Antidotes tasting like black coffee
A chalk outline of Patterson’s grumbles
China dolls parade 13th street with
residue on the corners of their mouths
Adversaries hack up off colored jokes
under a jagged and teary eyed sun
whispering forgotten fairy tales
“I can’t shine, I don’t have time,
I’m lost and forgotten in these rhymes”

And the ghost of Patterson counts his secrets
Smears his name at the gates for attention
Picking the lock, shouting at the kingdom

Romantics playing hopscotch on
cracked and overused sidewalks
Protagonists and thieves banter
in the smog at Jameson’s bar on Kingsman
Cynics and skeptics erasing evidence
of hope on belligerent walls
Butterflies flying over restless Samaritan’s
chained to oxidized dumpsters
Walker struts with a nervous alibi

And the ghost of Patterson counts the bullets
painting his name on the golden walls
Crouched down, yelling at the kingdom

Walker stalks the neighbors, wrestles with friction, and turns into a killjoy
Leaking out minor details and spilling of a lethal homicide filled with inquiries
Butterflies swarm the garden, surrounding a sealed box
Sounds of an ax break the venerable crate
Intriguing signatures, bag of money, and a letter from Patterson to a world class criminal
Conviction and Walker go hand in hand

And the ghost of Patterson sheds its feathers
Staring up at a dot of light,
Staring down at a dot of black,
Cemented in a glass underworld

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

And she seduces hour by hour


My books are available here.

I’ve watched you become the acrobatic apologist
I’ve heard about the yellow fellow who broke your melodic heart
I’ve recited the third page from your journal pertaining to your inadequacies
For your wounds will heal in the garden
I stand as your protector, silver shield, and the knight in the desert
My love for you is a basket of gold
I’ve witnessed the boy who cemented crippling demands
I’ve stared at the smeared carmine lipstick
on your oval mirror and that reads
“The chip on my shoulder weighs a ton”
I’ve scolded the gentleman who made claims of manhood
For your discolorations will be cleansed
I stand as your defender, eagle’s eye, and sword
My love for you is fearless and is a scent of heaven
I’ve growled at the heathens who replaced love with immaturity and lust
Daphne, my beloved, your fantasies and dreams are sacred
Your darkness can shine in our universe


My books are available here.

I use to wear a serenading taxi cab colored sweatshirt with a patch of of birds heading south for the winter to Morgan’s house
She’d always laugh at the caption below
“Are we there yet?” and pour me a drink
She paraded her fathers den that reeked of nicotine and late night affairs
Flipping through the eclectic taste of albums
Spinning the quarter in the afternoon air
Indecisiveness roaming like a soldier
Morgan was the advocate of passive aggressiveness
Mumbling curse words and playing with a rubber band in tangled dialogues
Morgan would often lean in and tap her fingers on my thigh as if she was playing the piano
Slightly obtrusive and deliberately coy
Consistently playing word games with my emotions
Shouting “Love is fickle, but you could dance with me for a nickel”
Often devilish wearing a copper halo
Tossing idioms between stirred pauses
Blatantly ignoring the officer in the pictures on the olive walls
She referred to him as the man that dragged her from state to state
Leaving her in decorated homes with meaningless jewelry
Constantly toying with closeness and distance with my lips in the sanctuary
Shaking my head from the autumn perfume
From month to month my title changed from tool box to aberration
On that fateful hour I made the doorbell sing and no one replied
Glancing down at the welcome mat I picked up the ivory envelope
Ramblings were engraved and cemented
Paragraphs leaving a starry eyed melody
Entranced by the last line that catapulted reality
“The officer who claims to be my father hasn’t taught me how to say goodbye”

Loveless Eyes

She rambles within her scattered and spinning monologue, a speech incomprehensible

She scrambles the phrases unapologetically and unleashes long winded statements

Continues to prance inside her lies, behind those loveless eyes

“I spend my life to prove others wrong, those are the lyrics to my tragic song”

She clarifies the subject matter in a bow to one gender

She defines the topic with tantalizing innuendos to the other gender

Continues to wear that disguise, to hide
those loveless eyes

“I spend my life to prove to others that I’m right, those are my words in this never ending fight”

She’s threatened by others intellect as her insecurities bite

She clings to the accusations and defends her spotted purity

Continues to prance inside her lies, behind those loveless eyes

“I spend my life to prove to others that I’m on the right direction, claiming that I don’t need anyone’s affection”

Forgetting in the end to love herself


My books are available here.

I am the color black
wrapped up in a midnight curse
torture dripping down my bleached face
gripping on to the endangered lies
whispers growling in my prejudice ears
sorrow was a door to throw away my beliefs
clutching on to the skeleton chain
tomorrow weeps from my skewed perception, stumbling in the waterfalls, praying to blurry shadows and the sinister moon, I sip on the poison of a poor man’s cup and I hide in the mist to make me blind
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
severed from the spinning rainbow
buzzards flying around my dying tree
decaying stains, fumbling in the dark
crawling toward the vibrations of the stigma
haunted by my twitching nerves
anxiety and insecurities boiling on the inside
grief jumbled, agony waltzing
carrying heartbreak over my shoulders
I quietly stare into the atoms of my distress
molecules sizzling, bloodstream crying
depths of discomfort, circling headaches
and I seek grace with a pitchfork and knives
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
ripped from the sobbing vermillion sky
distinctively malevolent, serene and ill
tarnished and frozen, inside the frostbite
slightly obscene, smothered in vile
a predator within, carrying a tarantula grin
vertigo parading, obscurity blending
corrosion running down my esophagus
A diabolical mind dipped in scarlet oil
walking with a criminal like scent
cemetery gray with a pinch of graveyard dirt
a night crawler climbing in your memory
spellbinding oblivion, twisted secrets
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
unhinged and sadistic salivating from the burns, scatterbrained, splash of schizophrenia, thousand microscopic splinters in my cornea
I’m a child of the fifth obsidian scarecrow
untouched apricot skin, labeled as a dead end, hunger promenading, brisk spasms
lightning smacks across my crimson back
fractured, friction is my lifeless mother
I live in a atmosphere of short breaths and
gasping for oxygen among my bothers
consistently sucker punched and jabbed
with crude remarks, self esteem is hollow
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
characterized as the lustrous sin
specks of halcyon, spots of carmine
symbolizing annihilation and wreckage
disfiguring truth, a heinous sparkle
I strut with apocalyptic and corrupt nerves
veins filled with cynicism and suspicion
doubt trickling, hyperboles drooling nonstop
fiction rolling off my slanderous lips
sugarcoated fabrication stewing
I’ve shaped my ruthless tombstone
Viciousness is my fathers favorite drink
I’ve learned to slurp vengeance
Lord, save me from the lake of screams

I am the color black
stamped as a disastrous villain
I smirk at tragedy and illuminate within magic, identified as a slithering savage
I slap hope with a monstrous hand
distinguished as liquid monstrosity
I despise faith and lurch in your nightmares
venom is like loose change in my pockets
I’ve exchanged bitten conversations with corpses in my slaughterous backyard
quietly, I am the joker who plays with satire
and explosive irony, kiss the rage on my cheek, I am the gift you are afraid to open
Lord, save me from the lake of screams


My books are available here.

For you and the truth,
I lay awake circling my vulnerability
I can taste the poison on my tongue
I dwell in my pond of insecurities
I gnaw at my unspoken and sedated soul
I claw at my resilience with my tired fingers
I pick at my invisible wounds with an axe
I watch the apprehension hang over my head
I whisper to my demons “listen to the crack”

I am holding your hand with one eye open
a gust of change feels like a storm
I’m terrified to open up both eyes
to see I don’t deserve you

For you and the truth,
I find myself misplaced and disoriented
I spot the conditions and uncontrollable urges
I removed the hindering spotlight
I am haunted by my effervescent carnival
I have waved goodbye to the magnetic carousel
I steer toward the corridor of isolation
I clutch on to the paradise dancing in your eyes
I am sinking in the malevolent circus

I am holding your hand with one eye open
a gust of change feels like a storm
I’m terrified to open up both eyes
to see I don’t deserve you

For you and the truth,
I am weeping on the inside in this masquerade
I am praying I will find edges of my identity
I leave my pieces behind reaching for you
I grip on to tomorrow and replay yesterdays
I cough up the suffocating air and sorrow
I choke on my frustrations and crooked thunder
I see the lightning in my affliction
I recognize the heartache that flickers within

I am holding your hand with one eye open
a gust of change feels like a storm
I’m terrified to open up both eyes
to see I don’t deserve you


My books are available here.

I am a connoisseur of analogies and a lost paragraph. The expectations are nonexistent and the inconsistencies are bloodletting. I’ve washed my hands in rain and rinse them in agony. I hate to stare in my complexion of mediocrity. I walk around with a fistful of aspirations and cough up restlessness. She keeps the awakening truth inside her shell. She ignores the knock on the door of confrontation.My knuckles are shaking. I spell out my fantasies in luscious ink as she pretends to read them.

I am the cerebral nighthawk that dances in the moonlight and dreams like a joker. I follow the road without a sign, just the sound of dragonflies, and the heartbreaking temptations.She’s made claims that I have acquaintances and sidekicks. She’s joined in holy matrimony with a introverted cynic who’s dying on the inside as the second hand moves. She holds in her frustrations and the fears stuck to her palms. I play with riddles and hide between the ten feet conundrums. I play with her subconscious and the ghosts that appear in her sleep. The end is just the beginning and the beginning is just a part of the end.


My books are available here.

Between the ivory blank page
and the tangle among the frozen words
I grunted frustrations and dabbed
my fingers in the reverberating clouds
Love was written for daydreamers
I vigorously plucked the petals from
the fortune teller’s teary eyed rose
Agony and torment stretched out
along my hypersensitive spine
Tenderness was shattered into fragments
glaring at the distinguished pieces
Astonished from the inward discovery
never seeking the grace within
Clarity crept in under a cherry tree


My books are available here.

She murmured sardonic puns, three line riddles and a secret written by her morning phantom
She was sipping on Coca Cola with percolating eyelashes carrying a catatonic grin
I sighed “your diabolical scent is quite ravishing and eloquent”

I didn’t mean to ignite the past
I didn’t mean to love you with the left eye
I didn’t mean to fall so hard with a faithless romantic

She gargled bits of authenticity, lucid theories, and swallowed a vitamin of intensity
She often spills her aggression, animosity, and uneven morals in her bloodhound diary
I cringed “your radiant light is piercing through the thick of the night”

I didn’t mean to surrender to your heart of stone
I didn’t mean to adore your nightmares
I didn’t mean to wipe away the rain in the storms

She has a mystifying language drenched in symbolism and an accent with a pinch of kindness
She miscalculated and misplaced the affection
I gasped “your insidious magic feels like gold, makes me wonder why your story hasn’t been told”

I didn’t mean to say those words
I didn’t mean to remove your veil
I didn’t mean to make you so afraid


My books are available here.

I use to languish in the polygon of my weeping mind

I thirst for the fragments of my anguish to mold my center

I use to sulk inside myself and drink the wine of selfishness

I sunk my teeth into the dejection

I use to dwell in the camouflage and sink in my words

I swam in the black river under the oppression

I use to neglect faith and drown in the empty tear ducts

I fell into the depths of silence

I use to grieve in the awaken sadness and never sleep

I felt the last breath deceive me

I use to shed my dead skin in the morning to erase the gloomy nights

I carried a chain of misery

I use to gasp at the hollowness and gazed at the autograph

I refused to stare at the nemesis

I saw the signature and found it revolting

A transformation within shouted


My books are available here.

Author and poet Braeden Michaels delves into the many-layered political realms in his newest collection, Growl from the Sun. Beginning with his fourteen-page magnum opus of the same name, he confronts and denounces modern society and the politics of the day. No stone is left unturned. There are no sides, no labels, only raw emotion and unbending truth. This gritty selection of poetry is sure to provoke introspection and deep conversations for any who dare open its pages.

My books are available here.

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


My books are available here.

I’ve been cauterized by my figment of
my bleary imagination
I’ve overlooked the obscurity dripping
in the marrow of my bones
I’m reminded of my thin sensibilities
drifting in a whirl
my memories weep in the photograph of
Black-Eyed Susans in the vase
next to the grin of my brave mother

Thank you for the encouragement
Thank you for the warmth
Thank you for walking with me in the dark
Thank you for the light
you gave your grandson

I’ve been sobbing at the gravesite
with a four leaf clover clenched in my hand
I’ve heard the growl within the pieces
of my shattered heart
I’ve stared into the loss and the pins
sticking in my sensitive nerves
my memories weep in the photograph of
Black-Eyed Susans in the vase
next to the grin of my brave mother

Thank you for the joy
Thank you for the unconditional love
Thank you for your never ending presence
Thank you for the smile
you gave your grandson


My books are available here.

Author and poet Braeden Michaels delves into the many-layered political realms in his newest collection, Growl from the Sun. Beginning with his fourteen-page magnum opus of the same name, he confronts and denounces modern society and the politics of the day. No stone is left unturned. There are no sides, no labels, only raw emotion and unbending truth. This gritty selection of poetry is sure to provoke introspection and deep conversations for any who dare open its pages.


My books are available here.

Forget me not, my sweet fears
I found untouchable verses within my discomfort
I found veracity within the crevices of the dark
I found my reflection staring into my tattoo of courage
I found emptiness deeper than this bottle

And my tears dry up and it’s time to stand up
And my anxiety carries a heart beat
And my passion bleeds forever more
And my endless ink soars like a blackbird

“Take my hand, I can no longer do this alone.
I can admit, I can no longer do this on my own”

Forget me not, my sweet fears
I found my imagination spinning out of control
I found my recklessness ripping me at the seams
I found my identity buried in a grave with a bouquet of havoc on top
I found my revelations reading scripture

And my tears dry up and it’s time to stand up
And my anxiety carries a heart beat
And my passion bleeds forever more
And my endless ink soars like a blackbird

“Take my hand, I can no longer keep hurting myself,
I can admit, something inside needs some help”


My books are available here.

I’m glaring at a absent generation
minds glued to screens, tabloids,
Improving technology to do less
exercising depreciating value
at a ridiculous and outrageous rate
waving at the growl of the sunrise
four to six times a year, if that
operating like a business losing funds
I’m gawking at the disappearing
fundamentals, the backbone of humanity
digress, blaming the collapse of
civilization, pointing fingers at plastic
leadership, ignorance tattooed from
head to toe, wearing air pods to only
hear the agendas cloaked in madness
environmentalists shaking their heads

“listening” was just a nomadic word
fumbling around like a homeless man
sipping on vodka from his rustic flask
And the billions can feel the blisters
on their lackadaisical and passive feet
from the furious sun that hides behind
sinister clouds, rattle me off that diabolical
speech with spite beaming in your eyes
I can see our enemies juggling bullets
and nuclear warfare with a legislative grin
where the truth is hidden, lies are contagious
speaking from both sides of the mouth
camouflaging motives and authenticity

I have witnessed the formation of the
surface world order, removing shovels,
eyebrows not raised, accepting mediocrity
I am surrounded by mosquitos, snakebites,
takers, and a symphony playing in the
background of reality where the screams
are silent and the violence is obscene
I walk throughout the forest to seek peace
but only to discover the fall of humanity
“Borrow, borrow, borrow, we will pay the
high interest tomorrow, and forevermore”
the economy fluctuates, bargains with salesmen, trades with allies, shakes hands
with the murderers, and the sun boils like it’s
sitting on a hot stove at 6:30pm in suburbia
waiting for a mother of three to throw in a pound of rigatoni’s to cook, run down and tired from the six hours of restless sleep working
two jobs, patiently hanging for her ex husband
to knock on her sanguine door to hand her a a child support check that will most likely bounce

And the children develop atrocious habits,
slightly dysfunctional, erratic behavior, struggling in school, and the therapy bill
shows up three months past due
And she can’t pay that, saving nickels and dimes to take her joker like ex back to court
And the cycle of justice, lack of law
spins like a carousel without any pauses
education slowly slipping out the pyramid
degrees acquired through sixty five inch tv’s
while paperback books became archaic
illiteracy, comprehension, critical thinking,
tossed into a body bag and thrown into
the bloodhound River by hundred thousand
dollar jesters playing as puppet masters
dictating, removing “history”, deciding
on relevance, worth and silver dollar merit
Suits and paisley ties, accountants, who fixate
on numbers lack the ability to “understand”
people, individuals, and civilians
And the sun cringes at the decision makers,
narcissists behind a desk, keep drinking the
Devil’s urine, believe in your hypocrisy
your bed is on the bottom floor breathing
in his arrogance and his cryptic verbiage

I’ve glanced at the complexity of relationships
but see the shade of nuances in simplicity
break down the triangle into savoring sections
remove the minutia, erase the routine
create mouthwatering memories, frame the
watercolors of kisses and fragments of
the beloved tears, surrender to the emotions
light up humanity with a endearing greeting
extract the labels of humans, classify and only
subjects, things, and objects not individuals
advertise nothing, be who you are, be the magnet, collect the pieces that make you whole, ignore the punchlines, block out the
negativity, embrace the smiles, make new beginnings and say goodbye to the nerve
crashing endings, celebrate life, the seconds,
move forward, don’t sit still, rely on your instincts, love your shadow, and never stop dreaming, be who you want to be, grow from the sunshine

I steer clear from the plexiglass propaganda,
narrow minded narrative and the acidic agenda
I chuckle and smirk at the raised clenched fist
In my peripheral vision, I can see the dancing tricksters, articulate magicians, and the monotone zombies pacing on the streets
I am a stained bystander, observing the division, but put the universe under a
microscope and visually see Gods hand
holding the earth with tears falling from his
cheek, I can hear him whisper a few words,
but the only clear word I grasp is “rapture”
I can see tragedies thrown into junkyards
due to corporations believing anything
and everyone is expendable and has a price
And the sun turns it’s head, no longer in front of the vast kingdom we speak about
And the sun disappears like a unspoken ghost
hibernating from the turbulent storms

I scoffed at the down dressed pan handler that quietly entered his Mercedes Benz between
Delusive Avenue and Excrement Road
I wasn’t startled to hear the egos of pin stripped suits brag about what they owned
I drive by the boarded up apartments that
have been empty for a decade but filled with rats and carry a stench for endless miles
I scan the faded newspaper of the landlord who lives in a palace who is liable for the boxed up
belittled residence, slightly haunted and eerie
I recognize empty fields, hollow playgrounds,
clear parks, and trees that don’t hear a word
leaves blowing away, hushed and dampened,
melancholy drips into the creeks, fear deepen
ideologies hit a threshold, spirituality is a fog
serenity is crawling, chaos and havoc strut
hand in hand, cynicism is filling the air,
humanity generating the poisonous pollution


My books are available here.

She disguises herself with prescriptions
and 1970 cliches. More often she sleeps in black leaves and clenches to the whispers of the blizzard. She prays to the secondhand lions and searches for forgotten riddles. She laughs at horror films and weeps at the comedy classics. She’s never used the word forgiven.

She wrestles with the fears in the morning and drowns in the insomnia at night. She speaks in a language without discretion. She plays with her skeletons in the closet. She ignores the left side of her imagination. She dances to jazz and dips her fingers into white pages to write enigmatic poetry.

She expresses affection with amber kisses and her fingertips. She said goodbye to her fireflies. She built walls with quicksand and tears. She stares at her right side of her imagination. She pleads with the stone truth. She’s witnessed more endings than beginnings.

She circles her anger like a hawk. She’s deprived of human decency. She loves with a small percent of her tattered heart. The rest is locked in a music box surrounded by caution tape. She sings to her frustrations to soothe the madness. She’s in love with only parts of her identity.


My books are available here.

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


My books are available here.