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

My books are available here.


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.


My books are available here.

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


My books are available here.

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.


My books are available here.

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


My books are available here.

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