From the mind of Braeden Michaels, drink from this cup, the raven’s poison, a concoction of his collected poems all about the human condition. Imbibe in the rainbow of emotions found in the soul’s colors and taste the bitter aftertaste when you’re drenched in rage.
Indulge in the reasons beneath dripping lust before absorbing all the ways we experience our wide-ranging flavors of love and finish off with a sip of self-destruction. This is us. Humanity. All the layers stripped away and arranged for your pleasure.
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?
I stopped searching for answers in the corridors and the empty halls. I stopped searching for whispers where my frustrations growled. I stopped searching for innocence where scars burned. I stopped searching for the lullaby on the carousel and in the carnival. I stopped searching for the exclamation point in this longwinded sentence. I stopped searching for the dreams that evaporated and the hollow river I never felt. But I struggled to find beauty in my chaos.
I stopped searching for the acknowledgement from the copycats, finger pointers, and instigators. I stopped searching for my identity within the affection of lovers and takers. I stopped searching for pieces in a whirlwind of anxiety. I stopped searching for forgiveness from acquaintances with an image. I stopped searching for devotion from perfectionists. I stopped searching for laughter in cursed temptations. I stopped searching for beliefs with the unblemished appearance. But I struggled to find harmony in my imbalance.
I stopped searching for approval from rambling critics. l stopped searching for flames with sky-scraping expectations. I stopped searching for peace where there was social combustion. I stopped searching for engagement that turned lethal. I stopped searching for supremacy within my crumbling doubt. I stopped searching for loyalty from nonbelievers. I stopped searching for kindness from callous hearts. But I struggled to find charm in my flickering character.
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 married a mannequin who sleeps in expensive clothes. I married someone who has been convicted of aggravated silence. I married a vegetarian who salivates when I eat meat. I married someone who sleeps during the day and is a scavenger at night. I married an owl with haunting and debilitating eyesight. I married a rainmaker who is infatuated with the clouds in the hollow sky. I married a wallflower who strolls in a pastel garden. I married a boxer who punches with their sarcasm. I married a contextualist who takes everything out of context. I married a war who seeks out a battle. I married a liar who impersonates being a lawyer.
I married a cheater who is terrified to gamble. I married a bloodhound who laughs at fear. I married a stop sign who runs through a red light. I married a drifter who is clingy. I married a myth who tells long winded fairy tales. I married the dark who refuses to seek any light. I married a nightmare who is afraid to dream. I married a stigma who can’t see anything positive. I married a character who is fictional. I married an impressionist who never made a desirable impression. I married a run on sentence in a poorly constructed paragraph. I married a doubter who believes in Jesus Christ. I married a critical spirit with a vacant soul. I married a peasant who spends money like they’re worth a million.
I married a question mark who believes they have all the answers. I married a language who struggles to communicate. I married a cup of toxicity with a pinch of selfishness. I married a witch that can’t cast any spells. I married someone that is directionally challenged but carries a compass in her pocket. I married a confession who is often speechless. I married a lover who is incapable of giving love. I married a bricklayer that loves to build walls. I married a theory who doesn’t comprehend science and facts. I married a killer who didn’t understand what it meant to live. I married a corpse who didn’t understand what it meant to be alive.
Let’s flood this nation with aliens, bystanders, heathens and blood clots Let’s flood this nation with bold face lies and twenty two percent truths Let’s flood this nation with confusion, transgenders, mimes in prison, and collusion Let’s flood this nation with division, animosity, hate, and pedophiles And may the 1% live in the islands of freedom watching the collapse with a grin
Let’s flood this nation with brittle bones, empty minds, and scavengers Let’s flood this nation with warlords, mediocrity, and simpletons Let’s flood this nation with crippled tongues, segregation, and scammers with a smirk Let’s flood this nation with ayatollahs of assassins, pitch black cartels, and fear mongers And may the 1% live in the islands of freedom watching the collapse with a grin
Let’s flood this nation with barbaric corruption, executive orders that benefit the suits, self serving congressmen and uncontrolled borders Let’s flood this nation with fear instead of hope, darkness instead of light and poverty Let’s flood this nation with empty wallets, ignored rights, and senseless propaganda Let’s flood this nation with a lack of security, a president from a nursing home and poison And may the 1% live in the islands of freedom watching the collapse with a grin
Let’s flood this nation with money laundering, racketeering, and a circus in the oval office Let’s flood this nation with a plandemic, generated virus, and rigged elections Let’s flood this nation with skepticism, where the mafia and the government work in unison Let’s flood this nation until it looks unrecognizable but identical as a third world country And may the 1% live in the islands of freedom watching the collapse with a grin
Technology is a bitch with an irrational itch Technology is a weapon of inhumane destruction And your eyes and ears are desensitized to the demolition Technology is a disease without a cure Technology is society’s whore that has no standards And your eyes and ears are desensitized to the demolition Technology is a cigarette that everyone inhales Technology is the government’s best friend And your eyes and ears are desensitized to the demolition Technology is a calculating thief with a political tongue Technology is a hard on that we all play with and don’t admit And your eyes and ears are desensitized to the demolition Technology is a rash that can’t be removed Technology is a vindictive slut that you are embarrassed to acknowledge you kissed And your eyes and ears are desensitized to the demolition Technology is a two headed monster that screams and laughs simultaneously Technology is a tool that is used to wipe out civilization as we know it
I can’t recognize scattered pieces in my overwhelming puzzle I can’t recognize the fragments that I let go and the ones I grip onto “And I hear the voice in the wind deliver me a message I have less answers but I’m always full of never ending questions” I can’t recognize the fears that seize me and the ones I destroyed “And I hear the voice in the wind deliver me a song, everything that was once here is now gone” I can’t recognize the shadows that follow me and the ones I left behind I can’t recognize the wisdom in my hands and the mistakes on my shoulders “And I hear the voice in the wind tell me it’s heard me cry, But there’s something magical and wonderful inside” I can’t recognize the distinction between my emptiness and hunger I can’t recognize the difference between laughter in the rain and the tears of the storm “And I hear the voice in the wind scream don’t give up, you are amazing, extraordinary, you are full of abundant love”
Author of Observations (Complacency with Luther Ross)
I’m a crackerjack at destroying intimacy. I replace truth with flirtation to keep arms distance. No one pays attention to the color of the outline of my soul. I’m genuinely brash, but disguise my sensitivity in my cryptic verses. I unbutton my innuendos with a playful grin and unleash my sarcasm with a bite. I have been misguided and misplaced. I should reside inside an antique store on Belmont street. I’m a clown without face paint. The world is a stage and lost my manuscript the second I was born. I tend to use blackjack tactics on the universe to discover my following. I am enthralled to the broken and repelled by the fake.
I fell in love with a mystery. She scoffs at daylight and is quiet at night. I am often perplexed by her claims. I receive fragments of truth with resentment dancing in her sapphire eyes. I am an introvert by choice. I preferred to wed a loyalist who only witnesses the deepest shades of love I give. She ignores the dead spiders in my closet. The fear of dying alone is my tarantula. I am a promenading conundrum and my contradictions force me to limp. I am loved but not understood. The clarity is ignored and is stomped on. My identity is the shape of a hexagon with sides never exposed. She is loved but doesn’t use her voice.
I’m an expert at sabotaging affection with a shine. She will pay the bare minimum like a credit card with the debt being severe. I crave gospel with a melody. I want principles with curves and hooks. I want to sink my teeth into confessions with tears of liberty. I want that crack of fear to be eradicated. She clenches onto to complacency because it’s comforting. I lack the diligence and just stare into my reflection knowing the empty circle falls on my conscious. I am the author of observations and waiting for my funeral to hear a room of formalities.
For you, I was your wildflower and a whisper I was drowning in your crimson flames Letters from my jagged and jaded soul burnt Free falling, lost your touch in the summer rain I was sleeping in your elastic and lucid dream a snowflake evaporating on your sleek tongue I was just a temporary fascination and wonder For you, I was your wildflower and a whisper I was descending in your artificial paradise Letters written from my heartbroken tears Slipping, invisible to your smooth-spoken ego I was growing dimmer in your nebulous eyes a blanket you never wanted to feel and cradle I was too invincible and priceless for you to hold
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.
“Michaels doesn’t fail to deliver in The Raven’s Poison. From start to finish I was taking around the horn on an emotional rollercoaster and was left in awe of his words. Can’t wait to get the next book!”
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“Braeden knows how to tap into the human emotion and the sometimes dark nature of our innate characteristics. This is a book that is sure to grab you by the throat from the very first piece until the very last. You will be gasping and grasping for more until the very end.”
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“I haven’t read a poetry book so full of great poetry in years. Everyone should pick this collection up.”
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“I highly recommend this well written book. His writing is full of great imagery and it draws you in leaving you mesmerized.”
Instantly my judgements were casted. I sat at a table for three. I sat between a pessimistic dreamer and a carefree non stop smoker. I digested painted ideologies and exhaled nostalgia from my vibrating lungs. I scoffed at the handwritten kindhearted gestures. It was as if I had read them on a greeting card as a child. I tried to be engaging but was caught off guard by the long winded interrogation. Sidewinding questions, sarcastic remarks and complex theories were thrown at me like punches. I took a beating like a boxer.
Inside my head all I could hear was the regurgitating water downed clouds of systems. The formulas, schemes, and strategies plotted by short sighted leaders of this self centered generation.
I nodded my head as the clarity dispersed. I was not treated like an equal. I sat between arrogance and a rattling jaw. I barely touched my grilled California chicken. I only took a few sips of joy. I was tired of the pointing fingers and criticism of my status. I was ridiculed by plastic snakes with their golden ideals in a frame.
Inside my mind all I could do was to assess the situation. I could sense I was a pawn in their chess game. I couldn’t shake off the smirk. I coughed up their sour and misplaced words.
I sneered at their ancient glossy wisdom. I could feel the itchy tickle in my throat. I hacked up a two hour disgusting stomach aching conversation after walking away from the table.
Once upon a blistering silhouette I wiped away my tears with feathers from the bitterness, I slept with misery and the faults I refused to see, the sun disappeared and my heart is vacant, the veil is ragged and torn, the anguish is dispersed and I wallow in the fields of exhaustion, guided by thorns and a cloud of animosity without a compass, I use to embrace the darkness, I bellow from the exotic tremors, hoping to discover the light I have forgotten, I have gripping dreams and an isolated peace I misplaced
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.
Even the devil himself chuckles The moon is carved with your lies Tangled up in your demented mind Serenaded by demonic gargoyles Stains of convoluted fairytales twitch Nightmares glide through your skull as you become the twisted spin doctor Even the devil himself despises you The haunted tree is covered in your sins Using the phrase “sick and dying” to draw attention The line for the roller coaster to hell banishes the disturbed and psychopathic rants Even the devil himself cringes at your name Fearing your chameleon sadistic skin Wallowing in your fragile bones Be careful what you curve with your tongue
Like porcelain skin wrapped in gauze Birthday tattoo displayed on her wrist Daydreams slip out on from her weeping lips Shadows blister, the monologue drowns Clasping on to “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” in her pliable hand
And the lions on the wallpaper say her name in a chant And the ceiling is her midnight and decorated sky And the hallway reeks of discretion and tongue tied riddles And the ink she pours out never runs dry
Give me an invincible fire to stand within the pain Give me the light to crawl in the dusk
An ounce of slump and stagnation whisper Melancholy hanging over her head like a rain cloud Glaring into a closet of aberrations Atmosphere trembles, the letters trickle sanguine Twitching in the discolored oblivion
And the memories flood on to the pillow from her eyes And the moonlight that shines through her window growls And the conversations are still heard in these four walls And the ink she pours out never runs dry
Give me an invincible fire to stand within the pain Give me the light to crawl in the dusk
Storm of Ink 