Photographs stir inside
Grasping a birthday wish
Thirst and hunger subside
Frustrations built like a wall

Slowly, yet with sated ease,
Allowing you to enter,
You break the walls of slicing past
And pull me from my centre

Staring at what I should have done
Gravitating to a brand new me
No longer sipping on cravings
Voices stretch out to you

Allowing words to touch my sense
It may have left me long ago…
And in the midst of innocence
I tremble as new wings grow

Sweet fascination spreads
Leaping for your finger tips
Throwing away could haves
October skies open up

I let the rain pour over me
Cleanse my doubts and cure my mind,
Cast out shadows of bruised yesterdays
Tiptoe through days I’m yet to find

Reborn and teary eyed
Appreciation drenched in our song
Fallen and tattered
Still seeing and clenching on to you

My voice cries notes of you and I,
You heal my wounds, I will not die
In storms I hold you, beat your heart
A molten canvas, whispered art.


Braeden – Non Italics

Fiery – Italics

Check out Fiery’s blog if you haven’t! This was really fun and enjoyed collaborating with her!

There’s a blue ball in the gutter
The willows weep amidst the oaks
Drunk street sweepers spreading trash in the air
Abandoned porch swings on hundred year old houses
Blackstrap molasses dripping from that window seal

The Post office is flooded with lost letters of love
The PTA is full of divorced housewives giving the acronym new meaning
The cathedral on 2nd street has been empty
for a decade
The minister can only preach on Sunday’s playing poker sipping on whiskey

Faded hopscotch in rundown school yards
Old man Beetle dressed to the nines for a walk to the donut shop
Laughing girls in pigtails tossing a coin in the fountain
That woman there sneaking a smoke behind the doctors office
What is that strange smell in the air

The asphalt has pot holes screaming murder
Stop signs blushing like lovers on the beach
57’ Chevy is chasing the rabid dog around the square
Rhinestone glasses waitress wins lottery goes broke in sixty seconds
And the pond on Summersby Lane has fish crooning Dean Martin

A police chase down Main st
Same story same time last week
Dirty little secrets of hit it and quit it
Who’s that the preachers wife driving on the wrong side of the street
It’s poison from the power plant on the edge of town

The crab apple tree has leaked mystique
On the bottom of Lake Plateau lives six dead men
And Butchers Field has dancing scarecrows
And the Barber Shop on 3rd Street has chatter that never ends

Peculiar feeling here
The sign at the homeless shelter has been blinking less for years
That house on the corner a double murder suicide
Swept under the rug in the police chiefs house
Don’t mind me I’m just the messenger

Crime rates doubled downtown
Not a dime or a fade penny on the streets
Too many ex lovers chugging medicine at Stella’s Bar
Not enough landscapes or rivers on this side of town
No one here sits on a porch gazing at the stars
Too many staring at the end of a bottle


Braeden – Italics

Stella – Non Italics

This was a fun collaboration with Stella! Check out her blog if you haven’t!

Unpaved pitch black
Torturous and twisting
Glaring at a rustic sign
Unrecognizable and foreign
A lump in my throat

Cracked rear view mirror
Pieces of a faded sunset
Reflect a wrong direction
No map to point us South
Toward a new life, new route

Passing up Evergreen Cafe
Sipping on luke warm French Vanilla
Clenching to my hand
Whispering fear next to me
Grasping onto hope like a flask

I slip a quarter in the jukebox
My lips moving to a song
Forgotten in the tattered backseat
A memory that makes me yearn
For heat, flesh and forgiveness

Locked in the friend zone
Secrets guarded with a flag
Minimal and discrete conversation
Continually crossing borders
Stations only turned twice

Silence embraces then suffocates
Greener pastures a mirage
Our defenses are stone walls
Covered with heavy sighs
My hand crosses the fine line

Stuck at a broken light
Struck by the moving sensation
Trying to hide the risen tension
As she stares at my flush face
Urges from her leap forward

Unsure if he will yield
to the congestion of emotion
My smile a signal or a hazard
Time for me to shift gears
And fuel his lost passion

In the midst of driving
Unthinkable and unforgettable
Lips surrounded
Lighting a fire
Masterful tongue

The windows fogged
With curvaceous temptation
Our journey begins anew
A landscape drawn and devoured
In flashes of passing lights

Barriers removed
No caution tape around
Wanted and needed
Slipping into her palm
Astonished and amazed


Braeden – Non Italics

Amberangst – Italics

Check out Whiskey Tales and Spells if you haven’t! This was really fun to collaborate with her!

Somewhere east along Highway 37
A neon sign flashes intermittently vacancy
The Scarecrow Hotel remains alone
Stained threadbare carpets muffle TVs
And tearful phone conversations
Sixteen parking spaces yet only four filled
Warm shower and a sagging bed for the night

The ancient bricks lure the demented and sick
Vultures eying through the windows
Black and blue clouds crying endlessly
Wooden floors feeling troubled feet
Surrounded by ravens and blackbirds
Five miles east of the bloodhound river

She threw her suitcase on the queen
Predictably it flew wide open
The latches never held right, just like her heart
Two changes of clothing to cover her bruises
He’ll never touch her again but
Wrinkled clothing and a wad of cash
Don’t heal scarred faces

The letter “E” is barely visible in the sign
Voices humming a overture in the cellar
Last names engraved on walls by spirits
Doorknobs hanging by three threaded bolts
Driveway gravel is black as night
Welcome mat covered in red ants

He stares into the chipped mirror
Five o’clock shadow daily dulls razor blades
Just like the rings that dull his once bright eyes
The phone bill shows her increasing texts
Every time he travels to pay for her wants
More hours, more money, more fancy things
Less of him with less of her, he looks away

Dark stories unfolding in the rooms
Sheets covered in lies and betrayal
Cigarette smoke stirring up shadows
Tiny cracks in every bathroom’s mirror
Brown mustard dripping from faucets
Stained tears found in the corners of closets

She hears voices not her own
Listens every day upon a rented bed
One weekend she opened her eyes
Bloody hands and a very dull knife beside her
Finally a quiet clean house
Ever since then she lives with a smile
Mama taught her little girl don’t take no shit

Storytellers, dreamers, and howlers visit
Intending to sleep but fall in the depths
Replaying memories of the past
Cynics and liars raise a toast at the bar
Tipping the bartender bullets instead of dollars
Quarrels served at the table tops

He loosens a tie used as a tourniquet
Money well spent on the tricks of a whore
Last Friday he played two gigs stacked
Brain damage found in riding a white horse
Picks up his guitar and hums a few chords
Remembers the eyes of a lover
It’s another night, another hotel, another road

A neon sign flashes vacancy nonstop
Full of headaches, screams, and lost souls
Built on a cemetery of the Crowe family
Generations of terror between 6am and midnight
Sleep is just a word inside these haunted walls
Stories never die…


Braeden – non italic

Tara – Italics


This was a fun collaboration! I enjoyed it. Check out her blog if you haven’t.

Roses of transparent moments collide

I do a moist conversation in the horizon of the orange sky

I am drenched in sweat craving your magical words

I am lost in the softness of your mind

I float on lips of resurrection, I hang in the golden wax of your lotus body

I hang and you hold me like the dripping twists and turns on fold of my skin,

I disappear on Cupid’s pavement searching for your fragile soul

I inhale your breathless scars

I have counted pain, I have sustained and coloured my pain

I sip your honey in the chalice of my tongue

I embrace your canvas like an artist

I have fallen for your words like a ballerina

Your words strike paradise and pour a lump of seasons.

A travesty, tapestry, Titanic.

I am in awe of your twinkling perception

I cradle your warmth and stitches

As I take birth and die in the symmetry of your curve.

I am in reborn absorbing your divine essence


My words – Italics

My Valiant Soul – Non Italics

Check out My Valiant Soul blog. She is a brilliant writer and it was a pleasure to collaborate with her.

The serpentine somnambulence of fire,
like a drop of a dragon, encapsulated in
pine kindling and smoking oak, the stone
fireplace watches her as she poems ink,
birthing galaxies on old parchment, and
as the flames grow, she sees sentences
dancing in the gold and orange, alight
muses nine of Apollo, burning just for her.

Under a catastrophic star he stares into the abyss of the flames. Forgotten love hibernates within the charcoal as he gazes at her lost wick. Castles drift in his mind as he wishes the blaze never died out. She stands in front of the tangerine edges seeing her soul be reignited.

There are bonds of ashes that settle like
the dust of an old book with intaglios of
her former lover in the flames, immolated,
she was a witch on a pyre for him, he was
gasoline poured onto her bonfire, and now
all that is left are dead nebulae and ghosts
of “I do.” She arises a phoenix, only to see
him, in the space between shadows, a ghost.

There are screams within the chandelier dreams. There are fires within the light, there is a glimpse of light in the flames. No matter where he turns, no matter where she rises, there will always be a breeze of ink. Hearts need to bleed, veins need to cry, and pages never fade. The gust of memories will live forevermore.


Dances with TrickstersItalics

Braeden Michaels – Non Italics

It was a pleasure to collaborate with Allie. Please check out her blog!