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

IMG_20200523_032259_949

 

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.

Sundaram

The sunset cast a fire
red across the vast horizon.
The orange yellow, fire sun,
a sphere of blistering white
at the center,
palpable only as a pebble,
the casting white so bright
it lift the eyes up to the sky.
The red fire,
the fire red that leaves words
once left unread like sands
dancing in a swallow,
have metered down unto the land
clay tabs of wisdom, wakened
by the cosmic forces celestial,
the distant galaxy and shining sun,
blinding fire, light upon light
upon glistening white,
we receive the cosmic source
that comes above and from
the celestial center of our being
and our mind and our existence
and our creation and our light.

“Sundaram” is an ekphrastic poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

 

Funnel

Lights flashing underneath the dull night. / This was how I found release. / The swaying motion, / the artful twirling. / The indignation in the voice. / The spiteful hatred we try to avoid. / We see our enemies in the dance. / We see them stand before us and sway. / They are like leaves in the wind. / They are like dust to dust. / But beneath these distant lights, / beneath these dulling nights, / we find we love them with our hearts, / illuminate in sacred green / and wrap them in divine with / light / light / lightlightlightlightlightlight

“Funnel” is an ekprhastic poem written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

 

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.

 

 

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

lincoln-poetry1

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

lincoln-poetry2

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

lincoln-poetry3

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

lincoln-poetry4

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!

 

Abrahamlincoln

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.

 

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.

 

jefferson


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
https://www.amazon.com/Poetry-Edge-Forever-Presented-Virtual-ebook/dp/B087DZL8GK/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&qid=1587938350&refinements=p_27%3AMichael+Aaron+Casares&s=digital-text&sr=1-1&text=Michael+Aaron+Casares

 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&N.com. –

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