tenderness

For you and the wind that wraps me up in
clouds of dust, I surrender
For you and the sensitivity that twinkles like a star, I surrender
For you and your sacred taste of sweet affection, I surrender

Forgive me, if I need too much
Forgive me, if I desire too much


My books are available here.

Author and poet Braeden Michaels delves into the many-layered political realms in his newest collection, Growl from the Sun. Beginning with his fourteen-page magnum opus of the same name, he confronts and denounces modern society and the politics of the day. No stone is left unturned. There are no sides, no labels, only raw emotion and unbending truth. This gritty selection of poetry is sure to provoke introspection and deep conversations for any who dare open its pages.


My books are available here.

I am the color black
wrapped up in a midnight curse
torture dripping down my bleached face
gripping on to the endangered lies
whispers growling in my prejudice ears
sorrow was a door to throw away my beliefs
clutching on to the skeleton chain
tomorrow weeps from my skewed perception, stumbling in the waterfalls, praying to blurry shadows and the sinister moon, I sip on the poison of a poor man’s cup and I hide in the mist to make me blind
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
severed from the spinning rainbow
buzzards flying around my dying tree
decaying stains, fumbling in the dark
crawling toward the vibrations of the stigma
haunted by my twitching nerves
anxiety and insecurities boiling on the inside
grief jumbled, agony waltzing
carrying heartbreak over my shoulders
I quietly stare into the atoms of my distress
molecules sizzling, bloodstream crying
depths of discomfort, circling headaches
and I seek grace with a pitchfork and knives
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
ripped from the sobbing vermillion sky
distinctively malevolent, serene and ill
tarnished and frozen, inside the frostbite
slightly obscene, smothered in vile
a predator within, carrying a tarantula grin
vertigo parading, obscurity blending
corrosion running down my esophagus
A diabolical mind dipped in scarlet oil
walking with a criminal like scent
cemetery gray with a pinch of graveyard dirt
a night crawler climbing in your memory
spellbinding oblivion, twisted secrets
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
unhinged and sadistic salivating from the burns, scatterbrained, splash of schizophrenia, thousand microscopic splinters in my cornea
I’m a child of the fifth obsidian scarecrow
untouched apricot skin, labeled as a dead end, hunger promenading, brisk spasms
lightning smacks across my crimson back
fractured, friction is my lifeless mother
I live in a atmosphere of short breaths and
gasping for oxygen among my bothers
consistently sucker punched and jabbed
with crude remarks, self esteem is hollow
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
characterized as the lustrous sin
specks of halcyon, spots of carmine
symbolizing annihilation and wreckage
disfiguring truth, a heinous sparkle
I strut with apocalyptic and corrupt nerves
veins filled with cynicism and suspicion
doubt trickling, hyperboles drooling nonstop
fiction rolling off my slanderous lips
sugarcoated fabrication stewing
I’ve shaped my ruthless tombstone
Viciousness is my fathers favorite drink
I’ve learned to slurp vengeance
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
stamped as a disastrous villain
I smirk at tragedy and illuminate within magic, identified as a slithering savage
I slap hope with a monstrous hand
distinguished as liquid monstrosity
I despise faith and lurch in your nightmares
venom is like loose change in my pockets
I’ve exchanged bitten conversations with corpses in my slaughterous backyard
quietly, I am the joker who plays with satire
and explosive irony, kiss the rage on my cheek, I am the gift you are afraid to open
Lord, save me from the lake of screams


My books are available here.

For you and the truth,
I lay awake circling my vulnerability
I can taste the poison on my tongue
I dwell in my pond of insecurities
I gnaw at my unspoken and sedated soul
I claw at my resilience with my tired fingers
I pick at my invisible wounds with an axe
I watch the apprehension hang over my head
I whisper to my demons “listen to the crack”

I am holding your hand with one eye open
a gust of change feels like a storm
I’m terrified to open up both eyes
to see I don’t deserve you

For you and the truth,
I find myself misplaced and disoriented
I spot the conditions and uncontrollable urges
I removed the hindering spotlight
I am haunted by my effervescent carnival
I have waved goodbye to the magnetic carousel
I steer toward the corridor of isolation
I clutch on to the paradise dancing in your eyes
I am sinking in the malevolent circus

I am holding your hand with one eye open
a gust of change feels like a storm
I’m terrified to open up both eyes
to see I don’t deserve you

For you and the truth,
I am weeping on the inside in this masquerade
I am praying I will find edges of my identity
I leave my pieces behind reaching for you
I grip on to tomorrow and replay yesterdays
I cough up the suffocating air and sorrow
I choke on my frustrations and crooked thunder
I see the lightning in my affliction
I recognize the heartache that flickers within

I am holding your hand with one eye open
a gust of change feels like a storm
I’m terrified to open up both eyes
to see I don’t deserve you


My books are available here.

I am a connoisseur of analogies and a lost paragraph. The expectations are nonexistent and the inconsistencies are bloodletting. I’ve washed my hands in rain and rinse them in agony. I hate to stare in my complexion of mediocrity. I walk around with a fistful of aspirations and cough up restlessness. She keeps the awakening truth inside her shell. She ignores the knock on the door of confrontation.My knuckles are shaking. I spell out my fantasies in luscious ink as she pretends to read them.

I am the cerebral nighthawk that dances in the moonlight and dreams like a joker. I follow the road without a sign, just the sound of dragonflies, and the heartbreaking temptations.She’s made claims that I have acquaintances and sidekicks. She’s joined in holy matrimony with a introverted cynic who’s dying on the inside as the second hand moves. She holds in her frustrations and the fears stuck to her palms. I play with riddles and hide between the ten feet conundrums. I play with her subconscious and the ghosts that appear in her sleep. The end is just the beginning and the beginning is just a part of the end.


My books are available here.

Between the ivory blank page
and the tangle among the frozen words
I grunted frustrations and dabbed
my fingers in the reverberating clouds
Love was written for daydreamers
I vigorously plucked the petals from
the fortune teller’s teary eyed rose
Agony and torment stretched out
along my hypersensitive spine
Tenderness was shattered into fragments
glaring at the distinguished pieces
Astonished from the inward discovery
never seeking the grace within
Clarity crept in under a cherry tree


My books are available here.

Seven O’clock drifts
vaudeville inauguration, tranquil introduction
A breeze of pleasantries and greetings
center stage, sponge like audience
mixed congregation sipping on souls
connecting with unbiased strangers
nervously releasing free verse on a axis
“I placed a chunk of the run down moon
deep in my threadbare pocket
no longer glistening or luminous
cemented in a tuberculosis celestial sphere
over a twelve thousand acre of soil
filled with sulking predators, non stopping
vixens, and smirking baby-kissers
With a plethora of fear I packed my cobalt
suitcase and changed my landscape
Arrived in a view with miracles and lilies
dancing around a bonfire with a beam
glaring at her sunset daydreams
head over heels, star striking overture
forgotten piece of the crescent
tumbling for love forevermore”
sewn chapter left my lips with a joyful taste


My books are available here.