Robert Frost examines “The Road Not Taken” I reach for the boulevards that will leave you breathless and your hands shaking I gravitate to the discoveries, lost souls and serenity in the changing lanes I am magnetized to those who pick up the pieces and leave the remains I find light, truth, and spirituality between the signs I spill the ink on what humanity can not find I find the dark, screams, and tears at the intersections I savor the twinkling memories despite the disconnections I embrace the scenery while driving extremely slow Get on the off ramp, turn on Unpaved Crossroads
I didn’t advertise this and I should have when I released this book, the majority of poems are personal. This collection was written over a long period of time. Through out my life I’ve used writing poetry as an outlet because I had no one to turn to. My mother passed away at a young age, 48, due to health issues. I grew up watching her being sick but take it like a champion. She was one of the first people to have had a liver transplant. Due to medicine, the medicine at the present time killed her kidneys. Because of this, I struggle with intimacy in many ways. My father was an alcoholic and in my twenties I married one. In my thirties I had outgrown my ex wife and wanted more in life as she digressed. She made the choice to say she didn’t have a problem when she did. Long story short, she killed herself after our divorce and left her daughter behind. I can admit I was not a perfect husband, I did some things I shouldn’t have done.
I went back to school to improve myself while trying to work. During that time, I met the woman I eventually married – a strong but vibrant woman. I fell in love with her ocean blue eyes and her gentle spirit. She works in the medical field to save lives and commend her for that. I now have a four year old son that looks up to me and strive to be a better person.
I want my writing to serve several purposes. I want people to look inward and identity their own destructive patterns that prevent them from any form of growth. Perhaps if you can recognize them, you can see them in others. I think most answers that we seek are within ourselves. We do need help from time time, but essentially it starts with being honest with yourself. But we struggle to look at ourselves because it’s hard.
Although I’ve started out writing from a personal place, I trained myself to write from different perspectives by observing humanity. I’ve also learned to write just for fun, for me, and to challenge myself to approach the writing process from a technical stand point.
I often use humor and sometimes am inappropriate at times because I don’t want people to know the real me because the real fear is that they will leave me. Making and maintaining friendships is a challenge. I don’t have any male friends that I do things with and to some degree I am ok with it for various reasons. I go by the motto “a pen and a piece of paper won’t leave me like people.”
I am a work in progress like everyone else. Today was the day I felt the need to share my a part of my story.
Every time you sit here, feels like you have gained some weight I can see you eat at the dinner table Do you really need the second hot dog on that paper plate? It would be one thing if you only sat here for an hour or two But you sit here for like four or five Don’t you have other things to do? I notice you watch reruns and see that same episode three or four times You eat cake, ice cream, chips, Even I’m beginning to know the next line I use to be more fluffy, vibrant, full of color, plush, and the greatest item in the room Let me remind you, it’s been a long time since I’ve smelled another woman’s perfume There are times I have to close my eyes just some things I just don’t want to see It’s childish, ridiculous, preposterous to hear you yell at a sixty five inch TV It doesn’t listen, respond, nor it does it care your football team lost by three For the love of God, just for once Could you please think about me?
Maria laid down some finger tapping, cement cracking, soul jerking, blue collar working, southern catfish blues Maria crooned a seaside melody, number one remedy, a splash of sass, with a heavenly blast, A feel good sunshine kind of tune
Chet was blaring his shiny trombone JJ was banging his drum with his golden sticks Ryan was strumming his acoustic guitar And all the neighbors rocked until dark
And she will get you to clap your hands every ten seconds And she will get you to move your feet in rhythm And she will take away all your pain for a while And she will make you forget what is missing And if you make a left on Rolling Thunder you can hear the guitar playing And when you drive away you can feel the earth swaying…
Maria cried out “Sha la la” with a swirl, a vintage southern girl, hitting high notes with a grin, no losers here all the jesters win, music playing all day and night Maria dancing with a glide, happiness soaring in her eyes, carrying a enigmatic glow, putting on a show, her voice shinning so bright
And she will get you to clap your hands every ten seconds And she will get you to move your feet in rhythm And she will take away all your pain for a while And she will make you forget what is missing And if you make a left on Rolling Thunder you can hear the guitar playing And when you drive away you can feel the earth swaying…
Chet was blaring his shiny trombone JJ was banging his drum with his golden sticks Ryan was strumming his acoustic guitar And all the neighbors rocked until dark
No prescription for your malady No antidote for your cynical inflammation No injection for your discolored points of view No drug for your toxic disorder No capsule for your upended character No serum for your ill advised prejudice No elixir for your disgusted stance No dose for your insensitive notions No sedative for your piles of insecurities No remedy for your black and white beliefs
“I opened my eyes to see the ugliness and beauty of humanity”
Braeden Michaels creates a curve in the poetic stratosphere revealing glimpses of the characters who walk amidst the life of newly-widowed Stella Walker. By exposing the flaws, scars, quirks, and the light we see in each other, this profound collection generates a fine line between friendships and acquaintances.
Within these pages, we are introduced to different shades of colorful characters in varying points of their lives. Every poem describes the hidden truths and realities of human attributes. Each perfectly imperfect person we meet is a representation of the people we run across in our individual journeys which then become stepping stones in our own growth.
I drank rain from a malevolent cup
and I couldn’t touch the terror in the wind
I distinctly felt the extinction in the air
and the intruders inside me left fingerprints
I anticipated the rumblings, jitters, and
the despair to rest in my esophagus
I stood in the fog seven miles away from
the shadows and the vile from the hill
I swallowed ignorance with a blend of
dismay, concern and suspicion
I fell before the behemoth’s sins and
I stared at the tarnished wisdom
I inhaled the scent of darkness
and I could feel the breeze of agony
I witnessed my logic, quirks, and talking
Skeleton disappear into the clouds
I was consumed by crisis oriented faith,
misplaced psychology, and charades
I stared at the dementia with my lip
quivering and with the aftertaste of sorrow
I stood six feet apart from the quicksand
and the rattle swimming in the sea of chaos
I severed the gospel from my identity
and I muttered words of inadequacy
I stepped on the carousel of deception
and shrugged off human decency
I became one with the vile from the hill
and detested the color of my pupils
I was obsessed by the anxiety and the
venom in my stomach turned into stone
I was crushed by my weaknesses
and the stench of loneliness dispersed
I devoured the indecisions, complexity,
and the tears in my eyes evaporated
I despised the grave of my haunting past
and ignored the road to the sunrise
Storm of Ink 