I’m jittery but calm in my logic. I parade these streets with echoes and slippery sentiments. I feel misplaced, misguided, and my feet continue to fumble. I struggle with intimacy and the white lies I swallow. I walk with expectations that I can’t see and standards that I can’t comprehend. I ignore my swirling instincts and lackadaisical intuition. I camouflage my fears with sophomoric humor and childish innuendos. I cough up resentment on a daily basis.
I wear my pride like a tattoo with animosity sewn to my arms. I am slightly dysfunctional and walk with a scorched tongue. I have an appetite to be understood than loved. Love is just a mirror that shatters over and over. Affection is just an object that we all hunger. I wiped away the frustration from my eyes and see myself residing in the winter’s scream. Please don’t hold me, just reach in to breathe in my cold air.
stomach acid gorges the frame of the picture ceramic villains stand in the center of the image credit card smiles seek the light of the troubled road wallets become empty as they cling to the objects of the room
Love was just a word to deceive
camouflaged tears reckon within the twitching of souls charades is not just a game but the poison they drank daily They laid drunk in the center of the bed photographing plastic memories
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
I applaud you for the tenacity you carry on your shoulders I applaud you for the worth you see in your sensitive skin I applaud you for the struggles you slowly shed I applaud you for the fight you possess
Deep into the traces of your veins lies the sterling wings of a divine messenger
I could fall for your grace on stage
I applaud you for the courage that’s woven on your heart I applaud you for the compassion in your finger tips I applaud you for your articulate and sharp tongue I applaud you for the irresistible flame that burns within
Deep into the traces of your veins lies the sterling wings of a divine messenger
I could fall for your backbone in the limelight
I applaud you for the drops of heartache you turned into strength I applaud you for the affliction you endured and overcome I applaud your for not staring into your past with sinister eyes I applaud you for the intuition you carry like a candle
Deep into the traces of your veins lies the sterling wings of a divine messenger
I could fall for your aurora without touching your skin
The dark side is gravitating Scrambled thoughts of my reality Playing with the toys in my closet A world you could care less Claiming to know me completely You know what you want to know My efforts to shed dead skin get unnoticed I grin on the inside of these vandalized walls We share a love that wears many disguises that you refuse to see You chose to see only a few layers of me We display a miserable performance Consistently staring into my silence I can’t make you use your tongue I will never be enough or give enough You are as broken in pieces as me You don’t know how to walk away I dare you to walk away like the rest The grin expects the unexpected Can you spell the word depression Waiting for God to take me away You will understand me when I’m dead and gone And give more of yourself to another man The dark side is gravitating
Here I am, I don’t have followers I have sanguine blisters and indecisions stirring in my reckless mind I’ve stood in the corridor of my considerations and wide eyed aspirations I’ve been guided by intolerable vices, a stench of trivial knowledge and sarcasm I have concoctions growing in my garden I’ve borrowed money from my child like brother to rent a house not far from the Porcupine River We use to play like thieves, run like dogs, and wrestle in the amber mud for hours I live in a two bedroom apartment, One block away from the Midtown bakery On Sunday’s I can smell the Apple fritters I’ve worked at the local grocery store since I was fifteen “Lucky” isn’t a word in my vocabulary I bite my fingernails as I ponder in front of my 1971 typewriter From 9pm to 10pm I’m a rapid reader I fell in love with Mark Twain and the storytellers from the innocent wild Stuck on the lucid and elusive chapter ten Captivated between the commas and engaging dialogue I cough at the errors and sniffle at the page count of my thrill seeking novel I stretch out my imagination like a rubber band Manuscript growing like a an oak tree Here I am, born an offbeat writer The people who know me stand distant Afraid to crawl inside the brain of characters I left my day job at the age of forty two Perspiration and diligence were on my side
She will care for thirty seconds and write a novella of accusations She will pine for your sensitive hands and cry a stream of tears from a distance She will crave hours of chit chat and stare at grim skeletons in silence She will dance and twirl in the garden and be embarrassed of her defects in loneliness
“In my view, I was raped by his alluring vocabulary, molested by his wit and probed by his twinkling generosity. He turned me into a walking paradox.”
And the mystery within her dwells And the inconsistency smears her delusions And the absurdity fills her weary lungs And the enigma is like condensation And the anomaly marches within her mind
She will walk with poise and diligence and shout with obscenities doused in wildfire She will cherish the remains and residue and toss her pieces she loathes in the garbage She will wrap herself up in sanitized anxiety and chuck courage up against the wall She will run with convictions in her fist and ignore the principles that define her
And the secrecy within her is desolate And the conundrum drips frustration And the perplexity drains her focus And the complications steer her vision And the rattle stumbles within her mind
“In my perspective, I was poisoned by his compliments, fondled by his intellect and abused by his sincere confidence. He turned me into a walking paradox.”
She’s exhausted from spilling ink She’s uncertain with her fingertips She’s wobbly and shaking on the inside She’s powerless from the past She’s flimsy as a thin piece of paper Sing me a song for wide hope Sing me a song for stretched out faith
She’s frail within her bones She’s isolated from the rattle She’s licking her wounds quietly She’s aching for companionship She’s comfortless and abandoned Sing me a song for freedom Sing me a song without chains
She’s tangled up in desolation She’s withdrawn and torn down She’s a tragedy without a witness She’s reclusive and friendless She’s a sky without any clouds Sing me a song for change Sing me a song for healing
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
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
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
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.
For I am the gust in this brilliant joy For I am the hope in these disorientated chapters For I am the trembling suspicion in the corner For I am the optimism in your stained pupils
And the fascination pierces in the burgundy sky
For I am the prosperity in this shattered mirror For I am the wisdom you have never heard For I am the glare in the whispering blur For I am the salt in your four seasons
And the enchantment glows in the burgundy sky
For I am the zest in your shaky bridges For I am the rainbow in your weeping azure For I am the shine in your rusty screams For I am the fear in your gripping wishes
And the artistry blooms in the burgundy sky
For I am the peace in your self destruction For I am the grit in your sandcastle For I am the treasure you haven’t touched For I am the daydream in your hallucinations
Slithers like a charcoal sidewinder French accent is a wicked aphrodisiac Natural head turner, twinkling nighthawk strutting her curves at the Foxglove Tavern A logical spinning conversationalist twirling liberal storyteller with satin lips dogs with saliva disregard the translation centered on the painted mask and surface neglecting and overlooking her education refusing to sift through her elegant layers ignoring her quiet pulsating sensitivity discounting her popular and beloved color suits craving sin with childish innuendos speaking bland three dollar pick up lines meaningless chatter leading to nothing outsmarting the tacky salesman pitch self respect higher than a skyscraper hidden goals remain underneath patience lingering in her queen size bed two hands on the steering wheel of self love
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.
Storm of Ink 