Hand Trim The Grass...

 

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	8/9/2000 9:41:13 PM 9/25/2022 6:46:39 AM	985

Hand Trim The Grass

Just a childhood memory,
From when I was maybe two or three,
A place Noni & Nono took me to see,
A gray headstone in the cemetery.

Hand shears snip-snipping in the shade and sunshine.

Flowers and memories that weren't mine,
Of someone that time had left behind,
My grandmother's mother resides above,
Maybe one that time had left, but not love.

I doubt I could find it now, except in my mind.

Just an adulthood memory,
Driving past the catholic school where I used to be,
In the cemetery a low reddish stone with letters,
Two I love free of life's fetters,

Gino and Sadie Nofri say the letters.

I can't read the numbers to the right with dry eyes,
But over there Uncle Ross resides,
Every time I drive by,
I can't help looking out of the corner of my eye.

I never will say good bye.

God trims the grass, too.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000



By: Daniel A. Stafford

Author's Comments

When I was a child, my grandparents would go to the cemetery once a week in the summer
to trim my great grand mother's grave and put up flowers. I remember helping with the hand
trimmers, those little grass shears. Their grave is in another cemetery, just inside the fence off the
street, right next to where I used to go to school. My brother's house is two blocks away from them
and I am always right next to them in my heart.

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Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	8/9/2000 9:41:13 PM 9/25/2022 6:46:39 AM	985

The Weight Of Ghosts...

The Weight Of Ghosts...

Life is like an egg timer,
Or maybe an egg shell,
Or some other fragile damn cliche.

I know the richness of memories,
Times and places only a very few will know,
Less and less every year,
But I remember.

We're like cloud shapes in the sky,
Just visible for a blink or two,
But I have seen some seriously good ones.

It's comical,
When I talk to someone half my age,
The backdrop they're missing,
Utter cool evaporating on the wind.

Faces,
Places,
Times and sayings,
Hair and clothes and music,
But people,
People most of all.

The thought of no one knowing who they were,
That's crushing,
And I wonder if that's what truly ages us,
The sheer weight of ghosts.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/25/2018

Dusty Old Letters From Tesla...

Dusty Old Letters From Tesla...

You can see the genius in the handwriting,
Meticulously cluttered,
Like an attic closet lost for a century.

The dry must is blown off the yellowed envelopes,
All eyes widen with delight.

Back in the day,
It was known as "correspondence,"
Hand-written and soul-bared.

The wonders of the Universe,
Revealed,
Wax seals that had partly re-stuck,
Grudgingly giving up their sleeping secrets.

It was all tales of love,
Love with a mystical beauty un-bound by our petty rules,
Cosmos was her name.

Nicola gave us an adoring view under her skirts.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/11/2017

Rembrandt Sleeping, poem #26

It Doesn't Matter What Universe You're From...

It Doesn't Matter What Universe You're From...


In the end,
Love is all that matters,
How much of it is in you,
How much of it bled out into your world,
Painting the place better,
Even just a touch.
You'll be remembered for many things,
But love most of all.

AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12-29-2016

Grace Hides In Out-Of-The-Way Places...

Grace Hides In Out-Of-The-Way Places...

Is innocence such a dim memory,
Only to be found in flowery script,
Some battered parchment in a long-conquered fortress?

Would Sir Lancelot recognize sweet Guinevere,
Were she cloaked in a business suit,
Creating the fortune of nations?

Time has wound us tight,
Busy with the bother,
Slaves to information overload.

I long for typewriters and quills,
The feel of paper in my hands,
The quiet that falls with darkness that knows only stars and candlelight.

Civility and service are too complex for this age,
They are ghosts that haunt my dreams,
A song my grandparents would sing were they alive.

Perhaps Time is the name of a dragon,
One that slays us without exception or fail.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/04/2016

Inscribed In Stone...

Inscribed In Stone...

Words are everything.

Read it again;
Words are everything.

They make us.
They break us.
They echo us to the future,
Long after our dust is eaten by Earth.

When we are stars,
Shining in the depths of night,
Words give voice to our silent light.

See and remember,
See and hear,
If you can read the stars,
Inscribed in stone.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/20/2016

For our stars gone to the sky.

*Side note: We just had to put down our 19-year old cat. He was a very mellow and intelligent guy, and of course a total foodie. Indy, you get a star up there too, old man. 

Better Ways...

Better Ways...

I hear a ticking drumbeat that calls me in the night,

To an other-world,

A place of soft blue light.

All the world places shallow dreams there,

Jokes and screaming and the great salty mind of Humanity,

Raw and yet guarded,

A cesspool full of kittens,

Dreams of the stars spun around dreams of Armageddon.

Then there is this soft place,

An old green garden,

A place where dreams are pinned to the walls,

And our ghosts speak plainly to us,

Everything they ever said at our fingertips.

If I am so driven to pour pieces of my soul into the aether,

I feel that this is a better way.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 10/06/2016

--
Compassion is the greatest sign of Humanity.

So My Oldest Blog Has A New Look...

...and that in and of itself is kind of mejical.

I love to think in poetry and metaphor. I think they're powerful tools for awakening the human mind. This morning, I think I need to speak mostly in a more straightforward manner.

I'm remembering three poets who have passed away since I began writing poetry online back around the year 2000...or was it 2002? I don't really remember for certain.

Clearly the online poetry world has gone through major changes in all that time.

All three of these poets I wrote with for several years on different poetry boards before their passing. Some of their poetry can still be found online, should one care to look.

These are my poetry ghosts:

• P.G. Smith of Perth, Australia. (Known online as Hope Smith)
• Ivor of Britain. (Known online as Poetic Piers)
• Christine Doran of the USA. (Known online as Talitha Ruatha)

I want to give them remembrance here, because they deserve it. Each were kind. I collaborated with all of them. Most of all, I miss their unique voices in the world. I think that is all we really have in this world, living or dead. Our voice.

Use yours well, my readers. Thank you for stopping by and reading.

Voices Among The Stars...

As we orbited each other,

Exchanging waves of gravity,

The Earth spun on.

I don't know if we're oblivious,

Or face oblivion.

I know you shined,

Still burn brightly in my mind.

Thank you new stars,

For the light you all gave my world.

You're missed,

Each and all.

AquarianM

(C) 09/27/2016

By: Daniel A. Stafford