Dandelion skin, your consequences hang from your eyelashes your backbone has an invisible crack your tenacity wallows in the closet your cheeks are filled with solitude your apprehension feels like a heart beat
Grace from within witness’s a glimpse
“I can’t hear what you are saying, I’m too busy fading”
Dandelion skin, your affliction surrounds you like a cloud your sheath carries an uneven stigma your serenity is deep in your lungs your perseverance sleeps with obscurity your illusion is smeared and splattered
Grace from within is numb and worn
“I can’t run from the silence any longer, I can finally see parts of me that are stronger”
Dandelion skin, your uncertainty plays hide and seek your strain trips over your kindness your sway crumbles in your defeated fingers your delusions disappear in the fog your trance whispers in the shade
Grace from within has the answers
“In this garden, I will blossom and continue to grow, the grace from within will finally show”
Selected poems from each of Braeden Michaels’ first five books of poetry:
“The Raven’s Poison” – a full collection characterizing and describing all aspects of the human condition and emotions.
“Stella Walker’s Acquaintances” – character poetry surrounding the friends and acquaintances of a widowed woman as she reflects upon her life.
“Unpaved Crossroads” – poetry which depicts various scenes and moments in time, with a common theme of specific place throughout.
“Growl from the Sun” – a collection of political poetry including Michaels’ magnum opus of the same name, opining governmental and civic current events.
“For You, Love Always” – heart-touching and emotionally moving poetry for lovers.
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
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.
Suffocating winds, drowning in a venomous and callous night gripping to a malignant affair shredding overblown letters of sensuality my esophagus is bound to split
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness slicing my tongue, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of vanishing ripple Sounds of exhaustion sob Sounds of agony growl
Suffocating winds, immersed in worth with scabs and pockmarks consumed by a rain of affliction ripping flashbacks with endless tears my esophagus is bound to rupture
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness piercing my eyes, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of distress shrivel Sounds of loneliness escape Sounds of tears shriek
She identified me an uncoordinated head shaking wallflower. I was dressed in awkwardness and mentally out of place. I use to strut into Jackknife Cafe with a buzz cut with my neon shirt with the jagged words “If you take a chance, I got a little something in my pants.” She glazed at me like a I was lunatic with pick up lines I bought from a used car lot. Our conversation drifted sideways, jumped into a canary yellow cab and headed into the Low Ball motel. Three sentences were muttered as my hand slid up her skirt. She chuckled at my clumsiness, thin frame, and off colored jokes.
I lit up a cigarette as she sipped on a bottle of Crown Royal. We played like snakes in the sky-high grass. Our tongues tasted like Satan’s favorite sin. I caught a glimpse of her blue eyed ink on her backside. I couldn’t whisper nothings in her ear. I crooned a satirical lullaby within the motion. I was her escape and she was my escapade. She was a luxury in my intoxicating eyes and I was her convenience from her view. She serenaded me for hours as we cracked the headboard and the sheets wore an exotic aroma.
We exchanged crude humor, fashion statements, and upside innuendos. Miraculously I shared a few confessions. I’m a contextualist, religious free, libertarian, and fond of simplicity drenched in beauty. The comfort creeped in like a stalker. She, Lisa Ann, laid her cards on the table. She’s finishing up nursing school, working at a thrift store, residing with her retired mother, and seeking a straightforward relationship. The peacefulness took a nap as we shedded our likes, dislikes, philosophies dipped in hunger, and a thirst for curiosity.
I didn’t anticipate the afternoon rendezvous. Expectations were dim and the walls in the room saw me grin from ear to ear. We parted ways as if our skin would touch again. I walked around town with a jukebox playing in my head and loved the New Jersey breeze more. Unfortunately our eyes met again on the somber sidewalk. I greeted her with joy and was reciting her name. She acted as if I didn’t exist and we never met. Instantly the warmth turned frozen. I continued to walk as the buffoon she met. I shoved my dignity in my pocket and never wanted to hear music again.
“Carnival sins, I lay in your distress and only see myself as a bomb. Carnival sins, I don’t take responsibility for my ignorance and indifference. Carnival sins, I clutch on to my weaknesses and dwell in the shadows. Carnival sins, I see the clowns but recognize I’m the jester without a smile carrying a plastic laugh. Carnival sins, I bleed poetry that you can’t comprehend and my tears fall within the metaphors. Carnival sins, I’m dying on the inside and my wretched skin is peeling. Carnival skins, I am a color you wish that never existed. Carnival sins, I plead guilty for not loving my identity. Carnival sins, I don’t sleep in your coffin but dance in your cemetery. Carnival sins, my tears are deaf and the silence is scorching. Carnival sins, don’t you feel what i feel? Carnival sins, I am the wind you can’t feel. I am the enigma that awakens your nightmares.”
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 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.
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.
Storm of Ink 