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.

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.

Retrospection by President John Quincy Adams

When life’s fair dream has just passed away
to three sore years and tehn,
Before we turn again to clay
the lot of ortel men,
‘Tis wise a backward eye to cast
on life’s revolving scene,
with calmness to review the past
and ask what we have been.

The cradle and the mother’s breast
have vanish’d from the mind,
of joys the sweetest and the best,
nor left a trace behind.
Maternal tenderness and care
were lavished all in vain–
of bliss; whatever was our share
no vestiges remain.

Far distant, like a beacon light
On ocean’s boundless waste,
a single spot appears in sight
yet indistinctly traced.
Some mimic stage’s thrilling cry,
some agony of fear,
some painted wonder to the eye,
some trumpet the ear.

These are the first events of life
that fasten on the brain,
and through the world’s incessant strife
indelible remain.
they form the link with ages past
from former worlds a gleam;
with murky vapors overcast,
the net-work of a dream.

Daguerreotype portrait of John Quincy Adams, c. late 1840s. (Photo by VCG Wilson/Corbis via Getty Images)

John Quincy Adams was the sixth president of the United States of America. He was born July 11th, 1767 in Quincy, Massachusetts. He served as president from 1825 to 1829, previously serving as the 8th Secretary of State. His father was John Adams, second president of the United States of America. He passed on February 23, 1848 due to complications of a cerebral hemorrhage. President Adams published a book of poetry titled, Poems of Religion and Society.

The Hour-Glass by President John Quincy Adams

Alas! how swift the moments fly!
How flash the years along!
Scarce here, yet gone already by,
The burden of a song.
See childhood, youth, and manhood pass,
And age, with furrowed brow;
Time was—Time shall be—drain the glass—
But where in Time is now?

Time is the measure but of change;
No present hour is found;
The past, the future, fill the range
Of Time’s unceasing round.
Where, then, is now? In realms above,
With God’s atoning Lamb,
In regions of eternal love,
Where sits enthroned I AM.

Then, pilgrim, let thy joys and tears
On Time no longer lean;
But henceforth all thy hopes and fears
From earth’s affections wean:
To God let votive accents rise;
With truth, with virtue, live;
So all the bliss that Time denies
Eternity shall give.

Daguerreotype portrait of John Quincy Adams, c. late 1840s. (Photo by VCG Wilson/Corbis via Getty Images)

John Quincy Adams was the sixth president of the United States of America. He was born July 11th, 1767 in Quincy, Massachusetts. He served as president from 1825 to 1829, previously serving as the 8th Secretary of State. His father was John Adams, second president of the United States of America. He passed on February 23, 1848 due to complications of a cerebral hemorrhage. President Adams published a book of poetry titled, Poems of Religion and Society.

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.

Sweet Lady, Awake! by President John Tyler

Original text of “Sweet Lady, Awake!” by President John Tyler. Library of Congress.

Sweet lady awake, from your slumbers awake,
Weird beings we come o’er hill and through brake
To sing you a song in the stillness of night
Oh, read you our riddle fair lady aright?
We are sent by the one whose found heart is your own,
Who mourns in thy absence and sighs all alone.
Alas, he is distant—but tho’ far, far away,
He thinks of you, Lady, by night and by day.
     Sweet lady awake, sweet lady awake!
His hearth, altho’ lonely, is bright with your fame,
And therefore we breathe not the breath of his name.
For oh! if your dreams have response in your tone,
Long since have you known it as well as your own.
We are things of the sea, of the earth, and the air,
But ere you again to your pillow repair,
Entrust us to say you gave ear to our strain,
And were he the minstrel you would listen again.
     Sweet lady awake, sweet lady awake!


President John Tyler. USA. 19th Century.


President John Tyler was the tenth president of the United States of America. He was born March 29th, 1790 in Charles City County, Virginia, and served as President from 1841 to 1845 after serving as Vice President to President Harrison who passed of typhoid fever / pneumonia only a month into his tenure. President Tyler is credited with the annexation of The Republic of Texas from Mexico, however his legacy is cloaked in controversy as he is the only United States President buried under the Confederate Flag, and not the flag of the United States of America.