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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

My books are available here.

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With bureaucracy, cities are filled with coal black odor and oily propaganda
With a nation split, curbsides are weeping
ignored tears
With silent voices, the suburbs are submerged in delinquent credit cards
With unlocked screens, cybersecurity is ringing in their ears
With devastation, vacant buildings are filled with cynical vagabonds

Within the letters from Johnson Boulevard
I can feel the thunderous chill
I can feel the drops of poverty hit the ground

With phobias, the empyrean is brimming with frozen echoes and hallucinations
With trampling chaos, wallets are vacant and figureheads spit out quarters
With melancholy, anklebiters and adolescences lose a pinch of oxygen
With blatant defamation, freedom is pulled and slapped
With misinformation, points of view are written with a vindictive tongue
With fraudulence, whispers and blackmail are sleeping in a king size bed

Within the letters from Johnson Boulevard
I can feel the winter’s nights subside
I can feel the battle’s fire descend

With deceit, finger pointing and raised eyebrows come with nail biting
With money laundering, hands of indulgence
are shaking
With bombshells, ammunition comes in diabolical forms
With sleep deprivation, insomnia is staring at the eyes of the moon
With coercion, manipulation is a bouquet of addictive flowers
With anger, the dust is swept away under a hand knotted rug

Within the letters from Johnson Boulevard
I can feel the pride sparkle like a star
I can feel the graveyard’s breeze glisten

With commentary, opinions shuffle and parade in the opaque air
With disregard, wings disintegrate and laughter is tossed in the dumpster
With hopelessness, arbitrary symptoms turn into a derogatory spell
With disinterest, the jargon is masked with ill conceived agendas
With double talk, the carelessness tone is at full volume

Within the letters from Johnson Boulevard
I can feel liberty silently falling from her cheek
I can feel the compassion scream as the ink dries

My books are available here.

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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.

by on

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.