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
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 glared into a faded photograph of our founding fathers, where dogma was priceless,the ink used to place the period behind our Declaration of Independence spoke volumes, where freedom wasn’t part of a cliche or a sales pitch, where dreams were bright as the clouds on the Fourth of July, where individuality was embraced but businesses thrived from the word capitalism, when tax was minimal, but as generations progress with a letter from the alphabet, the labels make the period disappear,traditions were once cherished, differences were honored, education was a foundation, face to face communication was imperative, and tears from the moon never fell into the cracks of the sidewalk of Washington Street
I carefully placed the collectible portrait between the pages of one fifty seven and one fifty eight of my history book, nonchalantly I sat on the curbside, glancing at the emptiness, no bumper to bumper traffic, no obscenities lashed out, civilization working behind rectangular screens, nominal movement, and goods can purchased with the click of a button, inch by inch, decade by decade, the zest is thinning, the lawmakers relish in spending income that isn’t their own, hankering over tax brackets, salivating where to raise outlandish charges, pulling a percent from this pie from the chart, manipulating statistics, storytelling and fabricating, patiently waiting to feel the tears from the moon on the sidewalk of Washington Street
As I walked down Washington Street, I recognize too many boarded up buildings, morals and ethics were pennies that jingled in in legislators pockets, make no mistake “we are shrewd burglars that don’t need to break into your house to steal from you,” no bureaucracy is willing to save a dime, “Let’s not pretend, we love to spend” is the proverb for thieves in two piece suits, I can recollect the carpenters that hammered every nail to the bankrupt superstructures being unemployed minutes after the task was complete, the cosa nostra and baby-kissers are no longing working against each other, the henchmen and handshakers are exchanging recipes for disasters over a bottle of burgundy, chuckling, smoking Churchill cigars, reciprocating filthy and racist jokes behind doors of the dungeon, but hours later standing in front of billions with both hands together pleading “togetherness, one, unity” reading it from a teleprompter, fumbling through every word, and the sound of the crack pipe falls to the floor, the camera moves in a split second to ensure the puppet is protected by the exclusive, but let me remind you the stooge who can barely walk up a flight of stairs received eighty one million votes, let the confidence ripple, and the thunder in the catastrophic sky pierces a million ears across the globe, as I walk toward “The Devil’s Backbone Tavern” I could see the lightning whisper danger, my feet froze on the sidewalk of Washington Street
I entered the tavern and could hear the introduction of the spoken word from Ramsey Parker, a local townsman, with a raspy voice, with his arms swinging, a theatrical display…”Welcome to the the insidious circus, where the clowns are incoherent, and the ramblings labeled as a speech are gnarled and tangled, weaving in and out of grains of truth, silently signing executive orders to vaporize the capital air, beware, apathy is a tattoo on our forearm, endless pages of calculating distractions, categorized and classified, blindly swindled, if you disagree, childish tantrums will be heard, lack of respect and cohesion, popularity plummets, approval ratings dismissed, impeachment being tossed around like a softball, no hardball here, afraid to rock the sinking ship with a stumbling captain who is meant to be an oar thrown in the ocean of disgust, humanity struggling to keep their heads above water, if we throw you a life jacket, we own you! Safety wasn’t a priority, designed for the survivors to be a minority” Ramsey shouted at the top of his lungs “Wake up America before it’s too late” grab your weapon, freedom, parade Washington Street, bark at the moon and pray it doesn’t cry
The sipping regulars clapped their hands, even the bottles of bourbon and scotch are pointing fingers, the mice on the thirty year old floor scrambled from the outspoken rhetoric, the shadows on the wall nod their heads, the bartender wipes down the hallucinations over and over, the optimism shrieks like a ghost, the misfits in the booth exchange civic points of view, babbling on about equal wealth distribution, working twenty five hour weeks, bellowing over exhaustion, taking orders from convicted illegal empty headed authority figures, the bystander on the left is a former navy seal listening to the nonsense, a man who carried laurels on his back, with eyes like a sniper, capturing detail like an artist, shrugging his shoulders walking away, discomfort is drank on the rocks, while truth is an invisible spot, heading for the door to leave a place of familiarity yet smelling a stench of wrecking change
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.
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.
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.
I can foreshadow a society crumbling from applied science, twisting theories contorted plasma, and friction analysis thesis based on wealth and leaking myths Pillars from a system situated in sand a sinking infrastructure, vanishing unity colorless pupils plagued with a manuscript spineless leaders, particles of blunders piling up, giant omissions paralyzing the fabric, Programmed illnesses with a pinch of annihilation, nations weeping counterfeit drops of sadness, gradually seeking contemporary alliances, executive orders bleeding extermination, outlined syndromes with a hint of illusions, corruption in the palms of the establishment, enigmatic statistics catapulted in a ocean of the deceased
And the nerves of the vicious are numb mankind’s existence dwells in an experiment And I can’t feel the rays of the crying sun
I saw a glimpse of paradise, toddlers playing with brilliance, wonder, and a light breeze serenading through the air as a teenager drinking water from fire hydrants, in front of provincial chateaus, clarity and modesty was a thread, surrounded by a crooning sky of beliefs and faith, conviction is just an antique sitting in a clammy basement, wrapped up in newspaper with headlines of World War Two, buried in a crate labeled “Precious and few”, where dreams shifted, echoed, and the revolution within was smoldering, freedom was sung by entrepreneurs, capitalists, and poetry was a blue jay flying from tree to tree, love was a drink we all consumed and sipped all through the decorated nights, yet today the clowns wear painted tears and smiles are weary
And the nerves of the vicious are numb mankind’s existence dwells in an experiment And I can’t feel the rays of the crying sun
I am madly in love with the metaphors from Walt Whitman, sweetness waltzing through Dickinson’s verses, where landscapes feel the sunlight, rain drizzling on white picket fences, I fell for the similes that left glitter on my fingertips, ballads that reverberate within the words, stanzas that capture charm, but in the present I read a direct message, thoughts thrown on paper within seconds, impressions not thought provoking, automation becomes a crutch, loneliness seeking attention, reality drifting like a hitchhiker, dwindling patience, crime rising like flames in death-wish fields, scarecrows parading cracked pavement, insanity yells, neon lights flicker every three minutes, like an apocalypse, but keep your view on the illuminating screen, sarcasm spasms, bellies filled with microwaved meals
And the nerves of the vicious are numb mankind’s existence dwells in an experiment And I can’t feel the rays of the crying sun
I’ve browsed countless articles of chemicals being dumped in soil, animated creeks, flowing rivers, deep cobalt seas, and wide oceans sweep it under the Persian rug, deposit the funds, retract it, close the column, turn off the comments, ignore the facts, don’t read it, let your fog disregard the bedrock of our country, Freedom is the eagle on our printed currency “In God We Trust” wasn’t coined by non- believers, deceivers, and tinted lawmakers In a heap of literature, liberty isn’t just a statue, a symbolism of integrity, war and peace, mother of monuments, breathtaking torch, Goddess of our Declaration of Independence, classic signature standing in Manhattan, New York, she is the sanctuary of our nation, yesterday can’t be expelled, removed or deleted, Can I erase your self-righteous past?
And the nerves of the vicious are numb mankind’s existence dwells in an experiment And I can’t feel the rays of the crying sun
I’ve seen grownups stomp their feet, throw child like tantrums over slim debates with cursed words thrown like daggers I’ve seen electronic devices used to record heinous crimes, satirical protests, and mind bending disturbances across the globe videographers portraying innocence, displaying evidence, defending irresponsibility I’ve seen switchblades pulled out over loose change and collected indifferences I’ve seen incompetency to be irrelevant, tenure a driving force, dynasties collapsing I’ve seen bewilderment shine brighter than quickness and keen observations I’ve seen enlightenment and murky insight wither in closets at a candlelit masquerade
And the nerves of the vicious are numb mankind’s existence dwells in an experiment And I can’t feel the rays of the crying sun
I’ve seen cemetery’s of soldiers that gave you rights, freedom, and opportunities I’ve seen flags placed over coffins, brothers in arms subbing, veterans in wheelchairs, struggling to tell a tale, medals of honor with insomnia, abolished slavery, rise of women’s rights, PTSD worn on every soldiers sleeve, But keep your eyelids on the screens, watch “Grand Opening” signs become obsolete, do what you do best, do nothing, stand for nothing, mankind defusing, watch the word “Entitled” become sewn on our flag, replacing the fifty gold stars, watch Betsy Ross cringe, stare into the tears of the sun, feel the winter for decades ahead, watch the selfish gloat, glare at the chill, embrace the still of the frost,
And the nerves of the vicious are numb mankind’s existence dwells in an experiment And I can’t feel the rays of the crying sun
Cast the alabaster referendum Spike the juice, transfix the vanishing liquid Zoom the screenshots, taste the lip gloss Scratch the two percent surface Know nothing, keep the pulse on the dial
Seek optimism with self entitlement Wrap your vertebrae around your cell phone Dye the color of mass destruction No dissection, analysis, or an ounce of depth Know nothing, keep the finger on emptiness
Follow your ill advised democratic leader Spit into the Declaration of Independence Wash your jittery hands at the masquerade Give Kim Kardashian a peck on the cheek Know nothing, spell the word legislation
Walk the line between capitalism and socialism Speak from one corner of your grand mouth Run for mayor, sleep with the dirty sweetness Dollars have value, integrity depreciates Know nothing, move to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Parade around foreign affairs and zig zag policies Trade agendas with corporations, chop down family shops Spread the cancer with your thumb on reality TV Download useless apps, swim into the word “myself” Know nothing, wear the crown as you veto knowledge
Lack a vigorous backbone, ignore loans Salivate over the disappearing social security checks Pitch your ballot for the plagiarized speech Steal from the rich, sit on your lazy throne Know nothing, commit crimes and plead ridiculousness
Separate, divide, and do what you do best “Label” Stare into the trends, curse at the economy Blame the universe, unleash expletives at your choices Embrace the seconds, neglect the forthcoming Know nothing, glaze over conclusions and regurgitate
Wear the pin stripe suit like a hit man Blend in with the smoke of politicians Laugh in your three thousand square foot home Drink the bitter honey on your porch Know nothing, emulate the millions and toss your skull to the curb on presidential parkway
Invincible Verses 