Prelude Hidden Worlds

There was a ringing at the door,
I didn’t know what to make of it other than
the starlight of sky above shone through the keyhole.
The privileges of the rural, span Milky Way for miles and
didn’t blink twice to dare show its true colors.
Creamy scattered light in distant resonance,
mixed miles, light years before and light years after.
This was the hidden world of the muse,
radiance dance defy the music of the spheres garbled
in heinous emotion ego, we all looked to one another
to decipher, to possibly ascend in schiz-freak screeching
distances. Classic compositions radiate with new life at my
finger tips and the audience applause in secret solitude
and smiles of solidarity.

“Prelude Hidden Worlds” is an Ekphrastic poem after “Prelude” from Cello Suite No. 1 by J.S. Bach. All rights reserved.

Severance by Brendan Perry

Severance,
The birds of leaving call to us,
Yet here we stand
Endowed with the fear of flight.

Overland
The winds of change consume the land,
While we remain
In the shadow of summers now past.

When all the leaves
Have fallen and turned to dust,
Will we remain
Entrench

Indifference,
The plague that moves throughout this land
Omen signs
In the shapes of things to come.


Tomorrow’s child is the only child.

“Severance” lyrics written by Brendan Michael Perry. All rights reserved.

We Are Still Human

I don’t believe people become nothing
until they are something.
I don’t believe people are selfish
until they have something.
People are good.
I believe good people feel guilt
when they want to.
I believe good people feel doubt
when they have to.
Good people feel regret
if they need to.

Shunning the spirit that makes us human.
Too perfect to forget imperfection.
Too enlightened to forget empathy.
Ascended prophets disconnect
like wealthy in glass bubbles.
Forget the cost of living.
Forget the joy of our nature.
Forget the gift of decision
and the duality of thought.

The universe is a stream.
Surrender to the current.
A bottleneck is detrimental
to the contract
agreed on in the vast playing field
the chessboard uncomplicated,
the kings and queens
have checked each other
they find no mate.
The pawns distract them
in their menial servitude.

Absence of fault.
Absence of blame.
Absence of decency
brings guilt to shame.
Shame on those who regret.
Shame on those who doubt.
Shame from the mountains
of ascended prophets
who spit love with as much hate
hidden in their soul,
jealous of the human spirit
we have not forgotten.

“We Are Still Human” is a poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

Orange

It smolders in their eyes more so than the black
of pupil and space and heart.
The hearth of the heart has become sick,
produced weeping ashes and bipolar flares,
a crest to the sociopathic tongue that will
misunderstand and judge its own history.
It wriggles something sacred, a docile light
above its flesh, as the dimness begins to rush.
They see orange as the heat flows up their necks
beneath their heated collar and defeated heart.
They scorch the earth with dragon’s tongue,
curse their brothers and their sisters, cast
their family into the pyre with much at stake.
They smile through their frowns, they justify
their emotion as validated by the
Institutionalized academia that wrought
these controlled demolitions, that bred
desperate foot soldiers clinging to their
hollow virtues and crumbling moral high ground,
and I watch it burn to the ground,
as rebirth, a reset, is cast
and the light of the universe
ignites our hearts.

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

The Dancing Pagans

Through the verdant hills of the isle,
in line, in tandem with the minstrel siren,
the once angel of valor and strength,
grace and mercy, a demon disguise,
an eater of children, a banker of blood,
has deceived them as they stroll,
bouncing up and down to the beat
of the heathen drum in masked costume
as creature of the forest, as denizen
of the trees, the flowers, the fairies,
the March hair and the dragon,
waltz in reverie, drunken daydreams
unknown to the cosmic deity of love,
the hatred in their hearts is the fertile
soil of their soul and backwards,
upside down, contrary-wise,
they jest and duel the useful
fool, in clown mask and make-up,
to the pyre where they send their
wishes to the gods of children
and their ravaged and raped
bodies, a true sacrifice of the
conscience energy barreled
deep into the ether of
resentment, no forgiveness asked,
they simply bow their heads, aware of the sins
they mistook for virtues and stretch their
necks on the planks of wood and await
the sharpened blade to fall, crippling the dancing pagans
and silencing the minstrel who without the blood
of children, a hag in wait with demon eyes
anticipates the silent fate the outspoken majority
adjudicates to the light of the world,
the truth of crimes against humanity,
the atrocities performed against
the children of the sun.

“The Dancing Pagans” is a poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

Black Orpheus: Mark of the Iceman

Instant distant dirge,
a healing funnel of mud and death,
its kiss splattered all over the ground.
A spacious vacuum absorbs the
flagellate, the pustule morsel streaking
into bloody oblivion with the plaque
and dead skin. Walking wounded,
the earthworms schleps its way home.
The shards leave lei lines along the floor
that eat into its skin. The nails dig deep.
The hands are greedy, jealous,
and mad. The earth is mined and
smeared. Muzzled, with no love
and no chance of mercy,
it suffocates behind its own voice,
a shrilling shriek, a weaseled
murmuring of the depth
it lacks. To help it, to
stop the beast that rides its back,
and strangles it of the life it desires,
to backfire evil on evil with prissy
temper tantrums the lazy and
over privileged mock,
to assist it in its demise,
the stately demon sits on the bed,
a diplomat to degeneracy
and cheap prostitutes everywhere
pimped, sold, and used
by this otherwise slick and
condemned iceman.

 

“Black Orpheus: Mark of the Iceman” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

MacGyver

I learned something about
Myself today, & the way
the world becomes gravity.
The way one has to push off,
divine, cosmic as the way
is clear. We’re near. Just
hold on a little bit longer.
The sun, it is not distant
& the light is here.

 

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

 

 

Sacred Candle of the Night

White Hat WitchCraft - Sacred Candle of the Night

Sacred candle / A wooden stall / A warrior slighted/ An Indignant call / a martyr before truth / a hero of the lie / a slave to emotion /Sacred fire light the night / the innate strength / the assured resolution / the confident smile / blessed miracles in the dark / perpetuate the coming light / harbinger / herald / liaison / servant / the old oak / the sapling sequoia / the burrowing pecan / support the work / to come / on the backs of old promises / and the will of old witches / perpetuate the light to comes

 

 

“Sacred Candle of the Night” is an ekphrastic poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. “White Hat WitchCraft” is a photograph by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

Baby Eaters

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Disbelieve the truth/ It hides behind the boiling womb/ that births the Source we speak. / Laughing children / ask for a break / a mockery of their secret truths,/ the power that life holds for us all / locked within their minds, / with the memories and the magic./ Stripped away/for an ounce of prosperity,/ eyes no longer desire/ the ignorant omissions of lies./ The cynic slowly rises with the smile/ desperation lost among the hope

 

“Baby Eaters” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. “Free the Children” is a photography by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.