No WiFi, Plenty of Projects

Good morning, dear readers. I hope you are well. I am writing a blog post to thank you again for being a reader and joining me on my literary excursions. It has been a fun time as of recent in spite of our current living situation. By that, of course, I refer to the world’s state of quarantine and viral outbreaks. Certainly, we have all found ourselves in a spot we may have never imagined. A mass quarantine was definitely not on my radar; I’d have thought marshal law would happen before something like this, another reason why fiction could never touch the oddities of life, and why art often imitates life.

Nevertheless, we have all been put into a spot of some sort. In my case, I have found myself without work, I haven’t had a secular job for five months now, and all of this started right at the onset of the Covid outbreak and got much harder once it was in full swing. In the middle of the crisis, my father passed away, his final days spent in isolation due to quarantine. It has been tough. We carry on, though.

I carry on.

For creativity.

For art.

For my readers.

The only tasking aspect: no WiFi, no data, slow connections ( I cannot see myself thumbing my phone to compose and post poetry let only fiction, and speech-to-text which I do use quite often is painfully slow) leave me waiting ten minutes for the web browser to open, which does not include the time it takes for word boxes, links, navigation buttons, etc. to populate on the page, and then there’s upload time once the post has been pasted into the text box. First world problems, I know. But, a problem nonetheless for someone trying to get their work out, eventually make a living from their art, and someone wanting to share with their readers. For your patience and understanding, thank you. I’m thrilled every time a reader likes a post, or shares a post. I’m sure the dopamine release may have a bit to do with it, but really, it’s knowing my work is being read, and appreciated. So again, thank you.

What’s coming? The launch of my new collection, The Vanishing Poet, was an utter success. Promotional work and events have been underway with more to come. Please, by all means, if you are interested in reading, a FREE download is still available to readers from Amazon Kindle. I’ll provide the link below (there are two free downloads right now, the other being a chapbook called Poetry From the Edge of Forever). As this quarantine begins to clear, I’d expect public book readings (as opposed to virtual) and a Texas book tour, as well as some readings in California (already in the works), and Oregon, if not a southwest United States reading tour. I’d like to take my work east, to New York and surrounding areas (if anyone has any leads on getting in or knows any good open mics, etc. I’d be grateful for the assist). Currently, I’ve been doing the virtual circuit, so stay tuned for reading announcements.

As I wind up to wind down with The Vanishing Poet, know another chapbook is coming June/July titled, Severance: Poems of a Dystopian America. The next Max Caulfield story is about to drop on Patreon, and my focus is back to fiction. I’m working on a new Nicholas Duke novel, and another installment in the Siouxville horror stories. Stay tuned!

With that, I part. I opened my browser at the start of this, so it should be ready to post as soon as. And before I forget (I am a TERRIBLE salesperon!), if you’d like to lend me some financial support, subscribe to my Patreon (only $1 p/post-with an average of less than 4 p/month), buy my books, or make a one time donation (I take paypal, cashapp, zelle, and square). But more than anything, like, follow, or share my work, and thanks again for taking this ride with me, it’s been some experience. Take care.


Get my new collection of poetry, The Vanishing Poet,FREE at Amazon Kindle.

Video: “Faces Turn Their Way” Read by Michael Aaron Casares

Michael Aaron Casares reads “Faces Turn Their Way,” a poem featured in this reprise segment of the virtual poetry reading, Poetry From the Edge of Forever. The event was held on his Youtube Channel, The Root of Many Returns; a commemorative chapbook was also released in print and digital formats. 


Drip Drip

Dark to light,
the fire burns bright
inside. Reawakened.
The celestial pull of the full moon,
radiant, eminent, cosmic source,
provider of new direction;
necessity costs nothing
to a universe that’s willing to give.
But will you receive?

Dark to light,
the promises of the heart
when full, the gravity of serendipitous
coincidence. Synchronicity. Affirmation.
Let light stream, encase, ensconce from
top to bottom, from the deepest ravine,
the blackest trench, the void awaiting
the negligent, the nothingness awaiting
the conscience guilt riding inside
the vice grip.

Dark to light,
sun dance on a mirthful petal,
trance between the mushroom sphere,
magic, energy essential, a cascade
of glitter and sparks. New life on the
new moon, the sphere slowly begins
to turn. The dark side now illuminate,
reflecting specters of the sun.

Dark to light.

Caught up in a mental cage,
caught up in a guilty pattern,
truth vies for love over your soul,
truth hides from fear within your eyes.
Dark to light, my once angel.
Dispassionate entries mar the dust.
Bring us light. Bring us love.

Dark to light, my once found love,
every ghost shall resurrect, every
thought shall be in-step with
intonation , affirmation, ascension
once released the shadow’s secrets.
In the light there is no darkness,
vast plains spacious horizon lost,
the sun rises on curving circle,
it moves to a stationary place above.

Dark to light, my now lost love,
the source, the sun, it shall remain
until the work of light is done.


“Drip Drip” is a poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

Get Michael’s new collection of poetry The Vanishing Poet free at Amazon Kindle.



The Vanishing Poet: Promotional Art

The artwork around any project is always important. Tones and moods are set, ideas are seeded and birthed and at the journey’s end a complete whole of its own. Likewise, promotional art can be the same, and can be important in conveying the message of the art piece throughout the campaign. Here are a few promotional art pieces from the first leg of The Vanishing Poet campaign.


Promo Ad 1: The Vanishing Poet – Out of Dark


Promo Ad 2: The Vanishing Poet – Release Date 1


Promo Ad 3: The Vanishing Poet – Release Date 2


Above are designs used for direct marketing and promotion for the book release. Post-release promotional artwork also focused on keeping with the same theme of a vanished poet stepping out of the shadows, as well as augmenting that concept in subsequent photo shoots.



Promo Ad 4: The Vanishing Poet – Poems from the Edge of Forever


Promo Ad 5: The Vanishing Poet – Q & A Holes Podcast


My Childhood Home I See Again by President Abraham Lincoln (Version 1)


Original text of “My Childhood Home I see Again” by President Abraham Lincoln. Library of Congress.


Original text of “My Childhood Home I see Again” by President Abraham Lincoln. Library of Congress.


Original text of “My Childhood Home I see Again” by President Abraham Lincoln. Library of Congress.


Original text of “My Childhood Home I see Again” by President Abraham Lincoln. Library of Congress.



Canto 1

My childhood’s home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
And still, as memory crowds my brain,
There’s pleasure in it too.

O Memory! thou midway world
‘Twixt earth and paradise,
Where things decayed and loved ones lost
In dreamy shadows rise,

And, freed from all that’s earthly vile,
Seem hallowed, pure, and bright,
Like scenes in some enchanted isle,
All bathed in liquid light.

As dusky mountains please the eye,
When twilight chases day;
As bugle-notes that, passing by,
In distance die away;

As leaving some grand waterfall,
We, lingering, list its roar—
So memory will hallow all
We’ve known, but know no more.

Near twenty years have passed away
Since here I bid farewell
To woods and fields, and scenes of play,
And playmates loved so well.

Where many were, how few remain
Of old familiar things;
But seeing them, to mind again
The lost and absent brings.

The friends I left that parting day,
How changed, as time has sped!
Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray,
And half of all are dead.

I hear the loved survivors tell
How nought from death could save,
Till every sound appears a knell,
And every spot a grave.

I range the fields with pensive tread,
And pace the hollow rooms;
And feel (companion of the dead)
I’m living in the tombs.

Canto 2

But here’s an object more of dread
Than ought the grave contains—
A human form with reason fled,
While wretched life remains.

Poor Matthew! Once of genius bright,
A fortune-favored child—
Now locked for aye, in mental night,
A haggard mad-man wild.

Poor Matthew! I have ne’er forgot
When first, with maddened will,
Yourself you maimed, your father fought,
And mother strove to kill;

When terror spread, and neighbours ran,
Your dang’rous strength to bind;
And soon, a howling crazy man
Your limbs were fast confined.

How then you strove and shrieked aloud,
Your bones and sinnews bared;
And fiendish on the gazing crowd,
With burning eye-balls glared—

And begged, and swore, and wept and prayed
With maniac laughter joined—
How fearful were those signs displayed
By pangs that killed thy mind!

And when at length, tho’ drear and long,
Time soothed thy fiercer woes,
How plaintively thy mournful song,
Upon the still night rose.

I’ve heard it oft, as if I dreamed,
Far-distant, sweet, and lone—
The funeral dirge, it ever seemed
Of reason dead and gone.

To drink its strains, I’ve stole away,
All stealthily and still,
Ere yet the rising God of day
Had streaked the Eastern hill.

Air held his breath; trees, with the spell,
Seemed sorrowing angels round,
Whose swelling tears in dew-drops fell
Upon the listening ground.

But this is past; and nought remains,
That raised thee o’er the brute.
Thy piercing shrieks, and soothing strains,
Are like, forever mute.

Now fare thee well—more thou the cause,
Than subject now of woe.
All mental pangs, by time’s kind laws,
Hast lost the power to know.

And now away to seek some scene
Less painful than the last —
With less of horror mingled in
The present and the past.

The very spot where grew the bread
That formed my bones, I see.
How strange, old field, on thee to tread,
And feel I’m part of thee!

The second version of “My Childhood Home I See Again” is the revised and final version written by President Abraham Lincoln. Which is your favorite version?


AbrahamlincolnAbraham Lincoln was born February 12th, 1809 in Hodgenville, Kentucky, and served as the 16th president of the United States of America. President Lincoln is forever known as the president that led  the country through one of the greatest turmoils experienced, the American Civil War, as well as abolishing slavery engineered in his Emancipation Proclamation, and writer of the historic Gettysburg Address. President Lincoln was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth on April 14th 1865. 

The Suicide’s Soliloquy by President Abraham Lincoln

The following lines were said to have been found
near the bones of a man supposed to have committed
suicide, in a deep forest, on the Flat Branch of the
Sangamon, some time ago.


Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcass growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.

No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.

Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!

Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?

To ease me of this power to think,
That through my bosom raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.

Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.

Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am damn’d on earth!

Sweet steel! come forth from out your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!

I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last—my only friend!



Abraham Lincoln was born February 12th, 1809 in Hodgenville, Kentucky, and served as the 16th president of the United States of America. President Lincoln is forever known as the president that led the country through one of the greatest turmoils experienced, the American Civil War, as well as abolishing slavery engineered in his Emancipation Proclamation, and writer of the historic Gettysburg Address. President Lincoln was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth on April 14th 1865.


Spring Storm (A Triptych Haiku)

Thickened oxygen
Misty haze upon the ground
Grass sweat pungent green

Sudden chilling wind
Gray somber overcast rain
Hail, violent quick

Verdant paradise
Crisp first flower butterfly
Long blade beauty sheen


“Spring Storm” is a triptych haiku written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 


Get a digital copy of Michael’s new releases, his new collection of poetry The Vanishing Poet and the poetry chapbook Poetry From the Edge of Forever from KindleUnlimited for a limited time! 

A Death-Bed Adieu by President Thomas Jefferson

To M.R.

Life’s visions are vanished, it’s dreams are no more.
Dear friends of my bosom, why bathed in tears?
I go to my fathers; I welcome the shore,
which crowns all my hopes, or which buries my cares.
Then farewell my dear, my lov’d daughter, Adieu!
The last pang in life is in parting from you.
Two Seraphs await me, long shrouded in death;
I will bear them your love on my last parting breath.



Thomas Jefferson was the third president of the United States of America. Jefferson was a Founding Father and author of the Declaration of Independence. He was born on April 13, 1784 in Shadwell in the Colony of Virginia. Jefferson was a Statesmen, diplomat, lawyer and philosopher; he served as president from 1801 to 1809. Jefferson was also the United States of America’s first Secretary of State from 1790 to 1793 and second Vice President from 1797 to 1801. He is credited as being responsible for the Louisiana Purchase of 1803 and founding the University of Virginia in 1819. He passed on July 4th, 1826, the 50th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. 

Video: Poetry From the Edge of Forever – A Virtual Poetry Reading

Watch the virtual poetry reading: Poetry From the Edge of Forever

Available for public consumption: Poetry From the Edge of Forever a live virtual poetry reading presented by Michael Aaron Casares held on April 20, 2020. The poetry reading, part in observance of the #StayHome Covid quarantine activities and part in promotion for the new book, The Vanishing Poet just released by Virgogray Press, featured ten poems from the manuscript. The poetry reading was held live on Michael’s YouTube channel also called The Root of Many Returns. Readers of this blog are welcome to view the video above or to visit The Root of Many Returns YouTube Channel. Also, be sure to check out some of the reprisal videos from the presentation and the chapbook published to commemorate the event (available both in print and e-book formats; get a free download now on KindleUnlimited).

Click this link to get your FREE download of Poetry From the Edge of Forever on KindleUnlimited

 Be sure to like and subscribe to Michael’s YouTube Channel, The Root of Many Returns for more video content, including poetry readings, news analysis, and other current events and cultural shared content. Please continue to share this blog, like and comment. And, support Michael’s artistic endeavors via Patreon, or purchase any one of his books on this website or at Amazon or B& –

Poetry From the Edge of Forever: Reprise! “Faces Turn Their Way” read by Michael Aaron Casares.