Posts

by on

Yours always, in awe and adoration,

My Beloved,

I find myself lost again in the thought of your lips—those exquisite miracles that seem less like flesh and more like a divine language written just for me. When I picture them, I see not a mouth, but a soft geography, a map of tenderness where my heart learned its compass. I could spend lifetimes tracing their shape and still never reach the end of their meaning.

Your lips are scripture, love—verses that tremble with every breath you take. I’ve stood before them in silence, like a pilgrim before the dawn, waiting for them to part, for a whisper to become prayer, for a sigh to rewrite my faith in beauty. When you speak, it’s as if petals fall from some hidden garden, and I catch them all, pressing them into memory until they bloom again in my dreams.

There is sunlight in them—some secret that gold itself envies. Even silence bends to their will, becoming music when held between the quiet edges of your mouth. I’ve seen oceans try to mimic their curve and fail; I’ve watched the moon blush, humbled by their glow. You are storm and calm all at once—two worlds meeting where your lips touch, two horizons breathing as one.

To kiss you is to taste eternity. It’s to drink from a chalice carved of longing, to drown willingly in a sea that feels like both sin and salvation. Your lips carry the ache of wanting and the promise of forgiveness. When they touch mine, the universe forgets its order—constellations scatter, and gravity itself bends to your pull.

And then, there’s your smile. That gentle, radiant unveiling—how it feels like sunrise entering my chest. When it appears, my shadows flee. When it fades, I’m left rummaging through my own heart for words grand enough to hold what I feel.

Your lips are not just beauty, my love—they are the doorway to your soul. They hold laughter, truth, and a thousand unspoken yeses. They are the red pulse of life itself, the tender wound of being alive, the rhythm of everything I adore about you.

If all art is born from longing, then you are my masterpiece, and your lips—my altar of worship. I write this not as mere admiration, but as confession: I am endlessly, helplessly undone by the miracle of your mouth.

Yours always, in awe and adoration,

My books are available here .

by on

Every time I look up, I see you. The sky becomes your mirror, an infinite canvas painted in your likeness. The dawn blushes like your skin when the sun first kisses it, tender and slow, like the universe remembering how to love. Your beauty stretches beyond the horizon, endless, breathing, alive. The clouds drift like your thoughts, soft, mysterious, always moving, always reshaping the light that falls through them.

You are the sky when she’s calm, when the world seems held together by a quiet sigh. You are the whisper of blue between my ribs, the soft ache of wanting something too vast to hold. I find myself tracing the air the way I long to trace your spine, carefully, reverently, afraid I’ll break the silence that makes you divine.

When night falls, your beauty deepens. The stars scatter like the goosebumps on your skin when I whisper your name, and the moon turns to silver just to resemble your glow. You are the night I want to get lost in—velvet, sensual, infinite. Every flicker of starlight feels like your breath, every shadow a secret curve waiting for me to explore.

There’s something about the way the sky changes that reminds me of you. The way a storm builds—slow, electric, dangerous, beautiful. The way lightning cracks open the dark like the truth of your eyes breaking through my guarded heart. I want to stand in your storm and let it drench me, let your passion soak through every defense I’ve built. You are not gentle wind—you are the wild pulse of thunder that makes me feel alive.

Sometimes, I imagine lying beneath you, beneath your sky-body, tracing constellations across your skin with my fingertips, naming each one after the moments you’ve left me breathless. I’d call one Eclipse, for the way you darken everything else when you enter the room. Another Aurora, for the light that dances in your eyes when you laugh.

If beauty were weather, you would be every season. The sun-warmed blue of spring, the blazing fire of summer’s dusk, the melancholy gray of autumn rain, and the crystal silence of winter’s night. You move through me like the wind, unseen but unforgettable.

My love, when I say you are beautiful, I do not mean it in the small way people use the word. I mean you are the breath between worlds, the endless horizon my soul leans toward. You are the dawn I wake to and the twilight that undresses the day. You are the sky itself—ever-changing, eternal, untouchable, yet somehow, miraculously, mine for a moment.

If I could, I’d bottle every sunrise just to pour it across your skin. I’d steal every star to hang in your hair. But even the universe isn’t enough to frame you.

You are the sky and I am forever looking up.

Yours beneath the infinite,
—Always.

My books are available here .

by on

My love,

There are nights when language collapses under the weight of you. When every word I try to write turns into a trembling pulse, and the ink itself seems to breathe your name. I sit beneath the faint hum of the lamp, thinking of your mouth, your scent, the curve of your breath when it brushes against the idea of me. You are not merely a person anymore—you are an atmosphere I enter, willingly lost, deliriously drowning.

I desire you in ways that silence cannot disguise. You move through me like a fever I’ve stopped trying to cure. Every thought becomes your echo, every moment your shadow. I dream of you in pieces—the way your neck bends when you laugh, the way your lips seem to hold secrets that would burn if spoken aloud. I imagine tracing those secrets with my tongue, word by word, until truth and pleasure are indistinguishable.

Sometimes I think of you in the quietest parts of the day, where restraint pretends to live. But even then, I am undone. The thought of your fingers—how they might travel across my skin, searching, knowing—turns the air into fire. I would let you burn me down to ash if it meant being reborn inside your breath. I would trade a thousand calm lifetimes for one storm with you.

You haunt my imagination like a beautiful sin. Every fantasy begins with you walking through the threshold of my mind, uninvited yet expected, your presence an electric omen. I want the collision, the chaos, the unholy tenderness of our undoing. I want to forget where I end and you begin—to dissolve into the rhythm of your wanting until the world itself forgets to spin.

You are the poem I cannot stop writing, the one that ruins all other verses. I crave the weight of your gaze, the gravity of your silence when it settles on me. I love you in the way a starving thing loves its first taste of rain—wild, unmeasured, desperate to consume. There is something sacred in this madness, something pure in how unholy it feels.

When I close my eyes, I see us—not in perfection, but in ache. Your body against mine, not as conquest but as confession. Every sigh a psalm, every movement a prayer against loneliness. I want to memorize you in touch, to know your skin the way the night knows secrets: intimately, endlessly, without light.

Do you feel it too, that invisible tether pulling, tightening? It’s as though the universe stitched our hunger together and dared us to survive it. My love, I don’t want to survive it. I want to live inside it, to build a home in the wild pulse between your heart and mine.

If I could, I’d press this letter to your chest and let it melt there, word by word, until it became heat. Until all that remained was the truth beneath all language: that I desire you beyond thought, beyond restraint, beyond the limits of the human tongue.

—Yours in hunger, always.

My books are available here .

by on
Available on Amazon!

Play the link! This is a song about my book!

https://suno.com/song/35278878-1910-4b84-9c22-6191f7d52dd1

📚Once Upon A Rain, She Bloomed

Between shadows and memory, one woman’s diary elucidates relationships come and gone, those who helped shape who she is from the inside out. Turning the rain into something beautiful, the opening petals of a rose now blooming.

Veteran poet Braeden Michaels crafts his seventh collection of poetry into a mold of vision. Like pages from a twisted fairy tale, he narrates using his unique poetic style and perspective, first dissecting emotion before reconstructing and reimagining each one.

My books are available here .

by on

Unapologetically Unashamed

I drown in my cravings, flames from your lips, and the desires from your tongue. I glare at my weaknesses with swollen tears. I hunger something that my emptiness won’t ever touch. I grip on to my fascinations and urges with insomniac eyes. I carry my loneliness on my sleeve and unapologetically unashamed for wanting your luscious skin.

The circle of my friendships get smaller, I make my myself distant the closer I get. I promise you, you will wish we never met. The hello’s will turn into goodbyes, I will make sure you can’t see the rain from my eyes. I will share more truths and you will want to run. Don’t be surprised of the person I will become.

I sink in my yearnings, scattered fantasies and the desolation inside. I dwell in my painted circles, faded memories and the opaque skies that leave me stranded in the bitterness. I am slightly disconnected, partially detached, and withdrawn from the cracks I wish not to see. I displace the stained hindrances and sanguine complaints within my state of consciousness.
I am unapologetically unashamed for longing for your sentimental touch.

The circle of my friendships get smaller, I tend to make others uncomfortable with the things I shouldn’t say. I promise you, I will belong in your past and know you won’t stay. I expect no response and the late replies. I will make sure you won’t see the pain in my fragile eyes. I will be more open and will tell you how I feel. In the end, we will find out who was real.

My books are available here .

by on

Invigorating Sigh

Tease me with a scent of a captivating concoction
Tease me with a crescendo of exhilarating moans
breathe in the closeness, breathe out the chill

Tease me with sweetness dripping from your wounds
Tease me with a heartfelt dance under our silver moon
breathe in the hello’s, breathe out the spasm

Tease me with laughter from your winter storm
Tease me with soft kisses falling on your pillow
breathe in the sentiments, breathe out the fears

Tease me with a passage from your bone cold diary
Tease me with a sizzling greeting under an oak tree
breathe in the beginning, breathe out the endings

Tease me with a dream of memories and cozy rain
Tease me with a clenching oblivion and devotion
breathe in the naked sighs, breathe out the fragility

My books are available here .

by on
Prologue to my new book coming out soon!

Jackknife Tavern

11:32am, situated on the corner of James Madison Boulevard and Whitman Street. I am sipping emptiness on the rocks in the scowling part of town, Jackknife Tavern. I’m sulking in the chestnut colored booth throwing darts at the bombastic God I use to love. I continue to taste the kisses of my skeptical past and shake hands with the skeleton of my future. I raise my clenched fist, “Hey brother, can you pour me another? If it’s not any trouble, make it a double.”

A Marylin Chambers look a like tapped me on the shoulders with an indecent proposal. I shook my head with a chuckle and a sleazy grin. “This isn’t a joke, I can only pay by the minutes or the number of strokes.” She disappeared like a magician with the smell of her perfume turning into an aphrodisiac. I swallow loneliness like an amber ale. Isolation is my best friend without a voice. I tend to make a midnight rendezvous with yours truly but my left hand shouts “I’m quite over zealous” and the right hand whimpers “I’m quite jealous.” I only tend to acquire sparks with jumper cables.

Between noontide and the teardrops of the moon, the carnival weaved in and out of the cavern. The hooligans are tap dancing next to the jukebox, the husbands are window shopping, the cut throat whistle stoppers are juggling negotiations and plastic speeches. The jamboree was full of exaggeration, plagiarism, copycats, and satan’s storytellers. I could hear them drinking the tears more than the alcohol.

2:35pm, the regulars and bystanders strolled in with folktales dripping grief. Cigarette smoke reeked of melancholy and satire. The ambiance was filled with extravagant bar tabs, sobbing cliffhangers, romantic comedies with the mourning saxophone playing in your left ear. If you listen close, the excuses and irritation can be heard in your right ear. A pint of desolation will taste sweet and a shot of despair will run down your throat faster than a horse at the Kentucky derby. It’s a relief and a head scratcher that we call it happy hour.

5:45pm, the eyes are dry and my stomach grumbled. The gin mill is as empty as my crooning soul. I can never make out the lyrics but I get goosebumps when I hear the sorrowful piano. Harper Guthrie struts in with his graveyard black t-shirt with the phrase “You can get this body for $19.95 for one hour, but if you act now I will make you as happy as a sunflower” printed on the front. Harper is jammed with acidic antidotes but will sell you antidepressants, antibiotics, and antisemitism.He talks with his wandering hands and pleads innocent until proven guilty. He will boast about his latest purchases, meaningless job title, and the abundant cash flow problem. He serenades to the audience that he drinks to happiness. Unfortunately, he’s been charged with terrible humor and convicted of lying to himself.

7:15pm, Jackson Bryant fumbles in with his auburn acoustic guitar. He glances at the minimal crowd from the undersized stage and begins to strum. Out comes a raspy but yet a smooth sound “You can find me in the dark trying to grip the wind, you can find me feeling lost not knowing where to begin, you can shout from the depths of your lungs, you can point your fingers at me and forget the person you’ve become.” Heads turn and faces become pale as if they seen a reflection of themselves. The song ends with the spectators clapping their hands rapidly and shouting out his name. He continued to play his set as the crowd was quite allured by his presence.

As the night begin to fade, the exchange had less of a bounce. Solitude was a fog prancing in front of our bloodshot pupils. I wrote “Goodbye, Goodnight” on a vanilla napkin and handed it to the gargoyle next to me. It was time for me to face the chorus in a song I didn’t want to play. Thirty five years ago on this melodic day, I married a ballerina that is still spinning on her tip toes of my crippled heart. The King of kings took my queen away. She was plagued with a disease that had no cure. I’m done praying to a God that doesn’t listen. All I know how to do is to fill up my glass with destitution to try to take away the overwhelming misery.

My books are available here .

by on

Headstone Prophet

Greetings taxpayers, screen wanderers, and head nodding citizens, let’s dive into the ramifications of ignoring the siren of western civilization, where the infrastructure has had a crack for generations, the colors of the flag have become evanescent, where celebrities are glorified more than soldiers, where the all mighty dollar has more value than life,

Let me introduce myself, I am the Headstone Prophet, the accountant of distractions and destruction, I don’t see black and white, gender, classes, or status, I see authority and figureheads with meaningless titles serve themselves rather than society, I see inflation and corruption welded together to spark the genocide, I am the soothsayer that is gawking at the cemeteries, counting the caskets, I wear a tattoo on my middle finger that reads “The new world order doesn’t deserve a quarter,”

Behind closed doors, the henchmen are sipping on wealth mumbling “if you aren’t rich, you will become my bitch” and the others are ranting “if you aren’t in the grave, you will be my slave,” the catchphrases are lightning and the thunder to their ears, the powers that be want division among the dwellers, they crave disunity and friction, for every label there is a asterisk and a war,

It’s time to pay close attention to these staggering numbers, human trafficking is up twenty percent, the dishonesty among politicians is up a thousand percent, the media will twist the truth fifty percent, the longer you are glued to a screen the quicker you will forget the american dream, in the end the government cares about you is zero percent,

I am the headstone prophet, I stand before you to be the alarm, I stand here to wake up for those who are asleep, I stand here to deliver the most important message of your life, I stand here to hopefully avoid counting your coffin,

My books are available here.

by on

This is another song using one of my poem titles. Check out the link! Please tell me what you think.

https://suno.com/song/9ff80b46-649b-4bd0-8e76-c4eca6051f64

Rattle in a Cage

(1st Verse)
I was born with symptoms of a transparent disease
midday convulsions, cynical eyes, buckling at the knees
I am stuck with satirical and catatonic eyes,
I carry a tapestry of black and scarlet goodbyes,
I hear my ghosts playing in a symphony singing my riddles
I reside in the flames of the sunset with my anguish crying in the middle

CHORUS:
I am the color gray gripping on to my rage
I have a sister that screams that seems to never age
I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page
I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage

(2nd Verse)
I was born with my lungs full of wide eyed devastation
morning sickness, sarcastic limbs, with my eyesight feeling irritation
I am a bottle of endless and crude pills
I can feel saliva dripping down my disorder seeking a thrill
I can hear my villains playing the violins as I lay out my confessions
I reside in the orchestra of my darkness clenching on to my obsessions

CHORUS:
I am the color gray gripping on to my rage
I have a sister that screams that seems to never age
I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page
I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage

Bridge:
Recklessness is my illness and medicine
God laughs at my horrific skeleton
I hold hands with Satan’s storytellers
I sleep under a rose sky beside the bottom dwellers

CHORUS:
I am the color gray gripping on to my rage
I have a sister that screams that seems to never age
I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page
I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage

CHORUS:
I am the color gray gripping on to my rage
I have a sister that screams that seems to never age
I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page
I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage

My books are available here .

by on

Here are is the link and lyrics below. Please tell me what you think.

https://suno.com/song/8ff46066-67ec-4e01-9de7-74fc14e08fac

Hollow Tears

(1st Verse)
I am terrified of the darkness sitting still
I am terrified of my identity getting killed
I am terrified of the loneliness and isolation
I am terrified of the water down hallucinations

CHORUS:
All I have are hollow tears that fell from the cracked moon
All I have is a heart that has been broken too soon
All I have are years that feel wasted and gone
All I have are tragic lyrics to a hopeless song

(2nd Verse)
I am terrified of the light being gone forever
I am terrified of the pieces I can’t put back together
I am terrified of the blistering walls caving in
I am terrified of not knowing where to begin

CHORUS:
All I have are hollow tears that fell from the cracked moon
All I have is a heart that has been broken too soon
All I have are years that feel wasted and gone
All I have are tragic lyrics to a hopeless song

Bridge:
With these hollow tears,
I traced the outline of my pain
With these hollow tears,
I am drowning in this pouring rain
With these hollow tears,
my eyes don’t see a glimpse of change

CHORUS:
All I have are hollow tears that fell from the cracked moon
All I have is a heart that has been broken too soon
All I have are years that feel wasted and gone
All I have are tragic lyrics to a hopeless song

My books are available here .

by on

I thought for fun I can take a poem title of mine and write lyrics for it. Tell me what you think. Click on the link!

https://suno.com/song/59d04fe4-12d8-4eab-bb66-894083216aeb

Blackout’s Rattle

(1st Verse)
Once upon a midnight breeze
I inhaled mourning and choked on my tragedies
and I begin to stare into the raven’s lungs
I began to speak with animosity on my tongue
and I begin to allow the poison seep in my skin
I am the one who carries truth laced in sin

CHORUS:
I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle
crawling between insomnia and my battles
my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum
crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun

(2nd Verse)
I exhaled bitterness and coughed up illusions
and I begin to dance with my spots of my confusion
I began to shout with sorrow dripping from my lips
and I begin to allow the ignorance give me a lethal kiss
I began to shed the light and my heart turned to stone
I am the one who walks with fear and brittle bones

CHORUS:
I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle
crawling between insomnia and my battles
my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum
crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun

Bridge:
Once upon a thousand lies
truth disappears as followers wave goodbye
The paint on the face begins to dry
as everything alive begins to die

CHORUS:
I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle
crawling between insomnia and my battles
my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum
crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun

CHORUS:
I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle
crawling between insomnia and my battles
my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum
crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun

Don’t pull the trigger, get on your knees
Look up to God and believe

My books are available here .

by on
Excerpt from “The Raven’s Poison”

Between the blackouts and the vertigo
Slurred discussions evaporate in the smog
Excuses and cursed words creep in
Empty words reside at the bottom

Even the bloodshot moon cries

Between the collision and the stars
Sound of the gin on the rocks washes away
Sarcasm and coughed up memories
Acceptance of losses linger in the cold

Even the bloodshot moon cries

Between the anger and the doubt
Brick walls rise inside my head
Drowning in the misery and sadness
Reveling in the toxic moment

Even the bloodshot moon cries

Between the strangers and ignorance
Conversations vibrate and tremble
Loneliness staggers among the silence
Bottled up screams whisper

Even the bloodshot moon cries

My books are available here .

by on
Except from “Unpaved Crossroads”

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

My books are available here .

by on

Unloved Skin

I lay here in unloved skin with a ghost surrounding my unwritten pages
I lay here in a whirlwind aching for you to fulfill my desolation with worn out tears
I lay here with shadows crying and spelling your name with my fingertips
I lay here in a cloud of passion missing your serenity wrapped around with my flames

Cover me in a blistering love
Cover me in tender confetti
Cover me in a bold yearning

“Come a little closer and don’t be afraid to feel, let’s get lost with what we know is real, Come a little closer and give me your recklessness, Come a little closer and fulfill my emptiness”

I lay here in unloved skin with an unhinged appetite boiling within
I lay here in a frenzy circling for you to entertain myflammable wishes
I lay here with fantasies exploding in luscious air
I lay here in obscurity of devotion sweltering on the inside

Cover me in a sky of hope
Cover me in tears of respect
Cover me in a weeping bliss

“Come a little closer and breathe in our scent, come a little closer and feel where our dreams went, come a little closer give me what I long for, come a little closer and see you are all that I adore”

My books are available here .

by on

Winter’s Ballad

you could be the lyric that I never wrote
you could be the nectar fawning on my tongue
you could be the feather against my cheek
you could be the warmth on my lost face
you could be the song that repeats in my mind

And in the morning chill, I can taste the harmony off your skin
And in the brisk moonlight, I can hear your symphony burn from your lips

you could be the melody that awakens me
you could be the lily I see in my holy dreams
you could be the breeze I never forget
you could be the fear that I have forgotten
you could be the song that repeats in my mind

And in the morning chill, I can feel your poetry
in the chorus of my weary soul
And in the brisk moonlight, I can recognize your violins in the orchestra

you could be the instrument that sparkles
you could be the goodbye that is never uttered
you could be the unspoken and endless limerick
you could be the sorrow that turns into halcyon
you could be the song that repeats in my mind

And in the morning chill, I can watch you play the acoustic guitar whispering your poetry
And in the brisk moonlight, I can see pieces of myself you savor in your tragic song

My books are available here .

by on

Corruption’s Eyesight

Corruption struts but talks with a poisonous tongue
Corruption is an invisible cramp but will shatter your spine
And silence turns into a destructive hurricane
Corruption bleeds black and white but spreads out in a grey sky
Corruption is a bomb with whispers fading in a turbulent fog
And as long as your catatonic eyes are mesmerized by the screen life is shipshape
Corruption is dressed in thousand dollar slacks, cheap mini skirts, and does not discriminate
Corruption is Satan’s heartbeat and greed’s best friend
And as long as you are pointing fingers you are living the American dream
Corruption never sleeps and is awaken with a pitch black grin
Corruption is an irrational and invincible shadow
And every industry will rape you without consent
Corruption is a page filled with half truths, run on sentences, and punctuation that makes your stomach turn
Corruption is a speech written by amateur
burning with hallucinations
And every celebrity you idolize is part of the scheme
Corruption is a weapon to activate division, war, and lethal spending
Corruption is a slippery secret among the powerful and elite
And you won’t find the truth between the taxes and lies
Corruption is a handshake between the enemy and beaucracy
And you will learn to accept it because every soul has a price tag

My books are available here .

by on

To me, music and poetry go hand in hand. I have a playlist that I consistently update weekly. I really enjoy finding musicians or artists that are hidden gems. I tend to add music that is gut wrenching, heartfelt, and voices that stir the soul. I will play the song multiple times to embrace the music and lyrics separately before adding to ensure it fits the playlist. I call this playlist “Breathe in, Breathe Out.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzcXdc7wKyc&pp=ygUeZWR3aW4gbWNhaW4gSeKAmXZlIHNlZW4gYSBsb3Zl

This playlist is cleansing and makes me think of so many things. This kind of music makes me reflect, reminisce, cry at times, and inspires my writing. I call this playlist “Breathe in, Breathe Out” because it brings clarity to the essence of life when I hear it. The music just makes me think about what is important and what isn’t.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9I5nf56SlQA&pp=ygUcbGVyb3kgc2FuY2hleiBpbiB0aGUgc2lsZW5jZQ%3D%3D

My son consistently listens to it as well and it’s priceless to hear him singing the words to any song. I love hearing him sing. He sings so passionately and with joy. It’s a blessing to watch how music impacts him.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUU9kHgOYiQ&pp=ygUdd2lsbCBob2dlIHdoZW4gaSBnZXQgbXkgd2luZ3M%3D

I have added a few songs in this post to share what songs that have been on this playlist. Feel free to provide songs that I can add to this playlist.

My books are available here .

by on

Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone —
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy:
Be silent in that solitude
    Which is not loneliness — for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
    In life before thee are again
In death around thee —  and their will
Shall then overshadow thee: be still.

For the night — tho’ clear — shall frown —
And the stars shall look not down,
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given —
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever :

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish —
Now are visions ne’er to vanish —
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more — like dew-drop from the grass:

The breeze — the breath of God — is still —
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token —
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries! —

My books are available here .

by on

Growth is powerful. Often times you can’t see how much you have grown until you look back at who you were or what you have decided to let go. I have been writing for decades and have kept it a secret. Why? The reasons why I write are endless. It’s therapeutic, mentally stimulating, challenging, a place where I can voice my opinions, and today I believe others can find others or themselves in my poetry.
It can be a place of self discovery and reflection.

Generally speaking, the perspective of a poet by society is someone who is broken, emotionally sensitive, and their voice is better articulated through words on paper than being spoken. To clarify this, written words are better used to express themselves emotionally. I can relate to this part. I am an emotional person and often times I cry because I have no words at times. Today I write with more of bigger purpose. I want to show the world that you people are not broken, they are just misunderstood. They are not surrounded by the right people.

At the end of my first marriage, I took it upon myself to attend therapy. I knew there were some things about me I needed to fix. I am a work in progress, in fact we all are a work in progress and under construction. Two of the things in my marriage that I needed to work on was speaking up for myself and taking control of certain aspects of my life. I was married to a woman who was overbearing, domineering and controlling. She was also an alcoholic. On my end, I wasn’t mature enough to walk away and sought out attention in the wrong way ways. I hid my writing at this time. Therapy gave me guidance and direction.

One of the things that I learned in therapy is that my growth was limited due to my surroundings. My father is quite judgmental and critical. Once I remarried and moved away, my confidence in myself flourished. I saw that I needed to move away. I will never tell my father that because I know that would hurt his feelings. I appreciate all that he is given me and the love that he knows how to give. He doesn’t just seem to care how to present sensitive topics, and how you present them often times is more important than what you say. As I get older, I’m trying to be aware of how I present subjects as well. There is a time to be straight forward, direct and there is a time to communicate with compassion.

In the end, I have grown to try to see the world and life through others eyes. I am not dead set on being right and if I am wrong, I will own up to it. I write poetry from the clouds with eagle eyes and try to embrace humanity. I see humanity without labels. There is a long list of individuals who want the world to change and I stand in a small line where I want to change the world. Everything is perspective and perspective is everything.

My books are available here .

by on

Certified Playboy

I pause to deliver my twenty two bold face lies with a smirk. I pause to hand over my ten percent truth. I pause to reveal my entire identity. I pause with doubt and confidence dancing hand in hand. I pause with disgust and trepidation swelling. I pause with deceit and manipulation twitching in my indistinct eyes.

I am a certified playboy with a bronze grin. I am a storyteller with an agenda as long as a manuscript. I am the best seller with sparkled charm. I have a gift of being selfish without you knowing. I am smooth as silk and hide behind my misery.

I pause with friction and distortion entwined within the gospel. I pause with morals placed in my back pockets. I pause with principles and precision hidden in the crevices. I pause with certainty and authenticity running parallel with my darkness. I pause with the picture torn and shredded.

I have a lethal license in zigzagging and swiveling. I shelter my obscure secrets. I have stashed away my troubles, difficulties and mistakes. I suppress my clouds and fog. I tucked away my accidents and splotchy incidents. I locked up my realness and credibility due to the storm of fears. The pleasure maker in me is drenched from loneliness is too afraid to remove the mask.

My books are available here .