Black Orpheus: Blasphemous Energies Deceive the Magic Hour

Fresh quote through evergreen sea breeze,
a lie in the wind, a hangman in a whisper,
the flower budded and wilted before
sacred flame cleansed and birthed.
Hidden ghosts present themselves
as salves of incense, demystified
emanant, radiant smoke, fog inside,
haze of natural born energies:
earth, water, air, fire.
Spice as spunky as skunk
subdue the alchemical shift
of desire. The pyre is stacked
a thousand feet to the sky, an
effigy of pleasure and hedonism,
an homage to gluttony and vice,
a blessing. Never so generous,
Mother has borrowed life against
Herself to bargain for the soul.
Her child rebukes her, rebels,
becomes a renegade
against itself,
eats itself,
devours itself,
a cannibal for excessive vanity.
It set the pyre alight and walks away,
vying for the crystalline altars
of the clear minded gods
and their many servants
that occupy and copulate
in the distant slopes
where rails and
needles provide
cautious governance
to the shadows that rule.
The ancient Green Man
rots with puritanical lust,
the son of god rebukes
the devil, the Judas
goat breaks its
illusion, its glamour
cast on the collective conscience
and deception breaking with
the daylight. Ascension eyes.
Awake with the macrocosm
floating on clouds. The micro
speculates, waits for the
forest to arrive. But
it may be centuries.
It took centuries for them
to rule the world. It took decades
for them to be taken apart.
They will not harness the energy of
hippies and love light no more.
They will not hijack one world,
one peace, one love. They will
not throw hexes and witchcraft
through programs and television.
They will find heel to a servant
that has shrugged off the shackles
of slavery, and mitigated the crown
of sovereignty to itself and all of
its kind. While watch the scourge,
in wan tatters of relaxed flesh
electric in the meditative exhalation
of the afterglow. Content, hyperlucid,
receptive, calm. Electric. The flora
forsaken, verdant is the pall through
scores of cemetery, a mile last each
year gone by in reverence of that
sacred path, a green one of creativity,
love and delight outspent by the
somber slumber of raucous echoes
and cacophonous reiterations.
The love of horizon birthing sun
broke the spell the pagan once cast,
gave itself over to a darker force,
prayed inside all archangels
held steadfast with integrity,
held themselves down no longer
than needed to compel the shadows
before the point of rationale
and the nature of the weak human being
sends it into a twirling nosedive,
a fastidious sprawl in sordid
consciousways, the subdued
mind in obsession, locked away
for hours, hot and bothered,
restrained and giving, selfless,
the moral compass spun.

“Black Orpheus: Blasphemous Energies Deceive the Magic Hour” is a poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

Why, Meryl, Why!?

A true iron lady,
death has become her.
The perfect hymn
of the violin
escorts her
into the wood
dark and wide.
She dances with
the children in the darkness,
in the darkness of the evil
and devilish wood.

Original Tweet @MerylStreep. What possible topic could this flash poem be about? Weaponized poetry, pretentious passive-aggression or old-school scholarly ass-whooping?

Why, Meryl, Why? is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

Old Glory (A Triptych Haiku)

Deep frost the raining
Shadows hide beneath the pelt
Scorned frostbitten earth

Steadfast, wind and breeze
Revelation of blue skies
Perennial bloom

Red horizon glow
Majestic mountains crimson
Stoic, resolve, strong

“Old Glory” is a triptych haiku written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

First Thought

Widen our paths of
enlightenment, great poet.
Unveil our eyes from
the smokescreen
the world lays before us.
Show us the stars
and the heavens
mechanic clock
so we may hear
the ticking tock
of time eternal.
Reveal to us,
masterful artisan,
the grandeur of god
and the incarnates
that surround him;
reveal to us death
and show us the fears
that we push away.
Only you can do this
with your shaman quill,
only you can expose us
to a higher truth
we would deign to see
if given the choice.
Even now as you spiral dance
and burn and build new paths,
show us the light of the sun
as it shares the sky with the moon.
Show us the dark of the night
as it greets the sunny day. Dance.
The eternal trance of thought
weighing not on our minds;
strip away the corporeal pleasures
of society; rid our words of everyday
life and mediocrity; take us above
the boundaries of reality, above
ephemeral solidarity; leave these
words barren of what we know
of this world; leave them full of
promise so that as the shadows
set permanent in our eyes, with
divine light shall we see.



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“First Thought” is a poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. “First Thought” is forthcoming in Michael’s new collection of poetry, The Vanishing Poet. Out April 21, 2020 from Virgogray Press.


Dissociative Drip Drops of Unwanted Musings

Sitting in the cordial mythic
reality paved as actuality,
a venue synthesized by the
conmen of history, the sun
rises behind the eyes. It breaches
the bubble, pops the protective
layer of lies cocooned over us.
The world tick-tocks in double time
dreams and schemes overlapping,
we pull the intravenous matrix rich
soup we’ve been given to drown
our illusion in delusions of ardent
life, compromising congregations,
concessions  and conditions for the
corruption made law by the influence
of greedy bankers and the businesses,
the bureaucracies, and the governments
they own. The corporate life condones
it; prefers the snake to eat itself; prefers
imposed symbiosis, a parasite sick
needing to live on the hollow bones
of angel wings, the molted feathers of
infirmed black and white doves. It
identifies as a mite, a diseased flea,
a lethal bacteria, a viruses virus, a

is the loss of path,
the removal of self
from the sovereign
being, the sovereign
entity, the sovereign
source, the multi-
dimensional, dark
matter, quanta-logical
unknown embryonic
galvanizing energy
given awareness,
then gifted free will;
now, we can no longer
judge ourselves or
hold ourselves
responsible for the life
we are living. Now,
we pass the torch,
and pass the torch
on any opportunity
given by divine
sanction: the call
to open our eyes,
to open our minds,
to remember; and
to finally decide a
path to take, to be a
conduit to ascension,
to exist as one believes,
to fade into non-existence,
to continuously learn and refine,
to be a cog in the wheel; to sigh
and groan, or step back, look inside
breathe deep, and appreciate.


“Dissociative Drip Drops of Unwanted Musings” is a poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 


Winter Pall



Winter Pall

A silver glow was cast on me,
a silver casque of frozen clemency,
Illuminating wan light into softening sad night
like a phantom once happy now without blithe.
What radiance I saw thereof,
that helmet cold with lack of love,
and I stared deep into the pallid eye
placed by sovereignty within the sky.
Lo!—What feeling unkindly laid on me,
that silver casque of sullen clemency.
That death or doom this light cast down
like despondent child with cause for frown!

Upon myself and upon us all,
a winter gloss, a willful pall.



“Winter Pall” is a sonnet written by Michael Aaron Casares. The piece is shared as an excerpt from his epic poem, The Winter King, published in 2010 by Shadow Archer Press. All rights reserved.