Trek through a Thought

Through times of unbalance
We stand on weighty scales
Pondering each side
Which wins, which fails
The sun goes down each day
Like an anchor in the sea’s floor
We graciously abide with less, while needing more
Smiles of momentary bliss flow
Though not many deeply know
One reality from another
In the life of a strange mother



Beauty engulfs the darkness
Moonlight from the sun shines at midnight
Death begets life through your words…

Keep writing, Sean.

A profound piece from Mad Poet Enchained…

Mad Poet Enchained

Sean Michael, July 2015

The attrition is steady,
like water running over rocks,
the ebb and flow of a bloody sea,
as I contemplate suicide.
For what good is it:
Inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide,
breathing my failures.

This place has rotted my core;
there’s not an ounce of good left in me,
not a drop.
For each day I learn to despise myself over again,
as the darkness plays tricks on my eyes,
and the truth nascents lies.

How could this be?
Once so innocent now ragged and torn,
I’m in tatters.
But there will be no mending I’m afraid,
for many a stitch in this endeavor’s been laid,
the filaments now frayed.
No silver lining in this stained cloth,
Just a soul naked without troth.

Posted for  dVerse Poets, Open Link Night #157, October 2, 2015

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Blog Tour|My Writing Process

Today, I am participating in the My Writing Process Blog Tour. I would like to thank  fellow blogger and friend Freya Pickard for nominating me. Freya, author of fantasy novel Dragonscale Leggings is also an expert haiku creator whose work can be found at


I am currently working on creating my first book of poetry.  This body of work will be constructed by grouping specific pieces together for the purpose of falling under their own categorized genres such as Spiritual, Inspirational, and Societal. The book will be entitled “The Works of Life” and will display everyday ups and downs that we all deal with regardless of our various lifestyles. Many of the pieces found on this blog will be included in the book along with some new ones. Although the book is still a work in progress, I will happily announce the day of publishing here at Brighter Poetics in the near future.

My style of writing comes strictly from the heart and mind. I call myself an emotional writer which is probably why some of my favorite pieces were created during my saddest, happiest,  most confused, and angriest days or nights. A lot of what I write has a dark feel to it, but in the end, there is usually a hopeful light at the end of the tunnel. Another difference in my style of writing is that I don’t always follow a format. You will find that some of my poems have punctuation, and some do not…some have a specific stanza line count, while others don’t, etc. I simply allow what is in me at the time to come out until I have rid myself of whatever emotion I am experiencing at that moment.

My writing is meant to inspire, uplift, and relate to those who struggle and persevere towards the peace and happiness in life that we all seek. Everyone goes through something and some times can prove to be much more difficult than others to come through, but my belief that ‘there is always a way’ is a message that I am adamant about sending out through my work. Writing this way has been my own personal form of therapy, so it is my intent to put words together that may help others to travel their personal paths with strength, integrity, and final victory.

The process that I go through while writing may seem a bit weird, but hey – you do what works. 🙂 First, I start with a brainstorm for a topic granted that I am not experiencing an extreme bout between my emotions and myself (which makes things easier as stated before). Once I have I topic, I will scribble my thoughts on a piece of paper which is usually a bit difficult to go back and read because of the messiness of writing in a rush, but somehow I always manage to decipher. Next, I will decide depending on topic and category whether the poem should have a rhyme scheme or not. Poems without a rhyme scheme seem to be a little easier for me, but I enjoy the rhyme more, so the weirdness comes in with the imaginary beat that I hear in my head. The words come to me, and with my pen, I tap the syllables of each constructed line on the table to make sure that the words go with the beat. Once I can ‘hear’ the lyrical air exuded in the piece due to this weird little tapping method, the editing process begins with more tapping included with each change. These are the poems that usually are not punctuated. It ends up more like an edited freestyle piece, but upon the last bit of editing, I know that the piece is done and a feeling of satisfaction takes over which is my cue to click the publish button.

There, you have it!

Thanks again to Freya Pickard for the invite! 🙂







Menstruated Relevance

It’s birth was a self-proclaimed excitement of newness from the very start

But what ejects from the mouth surely comes from the heart

I don’t know if you know that I happen to know

That seeds planted in the moment will flourish and eventually grow

Into a thing expected, but certainly not hoped for

Sometimes, we pray for a disengaged cap-off

Or a magical hinge which closes the door

On negativity, complaints, and unrealistic hopes for

Ungracious favor –  amenities; those things realistically not in store

For you? Me? No!

When unable to take the heat, one must pack up and go

Inside of self to find and oust the true yet vicious culprit

The answer won’t be found inside a gurus spirit, nor a sanctimonious pulpit

The guru needs to breathe and the preacher has his own life

Which is also filled with possessiveness, the God complex, and strife

But as long as I know that I know what I do know

You too can learn this way to evade being tossed to and fro

Through the thick and profuse forest for that very tree

Which stands in your way, though you refuse to humbly look and see


The one and only one who truly understands

The plight of a queen, the fight of a man

Through the blackness of our blood, sweat, and unceasing tears

Though none go with, we remain adhering for years

Coming out and going into the sweltering furnace of death’s hell fire

Toiling, blistering, and carrying the dead weight of an anvil’s desire

There is always an insidious calm before the impending storm

When she is weary, debased, and facing a hope forlorn

It is by pure faith that dreamed hopes will one day be one

Until then, this pillared woman’s work is now done

She patiently waits for that grand day of relief to finally arrive

When menstruated relevance cedes, lays down, and

For the time being




Consummated Arrogance

The anguish of pride is a virginal bride

Willingly walking over  the threshold

Of disaster…

Refusing to be carried through to modesty

For she will have no master


She deserts the purity of humility

Leaving it slain as a permanent stain

Wrapped in defiled marriage bed sheets of deceit

Though the proof is now there

The anguish of pride keeps her blind… unaware


Will she ever learn that her mate will forever yearn

For the pleasure of a true coexistence – with much persistence

Daily longing to kiss her lips and fingertips

While in a strong embrace

Graciously savoring her would be sweet and humble  taste


If only she knew that as the morning dew

Falls and eventually evaporates

So would the anguish of pride

Gently drop…then gradually





The Tempest

The mind knoweth not

Where the heart doth go

As a lovesick breeze of eagerness

Carries it to and fro


Having no knowledge of where or why

That former blissful wind came

The mind is not at fault

Only life is to blame


For this tumultuous storm rising

Leaving sheer destruction in its path

And a desperate longing for peace

To replace that which razed from wrath


Whilst shards of glass crumble

Under thy very feet

Thou too dost tread

Upon reconstructable debris


Forgiveness is an everlasting mortar

Well mending fragments of a broken heart

The mind now knoweth whence it came

And surely now, where to start



In the Heart of…


It resides in meaningful places, but

Empty facades of what could have been –

Yet cannot be are strained from

The solidity of


Preferring the brilliant glow of

Honesty, but facing


From the other side of the

Facts of


Wandering aimlessly…searching for


In one’s own

Reality – suddenly

A loud shout from the


Brings fruition




They walk in silence

And they run in fear

But they can only be heard

When we are willing to hear


On a typical day’s quiet stroll

Comes the caress of  gentle winds

When suddenly, they are there

As we take our surroundings in


While lying awake at night

Be it hot, pleasant, or icy cold

They slip in through small unsecured spaces

Bringing with them good, bad, new, and old


We can use them as we please

To create, enjoy, and build

Yet, we can also completely destroy them

Leaving them for dead in an open field


To forget, to remember, to cherish

To keep, or to throw away

Thoughts and memories continuously creep

On every given day









Life Goes Lyrical|Urban Dialect

I had a lot of fun with this piece…(silent mental beats playing in my head – again, I feel alive in the midst of severe brain fog/stress/life happening). My intent is for the brutally honest Southern hood dialect orientation to epitomize the concept of a life from any walk (and the stuff that comes with it) to be ‘felt’.

I hope you guys enjoy!

Life Goes Lyrical













Tired – try’in to steal a nap like a thief in a robbery

Sick – cause the weather bipolar like a fake real housewife on TV

Broke as the Ten Commandments when Moses stepped down from the MT – couldn’t believe what his eyes did see

Tripp’in – like a stumbling block in my way cause b****es be hatin on me

But still good, cause I ain’t a slave to the world sayin, “F*** it!” like ‘2Pac’, set me free


Still be up – when my life be ’bout to crumble and fall

Come out fight’in – when my back is pushed against tha wall

Shawt – like a munchkin, but mentally standing tall

Throw at me what you will – whistle blown, flag thrown, my court – my ball!


Darkness invades – as if my midnight is on tha loose

Tie a big knot, rope it up, kick my chair, – look up at tha noose

But it ain’t for my neck, you damned silly goose

Just hang’in up all my hang-ups – time to let it all loose


Times got to get betta – that’s all I’m say’in

Don’t get pissed off at me cause U evol’vin and I’m still pray’in

No time for tha BS – put a cap on tha monkey-ass play’in

My miss’in link ain’t no invisible ape –

Just a nomadic biped – survive’in… gray’in




Homograph Haiku

Strings attached ensnare
The ties that bind are riddled with knots
Make bows and take bows


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