Tomorrow’s leaves, fluttering in the October wind serenading my Sunday doubt chasing my valiant harmony Yesterday’s shadows, spoke to my brittle heartache growled at my brainwashed reflection crawled inside my grey river my pride is louder than my endless storms Tomorrow’s leaves, floating in my sweetest passions drifting within my crooning veins dancing in sugarcoated air Yesterday’s shadows, whispered and kissed me goodbye disappeared within my iron dignity disintegrated within my thunder my pride is louder than my endless storms
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
Selected poems from each of Braeden Michaels’ first five books of poetry:
“The Raven’s Poison” – a full collection characterizing and describing all aspects of the human condition and emotions.
“Stella Walker’s Acquaintances” – character poetry surrounding the friends and acquaintances of a widowed woman as she reflects upon her life.
“Unpaved Crossroads” – poetry which depicts various scenes and moments in time, with a common theme of specific place throughout.
“Growl from the Sun” – a collection of political poetry including Michaels’ magnum opus of the same name, opining governmental and civic current events.
“For You, Love Always” – heart-touching and emotionally moving poetry for lovers.
Like porcelain skin wrapped in gauze Birthday tattoo displayed on her wrist Daydreams slip out on from her weeping lips Shadows blister, the monologue drowns Clasping on to “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” in her pliable hand
And the lions on the wallpaper say her name in a chant And the ceiling is her midnight and decorated sky And the hallway reeks of discretion and tongue tied riddles And the ink she pours out never runs dry
Give me an invincible fire to stand within the pain Give me the light to crawl in the dusk
An ounce of slump and stagnation whisper Melancholy hanging over her head like a rain cloud Glaring into a closet of aberrations Atmosphere trembles, the letters trickle sanguine Twitching in the discolored oblivion
And the memories flood on to the pillow from her eyes And the moonlight that shines through her window growls And the conversations are still heard in these four walls And the ink she pours out never runs dry
Give me an invincible fire to stand within the pain Give me the light to crawl in the dusk
That’s the way the addiction grumbles That’s the way the drunk stumbles That’s the way the moon serenades That’s the way the elephants walk in the parade That’s the way the politicians talk That’s the way the predators gawk
That’s the way the innocent dream That’s the way the raped scream That’s the way the fears surrender That’s the way the cold remembers That’s the way the lost are found That’s the way the veterans weep to the sounds
That’s the way the truth should be told That’s the way the lies are bitten and sold That’s the way the victim cries That’s the way the quiet feel inside That’s the way the impregnator stares That’s the way the son of a bitch cares
That’s the way the glass is poured That’s the way the children are ignored That’s the way the perception is skewed That’s the way the label is crude That’s the way the society thinks That’s the way the one percent drink
That’s the way the air becomes stale That’s the way the skin becomes pale That’s the way the poets write That’s the way the day turns into night That’s the way the heart breaks into bits That’s the way the last puzzle piece fits
That’s the way the thunder growls That’s the way the thieves prowl That’s the way the light disappear That’s the way the dark becomes crystal clear That’s the way the luck falls That’s the way the anger crawls
That’s the way the perpetrators finger points That’s the way the hippies smoke a joint That’s the way the teacher dresses That’s the way the students make messes That’s the way the winners gloat That’s the way the captain steers the boats
That’s the way the rich treat the poor That’s the way the small companies closes its doors That’s the way the snake rattles That’s the way the beast fights in battle That’s the way the cookie crumbles That’s the way the insider fumbles
That’s the way the performers act That’s the way the sky becomes black That’s the way the song is heard That’s the way the villains see the words That’s the way the view turns into stone That’s the way the virtuous become alone
That’s the way the branch breaks That’s the way the dealers make mistakes That’s the way the world divides That’s the way the humans collide That’s the way the people see That’s the way the universe will be
On Monday, the garbage men didn’t arrive and the sun hid behind the unbiased clouds, the jalopy on Crescent Road sang a piercing tune, the widow across the street glared at old photographs and the newspaper was thrown into an oak tree, and the mime laughed until she cried
On Tuesday, the wallpaper pleaded guilty for bad taste and the cinnamon rolls were hard as hockey pucks, the taxi drivers were riding unicycles, and the truth cracked the widescreen TV’s, the preacher’s sermon was written by an atheist and the raven sipped on the concoction just like humanity has for generations
On Wednesday, there was no lumber at the construction site and the henchmen counted their bullets, the playgrounds are now empty malls, California morphs into an exotic island,the register is as desolate with dust, and the politicians are suffering from withdrawal of greed, the drug pushers reside in mansions, and the moneyless become the majority
On Thursday, prejudices and pregnancy rise ten percent, paradigms dissolve and systems fail, symbolism becomes a lost diamond necklace that no one wears, ignorance is a bag of sugar that millions consume, education is no longer a pillar but now a pile of rocks, authenticity is rare and mindsets are stuck in a ten by ten box
On Friday, fools prance on the sidewalk and allegations disperse, heathens scoff and judge, Christianity wears a band aid that you can’t see and God is playing a violin for non believers, no one drinks the water they paid for and the porn that is free rest in their palms, the backward society is quiet and the questions are camouflaged in the answers
On Saturday, plagiarism is on sale and sarcasm is a $10.99 subscription, adultery is on the side, and sincerity was removed from the menu, I can pick up a prescription for a lack of integrity and sell a bottle of lies, the catatonic grin is plastered on every mannequin and the rain washes away the stench of civilization for a split second
On Sunday, the fears turn into rubble and the conscious of mankind fades like ink on paper, the echoes of society feel like a non stop siren, the static in the air tarnishes souls, the earth is decimated by dollar signs and all that is hidden, and the agendas are carved into invisible laws, and the cycle continues without stripping the labels
I glared into a faded photograph of our founding fathers, where dogma was priceless,the ink used to place the period behind our Declaration of Independence spoke volumes, where freedom wasn’t part of a cliche or a sales pitch, where dreams were bright as the clouds on the Fourth of July, where individuality was embraced but businesses thrived from the word capitalism, when tax was minimal, but as generations progress with a letter from the alphabet, the labels make the period disappear,traditions were once cherished, differences were honored, education was a foundation, face to face communication was imperative, and tears from the moon never fell into the cracks of the sidewalk of Washington Street
I carefully placed the collectible portrait between the pages of one fifty seven and one fifty eight of my history book, nonchalantly I sat on the curbside, glancing at the emptiness, no bumper to bumper traffic, no obscenities lashed out, civilization working behind rectangular screens, nominal movement, and goods can purchased with the click of a button, inch by inch, decade by decade, the zest is thinning, the lawmakers relish in spending income that isn’t their own, hankering over tax brackets, salivating where to raise outlandish charges, pulling a percent from this pie from the chart, manipulating statistics, storytelling and fabricating, patiently waiting to feel the tears from the moon on the sidewalk of Washington Street
As I walked down Washington Street, I recognize too many boarded up buildings, morals and ethics were pennies that jingled in in legislators pockets, make no mistake “we are shrewd burglars that don’t need to break into your house to steal from you,” no bureaucracy is willing to save a dime, “Let’s not pretend, we love to spend” is the proverb for thieves in two piece suits, I can recollect the carpenters that hammered every nail to the bankrupt superstructures being unemployed minutes after the task was complete, the cosa nostra and baby-kissers are no longing working against each other, the henchmen and handshakers are exchanging recipes for disasters over a bottle of burgundy, chuckling, smoking Churchill cigars, reciprocating filthy and racist jokes behind doors of the dungeon, but hours later standing in front of billions with both hands together pleading “togetherness, one, unity” reading it from a teleprompter, fumbling through every word, and the sound of the crack pipe falls to the floor, the camera moves in a split second to ensure the puppet is protected by the exclusive, but let me remind you the stooge who can barely walk up a flight of stairs received eighty one million votes, let the confidence ripple, and the thunder in the catastrophic sky pierces a million ears across the globe, as I walk toward “The Devil’s Backbone Tavern” I could see the lightning whisper danger, my feet froze on the sidewalk of Washington Street
I entered the tavern and could hear the introduction of the spoken word from Ramsey Parker, a local townsman, with a raspy voice, with his arms swinging, a theatrical display…”Welcome to the the insidious circus, where the clowns are incoherent, and the ramblings labeled as a speech are gnarled and tangled, weaving in and out of grains of truth, silently signing executive orders to vaporize the capital air, beware, apathy is a tattoo on our forearm, endless pages of calculating distractions, categorized and classified, blindly swindled, if you disagree, childish tantrums will be heard, lack of respect and cohesion, popularity plummets, approval ratings dismissed, impeachment being tossed around like a softball, no hardball here, afraid to rock the sinking ship with a stumbling captain who is meant to be an oar thrown in the ocean of disgust, humanity struggling to keep their heads above water, if we throw you a life jacket, we own you! Safety wasn’t a priority, designed for the survivors to be a minority” Ramsey shouted at the top of his lungs “Wake up America before it’s too late” grab your weapon, freedom, parade Washington Street, bark at the moon and pray it doesn’t cry
The sipping regulars clapped their hands, even the bottles of bourbon and scotch are pointing fingers, the mice on the thirty year old floor scrambled from the outspoken rhetoric, the shadows on the wall nod their heads, the bartender wipes down the hallucinations over and over, the optimism shrieks like a ghost, the misfits in the booth exchange civic points of view, babbling on about equal wealth distribution, working twenty five hour weeks, bellowing over exhaustion, taking orders from convicted illegal empty headed authority figures, the bystander on the left is a former navy seal listening to the nonsense, a man who carried laurels on his back, with eyes like a sniper, capturing detail like an artist, shrugging his shoulders walking away, discomfort is drank on the rocks, while truth is an invisible spot, heading for the door to leave a place of familiarity yet smelling a stench of wrecking change
I sat on a mustard color stool at the Boneyard Tavern, chatter filled the atmosphere with spite, poison and lust entwined, lost connections and backward remarks, Sitting next to me, Tennyson Walker filled with chilling certainty stalwart with a deep southerly lisp sipping on bourbon with a cigarette “Son, It’s not about the left and the right, it’s about you believing the lies even though the truth is simply in sight, your eyes are set on the endless distractions as the leaders of the world shake hands, the globalists are chuckling, and the critical thinkers are censored, Don’t you recall the infrastructure bill? countless pages of radical logic unrevealed as millions sit still, don’t nod your head, We are dancing in a war of intelligence and segregated information, humans become collateral, and the changes just blink, faith and theories are bullet points drenched with disjuncture, governments unifying and emptying citizens pockets without consent, prepare for the crumbling” I sat there in a daze as a conspiracy theorist, mesmerized by an articulate blue collar worker, generations apart but understood the colors and fabric of our country’s flag, I no longer felt isolated with the realization the more silent I am, I am part of the problem
Suffocating winds, drowning in a venomous and callous night gripping to a malignant affair shredding overblown letters of sensuality my esophagus is bound to split
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness slicing my tongue, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of vanishing ripple Sounds of exhaustion sob Sounds of agony growl
Suffocating winds, immersed in worth with scabs and pockmarks consumed by a rain of affliction ripping flashbacks with endless tears my esophagus is bound to rupture
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness piercing my eyes, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of distress shrivel Sounds of loneliness escape Sounds of tears shriek
Exchanging histories, undiscovered blessing She was born with silent violet butterflies dancing in her “catch my breathe” eyes A surreal connection, depth with curves She walks with simplicity dripping from her mysterious and irresistible lips
And she sings with heartache and strength And she sings with brilliant magic And she sings with white hot conviction And her inner beauty is a magnificent star
I walk through the forest listening to her enchanted voice I walk through the forest following her footprints
Kindhearted edges, carrying wreckage She carries invincible wings over her worn out and distressed shoulders crystals floating in her periwinkle soul She lights up in the dark like a firefly armed with blistering faith
And she sings with heartache and strength And she sings with brilliant magic And she sings with white hot conviction And her inner beauty is a magnificent star
I walk through the forest concentrating on her enchanted voice I walk through the forest guided by her dazzling spirit
Dandelion skin, your consequences hang from your eyelashes your backbone has an invisible crack your tenacity wallows in the closet your cheeks are filled with solitude your apprehension feels like a heart beat
Grace from within witness’s a glimpse
“I can’t hear what you are saying, I’m too busy fading”
Dandelion skin, your affliction surrounds you like a cloud your sheath carries an uneven stigma your serenity is deep in your lungs your perseverance sleeps with obscurity your illusion is smeared and splattered
Grace from within is numb and worn
“I can’t run from the silence any longer, I can finally see parts of me that are stronger”
Dandelion skin, your uncertainty plays hide and seek your strain trips over your kindness your sway crumbles in your defeated fingers your delusions disappear in the fog your trance whispers in the shade
Grace from within has the answers
“In this garden, I will blossom and continue to grow, the grace from within will finally show”
Once upon an unconditional love love was woven in melodic souls fears were embraced, tears were kissed blessings were gifted and received auras doused in immaculate authenticity veracity is rooted, prosperity widened depths are filled with nectar and joy affection dipped in white hot sincerity tenderness is etched and engraved appreciation feels like a soft blanket conversations filled with respect and zeal A flame that is forever burning with bliss spine-tingling devotion, astonishing wildfire A magnificent universe filled with victories overcoming obstacles and challenges together, learning and growing hand in hand A lifetime with a serene afterglow beauty found in countless photographs
I sat in a fossil like auditorium with the fragrance of significance brimming in the air, a middle aged man with a silver beard unleashing his thunderous and stout voice “Corporate America is a cult I don’t want to follow, she will entice you with her glitter and clown red lipstick, she will hike up her skirt for a glance but you will have to pay for the seductive dance, Corporate America has a stench and will leave an ill aftertaste, breathe in the sun and slowly walk through the hellacious gardens that will make you live again, Corporate America is a lethal injection without a needle, it’s an invisible blood stain on Mount Rushmore, it’s the catalyst for consumption with gallons of saliva, and by God everything you purchase with that plastic card all stays here when you are buried in that graveyard, Corporate America will disown your soul, spit in your eyes and fill your lungs with greed” The silence reverberated and awakened us.
I’m just a silhouette situated on a cracked street corner gazing into the crevices of the cement. I’m a wanderer seeking warmth from a gentle hand. I spend too much time looking inward and only see engraved scars. I’m just a singed shadow that leaves whispers and tears for an empty sky. I find myself buried in my beloved diary. I cling to it as I cry myself to sleep as I pray to a God that is made up of sandpaper beliefs and songlike scripture.
I tend to sleep with trauma with invisible gauze and bloodshot dreams. I rationalize the hallucinations due to the measurable weight on my shoulders. I live in a household filled with indifference, butterflies circling fears, and ghosts having sarcastic conversations with each other. I carry a laugh from an ancient carnival. My mother named me after two distinguished poets. The name Sylvia Poe Chandler feels supernatural on the birth certificate. My personality is upside down and is unseeable. I scoff at normalities and jokes about what can not be changed. I loathe logic defended by agendas that are written by parasites. I am drawn to the stars have a tint of green because the moon is jealous. I am fond of the night because I can see my skeletons sipping on ignorance in the closet.
I never once believed in the elegance and fragility of love. I believe in monsters, dark side of humanity, warlords, and anguish that swallows you whole. I don’t believe in the hands of compassion nor forgiveness. I can’t believe in concepts I’ve never felt. I never once believed in angels, optimism with a silver lining, and words spoken by the rich. I believe in individuality not the mummy walking mass. I never believed in rhetoric from men wearing blue suits. I do believe someone below is smirking at my trials and tribulations. I can’t believe in fairy tales but I believe in an epilogue with a waterfall.
She calls me an infant and he calls me ungraspable. I’m a mute but the list of endless adjectives are added to the scroll. I am seeking love and affection from heathens wearing sin like a trench coat. I’m full of spite but spit out caffeinated speeches. I walk with a phantom knowing I’m contaminated. Self worth is buried in the forest of my backyard. As I walk through the woodlands I can feel the mosquitoes surrounding my significance. The closer I become my eyes swell with grief.
I am a cloud hiding behind the sun seeking a ray of hope. I have a backbone that you can’t see. I am a star gazer with drops of melancholy in my hands. I have been destroyed by my foul mouthed pro creators and poisonous ex lovers. My fate is torn but my destiny sees a rainbow from a distance.
I’m jittery but calm in my logic. I parade these streets with echoes and slippery sentiments. I feel misplaced, misguided, and my feet continue to fumble. I struggle with intimacy and the white lies I swallow. I walk with expectations that I can’t see and standards that I can’t comprehend. I ignore my swirling instincts and lackadaisical intuition. I camouflage my fears with sophomoric humor and childish innuendos. I cough up resentment on a daily basis.
I wear my pride like a tattoo with animosity sewn to my arms. I am slightly dysfunctional and walk with a scorched tongue. I have an appetite to be understood than loved. Love is just a mirror that shatters over and over. Affection is just an object that we all hunger. I wiped away the frustration from my eyes and see myself residing in the winter’s scream. Please don’t hold me, just reach in to breathe in my cold air.
Bitter honey, the aftertaste is drowning the affection once pure turns into ink Disjointed and spots of spite stick to my worn-down tongue, I dwell inside
I lost my existence but found my shadow I lost my fears but found my perspective I lost my pride but found my character
Even in the despair, the calm was burning
Bitter honey, the aftermath is devastating the devotion once concrete crumbles Frail and specks of turmoil rushes down my frightened throat, I wallow inside
I lost my independence but found my direction I lost my truth but discovered the lies I lost my innocence but gained my wisdom
Even in the melancholy, the silence was light
Bitter honey, the afterthoughts are distant the tenderness once snug is crippled Cracked and traces of sorrow drip from my serenading eyelashes, I cringe inside
I lost my thirst but found my hunger I lost my laughter but found the jester within I lost my ghosts but found my guardian
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
I’ve been in love with the nectar and the sour drippings of you I’ve been captured by the glaze of your caress I’ve been in awe by the comfort and the shivers of your embrace I’ve been enamored by the never ending kisses and the affection I’ve been mesmerized by the sparkle dancing in your midnight eyes
And the love with you is breathtaking And the love with you is indescribable And the love with you is remarkable And the love with you has opened me up
After so many years I wouldn’t have changed a second
I’ve been in love with the honey and the radiant treasures of you I’ve been enchanted by your words and glamorous skin I’ve been aching for the centerpiece to wake me up and feel alive I’ve been daydreaming of an endless love I’ve been intoxicated by the shimmering light twinkling in your soul
And the love with you is breathtaking And the love with you is indescribable And the love with you is remarkable And the love with you has opened me up
After so many years I wouldn’t have changed a minute
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
Storm of Ink 