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Even In Death

 

Welcome to The Root of Many Returns, the legacy website of author Michael Aaron Casares.  Here, readers are invited to review dozens of works including poetry, fiction, and more. Gain insights into writing and other issues in Michael’s blog. Be sure to like and share your favorite pieces. Offer feedback in the comments. And come back often because we’ll have new stuff to read, and the website will continue updating.

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Patreon Website
http://www.patreon.com/macasares

 

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Night of the Deserters

The lies that filled the night,
a contingent thread of peace
through omission.
Fear, a revving tide,
consolidated the radicals
it insulated, and robbed
the atmosphere of
its own gravity.
A smirk hidden
at the back somewhere,
hidden deep beneath
a mess of coif and
minstrel lyres,
the eyes reveal
the true souls of
liars, and the
hated words that
work their way
like festering worms
through snow.
The turgid corpse
of latter years
expires beneath
the crate myrtles.
It conducts its business
on the daily, collects its
dues from the restless and
spacey. It runs rails of solid
fire down their throats
and blinds them behind
the humid fumes of
lost innocence. Their
eyes are half blind
and clouded like
the deepest frost
crosses over icy
windows.

 

 

“Night of the Deserters” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

 

Paris Is Burning

Fourteen weeks long this tale has become,
fourteen weeks and at five weeks undone.
The violence shared upon them all,
a demand their governors heed their call.
A fire ignited in a break for gas,
a dystopic peace on the weekend clash
the yellow coats multitude against armored law.
To true peace and justice, an anchored pall.
In reverence marches chaos in history’s wake,
an example kept steadfast for independence sake;
to ensure the name and values of a nation’s import
are no longer a commodity for globalist export.
The French have kept Paris a burning light,
dozens of cities inspire the entire world to fight.

“Paris is Burning” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

Weighted Thinking

A black sun is rising in the east, a polarized field of white and green light. It is a total absence. It brings the land in its expanse to a deeper spectrum end to end. Why the cognizance of the relative dissonance has staggered the median. There is a darkness on the horizon. Through cracks and breaks, the whispers of strangers who want to be friends, those with desire thrown hazardly  aside. Reason comes to save one’s breath. It is the shadow in the corner that jumps out through the corner of the eye. It is the random clacking of old housing and fixture. It is the sullen memory that walks outside the door, repetitiously pacing the floor, its talons daintily scraping. Dimming roots flourish and expand. The necessity of weighed thinking transmuting itself into heavy breathing has fallen on this satellite. The broadcast that radiates through the air, pierces a sky that’s fallen short, looks on hopefully at the meandering dirigible down below. It knows fate has cast it into the heavens, given a chance to proceed at will, and it hopes as the heat expands, the voracious gasses will not soon ignite.

 

 

Weighted Thinking is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

 

 

Midnight Clouds

Mercy Street forlorn in the morning clouds.
The eyes heavy in retreat, eclipse its own vision,
iris shaking, pupil fat. The fog clings low to the
ground, the feigned winter breeze of an ill-fit
New Year and Holiday Season, all but elements
and figments of a present now passed.

Random auditory notes, celestial to organic
ooze softly through the dim blue, the prism
cast even through the multicolor Christmas
tree that stands proudly, defiant of the cycle
consumerism has set. Another buzz on the
silenced phone reminds of the artificial means
of contact: perpetuated, advanced, and liberating,
but also enslaving.

Days have passed with but a blink in time
to rest. The blackness usurps fastidiously,
a deep vacuum one hears as life vanishes
down the funnel. Falling apart. Piecing
into bits, a shred in time, a shred of time,
elapsed into a memory, the spectrum
disintegrates as static, a multicolor fuzz
established in the night. A waft of fog
streamlined like a feather, but hazy like
cotton, fills the empty space of ground,
and we the people have receded. We have
shriveled into our shells and tents. We
have succumbed to the very nature of the
beast. That is to say, our spirits are filled
with goodwill, and the actors’ pernicious
glare, stares only at the jugular.

Flesh on flesh rubs raw, hours into  love making.
The unnatural cause of a ludicrous effect, the winds
of Jupiter could not stop it. It would seal it in a glass
bowl of constant paranoia and awareness of every
move. The silent creep around the corner has eyes
one only seen at night, and the steps so carefully placed
are chosen to strike cords of discontentment as clash
decision and discernment. Faith within the huddled
space, the flames and torches light the way. The incense
waft precarious, sanctifies the base. Allows those lost
in light, the lovers late and lazy, the lonesome and the
loathsome, the legion watching many, to emote a ranc
sulpheric steam. The garbage, manure, rotten and
deceased to plague the pristine strands of fair incense,
storm clouds on the horizon. A quiet flash, a sexual pulse,
discretion is out the door. A hum electric in the veins a fizz
and pop, a clearing of the sitting soul, a buzz that rides the
very bone, opens eyes into the inner core, rewrites the brain
the mind now wired to the world. 

 

“Midnight Clouds” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

COMING SOON: The Vanishing Poet, a collection by Michael Aaron Casares. 

 

 

 

Job Fair

I stood around, pacing,
watching a multitude of kids,
my age or younger, herd through
stalls of opportunity.
They are all here to find a job,
a career deserving of their certificates
and claim to knowledge.
They’ll all go off
to big corporations,
making higher figures
than I ever did at my first,
second and third jobs.
But that’s what they’re
trained for, that’s why they
live, to exist as part of
a system necessary for a life
they’ve been taught to desire.
Sure, people who pay more
for education should get
paid more to work—that’s
the rationale they are born
with. Never mind the love
affair or the need to live
as you please. There’s
money to be made.

 

“Job Fair” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

 

Adjusting The Blossom

Good evening dear readers,

I sit in front of my computer on a rainy December midnight. Freshly the 27th of December, I thought I’d drop a note on reblogging “In The Eye of The Blossom,” a haiku triptych I shared last month on the blog. But first, I also want to say thank you to the readers and bloggers that have joined The Root of Many Returns. Feel free to leave comments, like, share, or reblog. You can also get more involved by joining my Patreon account, or purchase any of my books.

So, speaking of reblogging, I shared this haiku again because upon reviewing my site, I realized that the triptych was mangled. See the snapshot depicted here:

 

TROMR-BP2
Capture of the original posting of “In The Eye of the Blossom” on The Root of Many Returns.

 

Readers were kind enough not to call me on it, and four bloggers kind enough to like it. Thanks for the faith, dear readers. Certainly you’ve seen I can handle my haiku. This was merely a formatting error. In my need for perfection, I’ve reblogged the corrected edition. Of course, in humility’s need for dominance, even the reblog’s formatting was mottled. But if you click on the original link, the triptych is pristine. I encourage you to take a gander, if not through the reblog, through this link:

https://therootofmanyreturns.com/2018/11/09/in-the-eye-of-the-blossom-a-triptych-of-haiku/

Haiku, as per tradition, always requires specific formatting. Hopefully the original version was not seen as a challenge to what we know and hold dear. Or didn’t make me seem like an illiterate fool. Ha ha. The triptych in particular is my favorite version of the haiku, where the meaning and the essence carries through a triad of traditional haiku. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I will continue to share both versions of haiku, and we’ll see where I go with this mode. I hope your holidays have been well. Best regards.

 

Michael Aaron

 

thedistancetotheend-med

 

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