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
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.
In this cracked sky I am meant to burn in your stars fall in your arms with my eyes shut whisper my dreams in your ear reach for your pitch black secrets and feel the magic from your tearful moon
In this cracked sky I am meant to entwine to your untamed scars breathe in your heart pounding shadows serenade my breathtaking desires reach for your defenseless clouds and feel the silhouette of your tearful moon
“Your love is awakening, my vulnerability isn’t shaking, and our love has a spectacular view, I had no idea I would fall in love with all the parts of you”
In this cracked sky I am meant to graze your rattling fears carve out the magnetism from your eyes mutter my fantasies within the moans reach for your tragedies with my tongue and feel the agony of your tearful moon
In this cracked sky I am meant to melt from your invincible wind breathe out my uncontrollable love grip on to your bellowing fascination reach for your deepest and venomous sin and feel the drops of mourning of your tearful moon
“Your love is absolutely real, where my senses are heightened and I can truly feel, I love what we have become, the tears of the moon disappear as we fall deep in love under a smothering sun”
She dances like a ballerina in a snow globe dandelions are adding lyrics to the sound of Mozart the splashes of watercolors were hanging above her elegance She glides for forgiveness and sways for sobriety the tinsel around her fury spirit is no longer sparkling She is twirling and spinning for a numb audience the atmosphere is toxic the ambiance in the snow globe is desolate At the end of the ballet only one rose thrown in front of her feet God threw it with all her might Her tears fell to the floor like a tidal wave She only needed to dance for herself
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.
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
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.
Would you be my savior between the echoes and my morning screams? Would you paint the daffodils in my lucid dreams? Would you erase the smirk from my face? Would you ever remove the melancholy from my darkest place? Would you ever silence me and rip the rhymes from my tongue? Would you gather all the pieces from my heart and mold them back to one?
Will you be my joy and sorrow dripping from my eyes? Will you be my forever and never say goodbye? Will you make promises that you won’t break? Will you learn from the blisters and the comforting mistakes? Will you hold me until the midnight cracks? Will you always have your tenderness send shivers down my back? Will you be my thunder and lightning that my pupils adore? Will you be the one to beside me forevermore? Will you be my waterfall when the wind loses all control? Will you fall in love with my weaknesses and the fragrance of my soul?
Could you be the one to calm my rattled nerves? Could you be the one to hold me when our road curves? Could you be the one to have all the answers to my endless questions? Could you be the song with a sweet hidden message? Could you be the one that makes me smile and laugh in the afternoon rain? Could you be my constant when everyone decides to change? Could you be the one that sets my heart on fire? Could you be the one to fulfill all of my desires? Could you be the one that feels my heart beat? Could you be the one that makes my life complete?
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 was born between a California dream and a fog in the suburbs. I’m twenty percent scarecrow and the rest of me is a lion without a roar. I carry a pen and checkerboard notebook with fear parading in my alcoholic eyes. I have acquaintances that are on parole and a heart that is a victim of aggravated assault. Cassandra my dear, I’ve seen you take money from my camouflaged wallet. You plead insanity, is that what you want to call it? I juggle darkness and anxiety in my head. I fight battles I can’t see and shout at the gargoyles that laugh from the porch.
I fell in love with an embezzler who had a phrase “I don’t steal, I borrow” embroidered on her charcoal jacket. I once kissed an acrobat who tumbled away from my scars. I found myself glaring into an empty glass. I made love to a gypsy whose compassion and character couldn’t sit still. I was fond of a painter who sketched her tears on my chest. I found myself sipping on destruction. I was drawn to a lyricist who couldn’t convey her affection without a melody. I was magnetized to a whistle stopper who refused to stare into the truth. I found myself weeping in the dark gazing at the bottle.
I sat in therapy reliving my enigmatic past. He asked me in his continuous monotone voice “What do you write?” A part of me replied. “I write nonfiction because no one is listening.” He paused and provided his licensed smile. “Can you please share your latest entry?” “I thought I slept in a bed of catastrophe but I recognize that I’m the casualty in this foreign affair. I’m visiting a lackadaisical shrink who knows the answers to his longwinded list of satirical questions. I don’t want people to act like they care and he gets paid to show concern. I just have to move and stop sitting still.”
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.
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.
Grappling with a toxic incubus Static tangled up in hallucinations A diabolical perpetrator is lurking Dabbling with molecules and carbons And I sleep with annihilation
Memorizing the periodic table of elements Sinister mind combining mercury and lead A splash of chromium, pinch of caesium Blending a explosion in a wicked bottle And I sleep with obliteration
Ensuring a plague like disease spreads wide A blackhearted voice speaks with a chuckle Corrupted hands, apocalyptic intentions Selfishness wrapping around throats And I sleep with termination
Belligerent critters stalking the lands Referencing the last chapter of the divine Symbolic torture rest within the dollars Greed softens up the lips and tongue And I sleep with eradication
A clash of reasons, brawl between sins Fears sobbing until the break of dawn Scent of misery swarmed the dirt End of virtues, end of light And I sleep with a contagious virus
Storm of Ink 