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I didn’t advertise this and I should have when I released this book, the majority of poems are personal. This collection was written over a long period of time. Through out my life I’ve used writing poetry as an outlet because I had no one to turn to. My mother passed away at a young age, 48, due to health issues. I grew up watching her being sick but take it like a champion. She was one of the first people to have had a liver transplant. Due to medicine, the medicine at the present time killed her kidneys. Because of this, I struggle with intimacy in many ways. My father was an alcoholic and in my twenties I married one. In my thirties I had outgrown my ex wife and wanted more in life as she digressed. She made the choice to say she didn’t have a problem when she did. Long story short, she killed herself after our divorce and left her daughter behind. I can admit I was not a perfect husband, I did some things I shouldn’t have done.

I went back to school to improve myself while trying to work. During that time, I met the woman I eventually married – a strong but vibrant woman. I fell in love with her ocean blue eyes and her gentle spirit. She works in the medical field to save lives and commend her for that. I now have a four year old son that looks up to me and strive to be a better person.

I want my writing to serve several purposes. I want people to look inward and identity their own destructive patterns that prevent them from any form of growth. Perhaps if you can recognize them, you can see them in others. I think most answers that we seek are within ourselves. We do need help from time time, but essentially it starts with being honest with yourself. But we struggle to look at ourselves because it’s hard.

Although I’ve started out writing from a personal place, I trained myself to write from different perspectives by observing humanity. I’ve also learned to write just for fun, for me, and to challenge myself to approach the writing process from a technical stand point.

I often use humor and sometimes am inappropriate at times because I don’t want people to know the real me because the real fear is that they will leave me. Making and maintaining friendships is a challenge. I don’t have any male friends that I do things with and to some degree I am ok with it for various reasons. I go by the motto “a pen and a piece of paper won’t leave me like people.”

I am a work in progress like everyone else.
Today was the day I felt the need to share my a part of my story.

My books are available here.

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The Couch

Every time you sit here,
feels like you have gained some weight
I can see you eat at the dinner table
Do you really need the second hot dog
on that paper plate?
It would be one thing if you only sat here
for an hour or two
But you sit here for like four or five
Don’t you have other things to do?
I notice you watch reruns and see that
same episode three or four times
You eat cake, ice cream, chips,
Even I’m beginning to know the next line
I use to be more fluffy, vibrant, full of color,
plush, and the greatest item in the room
Let me remind you, it’s been a long time
since I’ve smelled another woman’s perfume
There are times I have to close my eyes
just some things I just don’t want to see
It’s childish, ridiculous, preposterous
to hear you yell at a sixty five inch TV
It doesn’t listen, respond, nor it does
it care your football team lost by three
For the love of God, just for once
Could you please think about me?

My books are available here.

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I took vows to be mistaken and unwanted
I took vows to be just a carcass
I took vows to feel the treacherous winds
I took vows to someone that is clueless
I took vows to someone that can’t read between the lines
I took vows to feel the written script
I took vows to someone that can’t hear my words
I took vows to talk to myself
I took vows to someone that just doesn’t listen
I took vows to someone that does the bare minimum
I took vows to be a shadow and a check book
I took vows when I was someone else
I took vows to be a trash can
I took vows to someone that refuses to evolve
I took vows to feel something because it was better than nothing

My books are available here.

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No, I couldn’t stand in your resonance
and your mind numbing negligence
No, I refused to be your noxious scapegoat
and omission in your dangerous eyes
No, I wouldn’t be a remainder in your lopsided mistake

“Hush hush, nothing will save you”
Yes, I thought I was rescued from my haunting past
Yes, I thought this residence was permanently carved

No, I dismissed the fatal request but still felt the jagged nail in my back
No, I denied you satisfaction and drifted in an awkward disposition
No, I fell in your discrimination and felt blackballed from the very second

“Hush hush, nothing will save you”
Yes, I thought I was found until I realized the pieces were scattered
Yes, I thought this residence was secure and guarded

No, I destroyed the walls you built with your reckless hands
No, I stumbled into your humiliation with anxiety stuck to my skin
No, I cried until my rage leaked from my mouth

“Hush hush, nothing will save you”
Yes, I thought I discovered love in a colorless dream
Yes, I thought I found peace when in reality all I heard were silent screams

My books are available here.

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‘Tis Evanoe’s,
A house not made with hands,
But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways
Her gold is spread, above, around, inwoven;
Strange ways and walls are fashioned out of it.

And I have seen my Lady in the sun,
Her hair was spread about, a sheaf of wings,
And red the sunlight was, behind it all.

And I have seen her there within her house,
With six great sapphires hung along the wall,
Low, panel-shaped, a-level with her knees,
All her robe was woven of pale gold.

There are there many rooms and all of gold,
Of woven walls deep patterned, of email,
Of beaten work; and through the claret stone,
Set to some weaving, comes the aureate light.

Here am I come perforce my love of her,
Behold mine adoration
Maketh me clear, and there are powers in this
Which, played on by the virtues of her soul,
Break down the four-square walls of standing time.

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“I opened my eyes to see the ugliness and beauty of humanity”

Braeden Michaels creates a curve in the poetic stratosphere revealing glimpses of the characters who walk amidst the life of newly-widowed Stella Walker. By exposing the flaws, scars, quirks, and the light we see in each other, this profound collection generates a fine line between friendships and acquaintances.

Within these pages, we are introduced to different shades of colorful characters in varying points of their lives. Every poem describes the hidden truths and realities of human attributes. Each perfectly imperfect person we meet is a representation of the people we run across in our individual journeys which then become stepping stones in our own growth.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Reviews

My books are available here.

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Furthermore Allium,
your disparaging statement leaves a query
your impatience is shrugged off like grime
your insensitivity shrieks with havoc
your inferior pupils widen when silent
your misfortunes whisper like a cyclone

Between our beloved seasons
the grandfather clock whistles our song
your weakness’s held us together
your love is what makes us strong

And the affection seeps in after the calm
And the admiration between our fingers
is everlasting

Furthermore Allium,
your anxiety shudders and thickens
your nitpicking feels like a porcupine
your criticism often is a delirious fog
your secluded wounds weep in the dark
your bricks in your wall feel like quicksand

Between our beloved seasons
the grandfather clock whistles our song
your weakness’s held us together
your love is what makes us strong

And the adoration wraps around the stillness
And the peace after the hurricane shimmers in our history

My books are available here.

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Smiles turn frail and sapphire

Grins carrying cobalt bullets

Wrestling with a pocket of change

Standing in front of a phone booth

Eight hundred miles away from truth

Love took a freight train to misery

No emergency brake on this passage

Faster than a speed of light

Lost in all of the choices and indecision

Eight hundred miles away from lies

Wearing a royal trench coat of pain

Feeling like a thousand pounds

Too frozen and solid to remove

Still standing in front of a phone booth

Eight hundred miles away from her

Debating and contemplating

Fumbling with the quarters

Should I call her from Indigo

My books are available here.

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I know it’s Thursday when the nurse brings the little paper cup with five pills instead of three. A sip of tepid water and I go back to staring out the window. I can’t abide small talk. Never could. Better to observe my surroundings than spin idle words. My wife understood that, why don’t these young kids get that? Always on about the weather and am I comfortable and did I sleep well. Of course I didn’t sleep well. I haven’t slept well since I was brought to this place. I keep quiet, I know when to keep my mouth shut. It’s Thursday and she always made meatloaf with gravy and fresh baked rolls on Thursdays.

I constantly see him gazing. I can see memories crawling up and down a mammoth hill in his mind. I can see his mind slowly deteriorating as the seconds go by on our grandfather clock. I often glare at the Roman numerals on it and think of the precious years our love glowed. It breaks every piece of my heart to see him in a hospital bed. I thought I have embraced every minute with him. The last few years we have gone through the motions and hate the tears that fall into my lap. I’ve thrown away countless hours giving him the bare necessities and nothing more because of the silence that pierces through the friction of our marriage.

As soon as I close my eyes, I open them again to the sounds of a young woman opening the curtain. It’s no longer dark outside and I remember Sarah rose early during the week but slept in an extra hour on Saturdays. The nurse smiles at me and asks how I slept. She knows I haven’t slept but a moment yet her mundane prattling eases the sting of being away from my wife at least for a few minutes. I wonder when I saw her last. I miss her hand in mine. How her eyes sparkled as she laughed and smiled. Saturday mornings were made just for her and me.

He gawks at that nurse like he used to at me. I gave all of myself to a man that knew how to take but struggled to give. Parts of me cry like a baby. He never raised a hand or cheated on me. More often it felt like he was going through the motions. Parts of me are frozen. I often watch him sleep and watch his favorite television show. He was enthralled with details, crime, investigations, interrogation, lines of questioning, and trying to figure out the culprit. Benjamin Matlock was his companion more than I was at times. Parts of me chuckle saying that. Sometimes I even stare at that young nurse.

I remember this one evening, this evening when my wife, Sarah, was so upset with me because she had asked me to fix the sink in the kitchen, we were always having problems in the old house with it and she asked as soon as I got home please fix the sink but I was tired from work and I just wanted dinner and to watch the television, my favorite show came on right after dinner and I was so fascinated with the characters and the mystery and I was tired and I ended up falling asleep in my chair and when my wife woke me up she was so cross with me because I didn’t do as she asked and I remember I always liked to guess the ending of the show before they solved the mystery.

As much as I love him, too many times it came across in our marriage he was consumed by things that weren’t real. It was almost as if he was engrossed by make believe to avoid the realities going on in our marriage. He neglected confrontation and was absorbed by the simplicities of life (sex, television and food). I was marveled by his ability of not needing anyone. The appearance of being fulfilled by “things” fascinated me. I know there is more going on underneath but was never one to display that.

She sits and waits for me to say something. Anything. I know it. I can’t say a thing. What will she think? I was five when I learned my lesson well. Danny was eight. Daddy beat him until he fell off his chair, beat him until he couldn’t get up off the floor. Daddy said he’d learn his lesson. Daddy lifted the iron from the hearth and burned the sin from Danny’s hand that evening. I begged him to stop. Surely Danny would be good now! Daddy turned with dark, dark eyes and asked if my tongue needed the sin burned from it too. I closed my mouth and stopped my crying. I didn’t need the glowing red iron to brand his rules into my mind. I learned my lesson that day. Keep quiet and never get caught stealing. I never could say a word. How would Sarah look at me, knowing she married a coward. I stole the candy that day.

Danny hugged me tight. The tears were endless. William passed away at 67 years old and have been married for 41 years. Just like any other marriage we had our ups and down.

He was slowly decaying for the last 15 years of them. Our love was like rain – it poured, drizzled and sometimes it was dry. I can’t say he or even myself showed love consistently. I loved our memories but as the years went on both of us were going through the motions. Here I am sobbing creating more rain – the love we should have made. Perhaps it wasn’t just him falling apart in the last 15 years, it was myself. I took him for granted. I walked away with my hands clenched trying to be strong. Everyone stared at me. I needed a breath of fresh air and all I could see is rain. William loved the sound of the rain.

Check out Tara’s blog if you haven’t! This was a fun collaboration.

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My sun has set, I dwell
In darkness as a dead man out of sight;
And none remains, not one, that I should tell
To him mine evil plight
This bitter night.
I will make fast my door
That hollow friends may trouble me no more.

‘Friend, open to Me.’—Who is this that calls?
Nay, I am deaf as are my walls:
Cease crying, for I will not hear
Thy cry of hope or fear.
Others were dear,
Others forsook me: what art thou indeed
That I should heed
Thy lamentable need?
Hungry should feed,
Or stranger lodge thee here?

‘Friend, My Feet bleed.
Open thy door to Me and comfort Me.’
I will not open, trouble me no more.
Go on thy way footsore,
I will not rise and open unto thee.

‘Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see
Who stands to plead with thee.
Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou
One day entreat My Face
And howl for grace,
And I be deaf as thou art now.
Open to Me.’

Then I cried out upon him: Cease,
Leave me in peace:
Fear not that I should crave
Aught thou mayst have.
Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more,
Lest I arise and chase thee from my door.
What, shall I not be let
Alone, that thou dost vex me yet?

But all night long that voice spake urgently:
‘Open to Me.’
Still harping in mine ears:
‘Rise, let Me in.’
Pleading with tears:
‘Open to Me that I may come to thee.’
While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold:
‘My Feet bleed, see My Face,
See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace,
My Heart doth bleed for thee,
Open to Me.’

So till the break of day:
Then died away
That voice, in silence as of sorrow;
Then footsteps echoing like a sigh
Passed me by,
Lingering footsteps slow to pass.
On the morrow
I saw upon the grass
Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door
The mark of blood for evermore.

My books are available here.

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Deep inside a serious social commentator
I chronicle little nothings from something
Residing in a seven hundred square foot
apartment with spaghetti stains on Saudi Arabia colored carpet
Exhausted from walking on egg shells and shrapnel from the one word responses
“I planted seeds, give me what I need”
She exclaimed with a riddle with her arms raised in the alabaster breeze
Shrugging my shoulders in discomfort
“You dealt me ripped cards, at Zero Point Boulevard”
Squinted eyes, zig zig aggravation, and
disgust is a ghastly taste
I use to dance in your verses and your loose lipped stanzas
Coincidentally there are no replies to my praise
Dwell in your manipulation, circus mind and a diary written in mud
Frankness stood upright and you ignored it
No transitions in your language, just a hint of apricot
Senselessness and ramblings squabble on this path
Coping is your worst enemy

My books are available here.

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Maria laid down some finger tapping,
cement cracking, soul jerking, blue collar working, southern catfish blues
Maria crooned a seaside melody, number one remedy, a splash of sass, with a heavenly blast,
A feel good sunshine kind of tune

Chet was blaring his shiny trombone
JJ was banging his drum with his golden sticks
Ryan was strumming his acoustic guitar
And all the neighbors rocked until dark

And she will get you to clap your hands every ten seconds
And she will get you to move your feet in rhythm
And she will take away all your pain for a while
And she will make you forget what is missing
And if you make a left on Rolling Thunder you can hear the guitar playing
And when you drive away you can feel the earth swaying…

Maria cried out “Sha la la” with a swirl, a vintage southern girl, hitting high notes with a grin, no losers here all the jesters win, music playing all day and night
Maria dancing with a glide, happiness soaring in her eyes, carrying a enigmatic glow, putting on a show, her voice shinning so bright

And she will get you to clap your hands every ten seconds
And she will get you to move your feet in rhythm
And she will take away all your pain for a while
And she will make you forget what is missing
And if you make a left on Rolling Thunder you can hear the guitar playing
And when you drive away you can feel the earth swaying…

Chet was blaring his shiny trombone
JJ was banging his drum with his golden sticks
Ryan was strumming his acoustic guitar
And all the neighbors rocked until dark

My books are available here.