Heaven's Bells:
If our picture is our world,
Does the sum of our minds' eyes weigh on the scales of fate,
Does the sound of tears and wailing ring true in your heart,
Or is it the sound of laughter,
Maybe still the sound of the small sigh you can not hold in,
When one you love reaches your arms?
Can you see whales and hear their song,
Trying to understand what is said in the eons,
Beneath rolling waves of grey white blue,
Will you remember the connection,
That souls of different shapes must share,
When the Bells of Heaven ring,
Is it above the sky or beneath the sea?
When angels stand before you,
Will you picture cold lonely places,
The thousand thousand sad poems that seem to reach you,
Or the one kind word that seems so small and foolish,
Until you look it in the eye and it calls your name,
What responsibility do you bear,
For the things your imagination chooses to see?
When you are the Albatross floating in the sky of dreams,
Do you float over beaches filled with visions of Normandy,
Or lovers lost between sand and blue and palm fronds,
Cold ice at the top of the world,
Or silent dead boiling seas.
Skies of black or blue,
Warm hand or cold point of spear,
Shackles or joyous choices,
Raucous creatures or barren sands,
Red of Mars and Venus,
Or Earth so blue and green,
Guard your visions well.
They are the key to Heaven's Bells.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/30/2003
Author's Comments:
How we collectively see the world has great weight
upon how the world is in our lives. Think upon that deeply.[/b]
_________________
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to the Universe. Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls. Loving words can work miracles.
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Saturday, November 29, 2003
Legend of the Crystal Tree:
They say it existed bfore the time of men,
Some pre-dawn era when magic was the only cognition,
Before reason crossed the threshold of belief,
And before wonder could fall to "sense".
It was a thing of unimaginable beauty,
And the creatures that saw it lived with shining eyes,
All the days they were numbered in the Weave,
The Glow never left their eyes...
Druids once danced under it's light,
On the night of Winter Solstice,
When days were short and they sought warmth,
Fires that burn from the heart out are still hard to find.
The primitive barrows begged the Stars and Gods for food,
Seeking any power to help them survive,
Their small numbers braved the dark North in the night,
And only by it's light could they grow.
Kristallklarbaum - The crystal-clear tree,
Made of magic and light and pure water,
Clear as carved ice and gloriously alive,
Hidden deep down in the last baugrundhaus of the Anchients.
Lovers would disappear into the snow,
Winds howling like mad spirits desperately alone,
Only to return with glowing eyes and bear the Kinderstark,
Children of ferocious strength and heart and ability.
They would sing a soft melodic tinkling song in their dreams,
And speak in whispers of a glowing tree of light,
Deep in a sheltered cave surrounded by mighty stones,
Through which ran a frigid clear mountain stream.
They would say how the wind sang through it's branches,
Ringing like Yule bells in the night to guide them to shelter,
And whisper of the soft warmth under it's branches,
And the fierce desire that overtook them uncontrollably.
Such couples always married and never separated,
Their love lasting a lifetime and seeming chosen by forces beyond men,
Their children performing heroic deeds and near miracles,
And this is how those few survived and grew strong - even mighty.
If you wander in the far North hand in hand,
If you hear the winds howling like mad spirits amidst blinding snow,
And you suddenly hear the song of Kristallklarbaum on the wind,
Playing to the Universe on Winter Solstice eve...
...may you come home with stars in your eyes.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/27/2003
Author's Comments:
Happy holidays - with love.
They say it existed bfore the time of men,
Some pre-dawn era when magic was the only cognition,
Before reason crossed the threshold of belief,
And before wonder could fall to "sense".
It was a thing of unimaginable beauty,
And the creatures that saw it lived with shining eyes,
All the days they were numbered in the Weave,
The Glow never left their eyes...
Druids once danced under it's light,
On the night of Winter Solstice,
When days were short and they sought warmth,
Fires that burn from the heart out are still hard to find.
The primitive barrows begged the Stars and Gods for food,
Seeking any power to help them survive,
Their small numbers braved the dark North in the night,
And only by it's light could they grow.
Kristallklarbaum - The crystal-clear tree,
Made of magic and light and pure water,
Clear as carved ice and gloriously alive,
Hidden deep down in the last baugrundhaus of the Anchients.
Lovers would disappear into the snow,
Winds howling like mad spirits desperately alone,
Only to return with glowing eyes and bear the Kinderstark,
Children of ferocious strength and heart and ability.
They would sing a soft melodic tinkling song in their dreams,
And speak in whispers of a glowing tree of light,
Deep in a sheltered cave surrounded by mighty stones,
Through which ran a frigid clear mountain stream.
They would say how the wind sang through it's branches,
Ringing like Yule bells in the night to guide them to shelter,
And whisper of the soft warmth under it's branches,
And the fierce desire that overtook them uncontrollably.
Such couples always married and never separated,
Their love lasting a lifetime and seeming chosen by forces beyond men,
Their children performing heroic deeds and near miracles,
And this is how those few survived and grew strong - even mighty.
If you wander in the far North hand in hand,
If you hear the winds howling like mad spirits amidst blinding snow,
And you suddenly hear the song of Kristallklarbaum on the wind,
Playing to the Universe on Winter Solstice eve...
...may you come home with stars in your eyes.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/27/2003
Author's Comments:
Happy holidays - with love.
Thursday, November 20, 2003
The Flying Mejishuns are really whooping up a big shew!
HEAVY-LIFTING VERSION OF DELTA 4 TO TAKE TEST FLIGHT
----------------------------------------------------
In a Cape Canaveral hangar, a rocket of monstrous proportions and power is
taking shape. It will be unveiled next month, rolling to the launch pad to
prepare for a demonstration flight that will test its knack for lofting
hefty cargos into orbit and potentially one day ferrying humans to the
space station.
http://spaceflightnow.com/news/n0311/19delta4heavy/
HEAVY-LIFTING VERSION OF DELTA 4 TO TAKE TEST FLIGHT
----------------------------------------------------
In a Cape Canaveral hangar, a rocket of monstrous proportions and power is
taking shape. It will be unveiled next month, rolling to the launch pad to
prepare for a demonstration flight that will test its knack for lofting
hefty cargos into orbit and potentially one day ferrying humans to the
space station.
http://spaceflightnow.com/news/n0311/19delta4heavy/
It's about time I got back to the castle! Too much mejikal buffetting around the Hallooween this year. The eklipz of the moon and all that bloody red in the sky, what wild petrterbations and gyrations and suchlike!
At any rate, the dragon's snoozing in the moat, and life is good. I've got my saxophone all repaired up by the Brass 'n Leather gnomes, and it spouts offf beautifully. Take a look-see:
Simple Brass:
The feel of it smooth in my hands,
The taste of reed in my mouth,
Some piece of life I abandoned far too long,
Battered and old,
Touches of green on gold I'll spend days,
Stressing to find the natural flow,
Remembering infancy and desperation to speak,
It's right as rain and hard as hell,
Wavering cracking squeaking,
Like a teenager trying to sing,
But none of that matters,
Not if I can strike a true note at will,
Someday I'll have different words,
The kind that don't push pictures,
But will break your heart and leave you loving it,
Simple brass but it gleams in spots,
One more bit of polish,
In every hard-earned breath.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/16/2003
Author's Comments:
A touch on picking back up a saxophone after 29 years. *Grin* The sax in the pic is mine - webcam shot. I decided to call it Bello - Italian for handsome and a good play on what that word would mean if it were spelled differently (add a "w") and in English. *LOL* It also takes a bit of "brass" to play it in front of others...
At any rate, the dragon's snoozing in the moat, and life is good. I've got my saxophone all repaired up by the Brass 'n Leather gnomes, and it spouts offf beautifully. Take a look-see:
Simple Brass:
The feel of it smooth in my hands,
The taste of reed in my mouth,
Some piece of life I abandoned far too long,
Battered and old,
Touches of green on gold I'll spend days,
Stressing to find the natural flow,
Remembering infancy and desperation to speak,
It's right as rain and hard as hell,
Wavering cracking squeaking,
Like a teenager trying to sing,
But none of that matters,
Not if I can strike a true note at will,
Someday I'll have different words,
The kind that don't push pictures,
But will break your heart and leave you loving it,
Simple brass but it gleams in spots,
One more bit of polish,
In every hard-earned breath.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/16/2003
Author's Comments:
A touch on picking back up a saxophone after 29 years. *Grin* The sax in the pic is mine - webcam shot. I decided to call it Bello - Italian for handsome and a good play on what that word would mean if it were spelled differently (add a "w") and in English. *LOL* It also takes a bit of "brass" to play it in front of others...
Friday, November 14, 2003
What Is The Wind?
The wind is jubilant,
Like flags whipping furiously,
Like a saxophone played so sweet,
It blows your heart out your back,
Just like Junior Walker and the all stars,
Super blue sound howling in the night,
Fountain spray bent at an angle,
As you lean into it feeling elemental,
Moved and barely anchored to the Earth,
Part of the chill blowing night,
Like maybe you really could fly any second,
But that's not all the wind is,
The wind is hard to see,
It touches everything with an invisible hand,
Breath of God or wanton gift of the Universe,
It chased half of Illinois down the street last night,
Blew the siding off my house,
Too bad I couldn't have caught it,
But I can't hold lightning either.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/14/2003
Author's Comments:
We had winds from 30 - 50 knots yesterday -
for about 12 hours. Man, you should have seen the flags
flyin!
The wind is jubilant,
Like flags whipping furiously,
Like a saxophone played so sweet,
It blows your heart out your back,
Just like Junior Walker and the all stars,
Super blue sound howling in the night,
Fountain spray bent at an angle,
As you lean into it feeling elemental,
Moved and barely anchored to the Earth,
Part of the chill blowing night,
Like maybe you really could fly any second,
But that's not all the wind is,
The wind is hard to see,
It touches everything with an invisible hand,
Breath of God or wanton gift of the Universe,
It chased half of Illinois down the street last night,
Blew the siding off my house,
Too bad I couldn't have caught it,
But I can't hold lightning either.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/14/2003
Author's Comments:
We had winds from 30 - 50 knots yesterday -
for about 12 hours. Man, you should have seen the flags
flyin!
Arista Decca:
She was born into a molten pot of brass,
Stainless steel hair falling in tune like silvery wires,
Blue diode irises in her shining golden face,
A voice like an angel from a jukebox,
Always on pitch,
Sleek brass breasts and stainless blouse,
From the silvered crease of her brass britches,
Down to the chromed wing tip high heels,
She was a metallic siren,
Born to inspire dreams she was innocent of,
Creation of a modern-day Geppetto with a jazz man's soul,
She would take flight to the stage,
A vacuum tube glowing through thin brass,
Right there where every gal has a heart,
You'd see it glow when someone she loved lit her up,
Man oh man could she sing,
Sweet and everything like the best piano rolled sax you ever had,
But all she wanted for Christmas was to be loved,
Ever since they fired her up she'd been used,
Some piece of conversation some thought,
Or play my request Baby,
But look out she wasn't taking any fingerprints,
In rude places hard to polish,
And if you knew her long you could tell,
Her copper-gold alloy lips had heating elements built in,
But her Blues Angel flew off in a blush,
After Daddy Geppetto welded her up,
A stainless gilded Iron Man,
And she got to flip his switch,
On her twenty fifth Christmas morning,
And if you never saw sparks fly,
You should have seen that tube glowing in her chest,
'Cause man it was like a blast furnace gone nova,
Dang near made Iron Man melt,
When she sang "Merry Christmas, Baby" -
With a five tenor sax accompaniment,
And two harmonicas on wings.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/14/2003
Author's Comments:
Inspired by the famous Elvis gold lame' suit - and an
imagined sighting of a gold lame' boot at the mall.
She was born into a molten pot of brass,
Stainless steel hair falling in tune like silvery wires,
Blue diode irises in her shining golden face,
A voice like an angel from a jukebox,
Always on pitch,
Sleek brass breasts and stainless blouse,
From the silvered crease of her brass britches,
Down to the chromed wing tip high heels,
She was a metallic siren,
Born to inspire dreams she was innocent of,
Creation of a modern-day Geppetto with a jazz man's soul,
She would take flight to the stage,
A vacuum tube glowing through thin brass,
Right there where every gal has a heart,
You'd see it glow when someone she loved lit her up,
Man oh man could she sing,
Sweet and everything like the best piano rolled sax you ever had,
But all she wanted for Christmas was to be loved,
Ever since they fired her up she'd been used,
Some piece of conversation some thought,
Or play my request Baby,
But look out she wasn't taking any fingerprints,
In rude places hard to polish,
And if you knew her long you could tell,
Her copper-gold alloy lips had heating elements built in,
But her Blues Angel flew off in a blush,
After Daddy Geppetto welded her up,
A stainless gilded Iron Man,
And she got to flip his switch,
On her twenty fifth Christmas morning,
And if you never saw sparks fly,
You should have seen that tube glowing in her chest,
'Cause man it was like a blast furnace gone nova,
Dang near made Iron Man melt,
When she sang "Merry Christmas, Baby" -
With a five tenor sax accompaniment,
And two harmonicas on wings.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/14/2003
Author's Comments:
Inspired by the famous Elvis gold lame' suit - and an
imagined sighting of a gold lame' boot at the mall.
Monday, October 13, 2003
They Whispered Cold Stone:
I saw the eyes darling,
They were bright and full and gibbous,
The leaves danced 'round my ankles,
Cold and restless to go to forever.
Jackfrost past the creaking gates,
One hung rusted and askew,
It was twilight dreading the equinox,
And they whispered cold stone.
Her name was there,
I saw it twixt these rheumy old tears,
The flowers of every year I spent in my cups,
Dead heaps of nothing once beautiful.
Spring is such a short time,
Yet it felt like endless,
You get to know in time,
Even memory isn't that.
Whisper cold stone when the flowers turn,
When ashen and stars rule what was blue,
Soon enough the snows come to bury,
And only the whispers of stone still stand.
Even stone knows Spring and Winter.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)10/13/2003
Author's Comments:
Sorry for the maudlin, it's just that I'm a child of Summer,
and I hear the leaves ticking.
I saw the eyes darling,
They were bright and full and gibbous,
The leaves danced 'round my ankles,
Cold and restless to go to forever.
Jackfrost past the creaking gates,
One hung rusted and askew,
It was twilight dreading the equinox,
And they whispered cold stone.
Her name was there,
I saw it twixt these rheumy old tears,
The flowers of every year I spent in my cups,
Dead heaps of nothing once beautiful.
Spring is such a short time,
Yet it felt like endless,
You get to know in time,
Even memory isn't that.
Whisper cold stone when the flowers turn,
When ashen and stars rule what was blue,
Soon enough the snows come to bury,
And only the whispers of stone still stand.
Even stone knows Spring and Winter.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)10/13/2003
Author's Comments:
Sorry for the maudlin, it's just that I'm a child of Summer,
and I hear the leaves ticking.
Fingers of the Witch:
Isn't it strange,
Once a year,
The morrors all crack,
A green fog comes along,
A great bright glowing amber orange moon,
The light turns pale and ghostly,
All the beauty sinks in,
All the ghastly creeps out,
Realease the inner demons,
Rattle bones and commune with the dead,
Steel hard red fingernails,
Exclaim the gnarled green fingers of the Witch,
The black kettle grumbles burbling on the hook,
Swung hard over the fire,
In the purple burning center,
Of the cold white bricks,
Up the chimney with soot and cinders streaming trails,
Her broom screams cackling into the night,
Black familiar screaming like a woman,
Claws sunk to the utmost in ancient wood,
A trail of smoke straight up the sky spiraled,
As she spells ballistic without letters,
Parting a cloud of vampire bats,
Misted fog drifting with purpose,
Glowing-eyed sheets and such like twirling,
A cackling vile gesture,
Flung in the face of Luna,
She knows the time draws nigh,
Every gnarly gourd and gristly bone,
Floating in her cauldron,
Screaming spirits dance in the pentacle,
Soon the black candle will burn red and green flames,
Leaves are fire on the trees,
Children shuddering cowered abed,
No one sees the flying pain,
As the tears of missing forever,
What has died another season,
Wiped instantly away to vanish,
Upon the one trembling tip,
Of the only ungnarled spot left,
Upon the fingers of the witch.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2003 in the hour past midnight.
Author's Comments:
The season of the new is passed again,
The season of the harvest,
Of reaping and death before rebirth,
Is at the heart of every witch this time of year.
She remembers her time of Spring and Summer.
Isn't it strange,
Once a year,
The morrors all crack,
A green fog comes along,
A great bright glowing amber orange moon,
The light turns pale and ghostly,
All the beauty sinks in,
All the ghastly creeps out,
Realease the inner demons,
Rattle bones and commune with the dead,
Steel hard red fingernails,
Exclaim the gnarled green fingers of the Witch,
The black kettle grumbles burbling on the hook,
Swung hard over the fire,
In the purple burning center,
Of the cold white bricks,
Up the chimney with soot and cinders streaming trails,
Her broom screams cackling into the night,
Black familiar screaming like a woman,
Claws sunk to the utmost in ancient wood,
A trail of smoke straight up the sky spiraled,
As she spells ballistic without letters,
Parting a cloud of vampire bats,
Misted fog drifting with purpose,
Glowing-eyed sheets and such like twirling,
A cackling vile gesture,
Flung in the face of Luna,
She knows the time draws nigh,
Every gnarly gourd and gristly bone,
Floating in her cauldron,
Screaming spirits dance in the pentacle,
Soon the black candle will burn red and green flames,
Leaves are fire on the trees,
Children shuddering cowered abed,
No one sees the flying pain,
As the tears of missing forever,
What has died another season,
Wiped instantly away to vanish,
Upon the one trembling tip,
Of the only ungnarled spot left,
Upon the fingers of the witch.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2003 in the hour past midnight.
Author's Comments:
The season of the new is passed again,
The season of the harvest,
Of reaping and death before rebirth,
Is at the heart of every witch this time of year.
She remembers her time of Spring and Summer.
Friday, September 26, 2003
The Family Muse:
It's an interesting thing,
When you click "search".
Never knowing what you'll find,
Gifts throughout space and time,
Mysteries and revelations.
The greatest of them,
William the Giant,
He lived with her close day by day,
She leaned on his shoulder with tender golden whispers.
Kim the Giant's Heir,
Walking around his father's incredible ghost,
She brushes kisses on his ear in timely fashion,
And Princess Kit dances sweet moving the world,
Listening to Daddy's Love in timeless abandon and rhythm's power.
The Giant's brood are nuclear,
And the rest of us in the family quiet old TNT,
Lady Judith wanders with her hand in hand,
As they laugh a verse and lay down polished words,
And Dave Sinclair with our family in the midst gets some time,
Whiling away poor dear Norma catches whispers while doing time.
Paul Michael dances with her a jig or two,
Some day I'll see the sweet nothings she left him,
And Patrick P. remembers Lady Di under the gift of whispers,
Immortalizing the beautiful lost candle light in the hurricane,
And there she she danced a well deserved turn,
Yet Clay lies at her feet hearing bits in his dreams,
And David recorded WWII under the force of her gently driven breath.
Jorge is the Crossword Prince twisting out answers under her wing,
And Claire Ann has a subtle spirit of youth which colors her gift,
While Mr. Chris has a turn coming for a whisper soon we'll read,
James speaks to our souls and the twisted path we must walk straight,
As we never forget Simon be it fall upon the lake,
While Jana records the readings yet I bet she'll have her whisper day,
And Donna dash Skar translates January Rainbows and other rare golden delights,
And Barbara lends us pictures of the visions with the poetic way she illustrates.
Georgia Lynn brought us joy and sorrow,
Poor dear couldn't live even with the words,
But she took the time to speak with us before her leaving day,
And so the clan distant and scattered though we be,
She travels light at the speed of light,
A touch here and whisper there,
Busy busy busy but ever a tenacious delight,
The family muse lives on touching the quiet gentle hearts,
All these Staffords in literature and poetry.
What of me did you say,
I think she comes to me missing William,
Because she is often but I've yet to reach Fusion,
She is loving Earth and Sky and heart and cloud,
She led me to start watching over the family,
"Daniel A. please whisper prayers for them upon electric clouds."
My ear is always open to her,
Beautiful Lady Inspiration,
Dancing in papyrus piles and loads of feather quills,
Our dear sweet family Muse.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/26/2003
Author's Comments:
Thank you to Google.com, for what they had to say about "Poetry Stafford."
It's an interesting thing,
When you click "search".
Never knowing what you'll find,
Gifts throughout space and time,
Mysteries and revelations.
The greatest of them,
William the Giant,
He lived with her close day by day,
She leaned on his shoulder with tender golden whispers.
Kim the Giant's Heir,
Walking around his father's incredible ghost,
She brushes kisses on his ear in timely fashion,
And Princess Kit dances sweet moving the world,
Listening to Daddy's Love in timeless abandon and rhythm's power.
The Giant's brood are nuclear,
And the rest of us in the family quiet old TNT,
Lady Judith wanders with her hand in hand,
As they laugh a verse and lay down polished words,
And Dave Sinclair with our family in the midst gets some time,
Whiling away poor dear Norma catches whispers while doing time.
Paul Michael dances with her a jig or two,
Some day I'll see the sweet nothings she left him,
And Patrick P. remembers Lady Di under the gift of whispers,
Immortalizing the beautiful lost candle light in the hurricane,
And there she she danced a well deserved turn,
Yet Clay lies at her feet hearing bits in his dreams,
And David recorded WWII under the force of her gently driven breath.
Jorge is the Crossword Prince twisting out answers under her wing,
And Claire Ann has a subtle spirit of youth which colors her gift,
While Mr. Chris has a turn coming for a whisper soon we'll read,
James speaks to our souls and the twisted path we must walk straight,
As we never forget Simon be it fall upon the lake,
While Jana records the readings yet I bet she'll have her whisper day,
And Donna dash Skar translates January Rainbows and other rare golden delights,
And Barbara lends us pictures of the visions with the poetic way she illustrates.
Georgia Lynn brought us joy and sorrow,
Poor dear couldn't live even with the words,
But she took the time to speak with us before her leaving day,
And so the clan distant and scattered though we be,
She travels light at the speed of light,
A touch here and whisper there,
Busy busy busy but ever a tenacious delight,
The family muse lives on touching the quiet gentle hearts,
All these Staffords in literature and poetry.
What of me did you say,
I think she comes to me missing William,
Because she is often but I've yet to reach Fusion,
She is loving Earth and Sky and heart and cloud,
She led me to start watching over the family,
"Daniel A. please whisper prayers for them upon electric clouds."
My ear is always open to her,
Beautiful Lady Inspiration,
Dancing in papyrus piles and loads of feather quills,
Our dear sweet family Muse.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/26/2003
Author's Comments:
Thank you to Google.com, for what they had to say about "Poetry Stafford."
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
!!ANNOUNCEMENT!!
I need 60 poets to read at Harvest Fest:
We need 30 poets each day over two days to read for six minutes each.
This will be a large outdoor family oriented function, part of Plainfield's annual Harvest Festival,
on Saturday September 20th 2003 & Sunday September 21st 2003.
Please, keep in mind there will be children and families in attendance when choosing material for this reading,
and choose appropriately. Please have at least one poem on fall or the harvest.
This event is entitled the “Gourmet Junction Harvest of Words” and is being sponsored by and hosted at Gourmet Junction,
(www.gourmetjunction.com) at 505 West Lockport Street, Plainfield, IL.
The readings will take place under a tent on the street in front of Gourmet Junction.
Local high school and college poets will be reading between 1:00 pm to 2:30 pm,
and adult poets between 2:30 pm to 4:00 pm each day.
There will be a single table available for chapbook displays for shared use by all poets.
If fully booked, this event will feauture a total of sixty poets, thirty adult and thirty young poets over two days.
Interested poets please contact:
Daniel A. Stafford
AquarianM@whizzyrds.com
815-483-8878
Please provide your name, city or neighborhood, phone number, e-mail if available,
and the best times to reach you, and age group, school or adult.
This event could well kick off monthly readings in Plainfield, so we need to really show ‘em what we can do!
This event will be free to the public.
I’ll be taking names until 4pm Tuesday, September 9th or all 60 slots are booked, whichever comes first.
Thursday, August 21, 2003
In Search Of Light:
In the deep dark mejik I fell under tonight,
There were ghosts and miseries,
Plans I could never see.
The windows all were closed,
But a draft fell on my candle flame,
Tears were never far,
Angels on the window sill.
Funny how the night is so deep in between my ears,
But it's just a bit south and left where the hole lies,
And nothing can ever quite fill it right again.
No, I can't give you the crystal ball answers,
No I can't open the blinds on life,
All I can do is stand here looking for the lighthouse,
Wondering where you are.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/21/2003
Author's Comments:
Missing those who've passed beyond my world.
In the deep dark mejik I fell under tonight,
There were ghosts and miseries,
Plans I could never see.
The windows all were closed,
But a draft fell on my candle flame,
Tears were never far,
Angels on the window sill.
Funny how the night is so deep in between my ears,
But it's just a bit south and left where the hole lies,
And nothing can ever quite fill it right again.
No, I can't give you the crystal ball answers,
No I can't open the blinds on life,
All I can do is stand here looking for the lighthouse,
Wondering where you are.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/21/2003
Author's Comments:
Missing those who've passed beyond my world.
Saturday, August 16, 2003
A little childhood mejik for you to ponder on:
Woolgatherers Rule:
You feel the chills running down your spine,
Wave after wave and hackles risen,
Dread and despair so close they could cut you,
Any moment the claws will rend,
You feel the teeth crawling over your skin just shy of breaking,
Roaring in your ears like the end of time,
The silver screen's ghosts come to life,
Right there in the torture cell,
Where they make you go at night,
And the only thing that saves you,
Is the wool you pull over your little eyes,
Ah, shiver little Ostrich,
How long can you hide behind the Woolgathers' Rule?
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003
Author's Comments:
Ever pull the blankets over your head after a night
of scary movies and banishment to a pitch-dark room?
Make up the rule that monsters can't get you under the covers?
I sure remember those nights!
Woolgatherers Rule:
You feel the chills running down your spine,
Wave after wave and hackles risen,
Dread and despair so close they could cut you,
Any moment the claws will rend,
You feel the teeth crawling over your skin just shy of breaking,
Roaring in your ears like the end of time,
The silver screen's ghosts come to life,
Right there in the torture cell,
Where they make you go at night,
And the only thing that saves you,
Is the wool you pull over your little eyes,
Ah, shiver little Ostrich,
How long can you hide behind the Woolgathers' Rule?
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003
Author's Comments:
Ever pull the blankets over your head after a night
of scary movies and banishment to a pitch-dark room?
Make up the rule that monsters can't get you under the covers?
I sure remember those nights!
Black Leather - Red Lei...
Just a playful little thing I posted for some friends in the Gothicverse, the kind with white fangs and long black capes with red silk linings...
Black Leather - Red Lei:
He walked in the shadows,
Under the pale Hawaiian moonlight,
It was cast full and searching over the palms and waves,
He remembered a time long ago,
He'd called this place blue...
She walked unaware following faint notes on the wind,
Hearing a beautiful voice that was forever,
A lei of red flowers draped from nape to breast,
The only light was the silver moon,
She could hear the soft strains of Loving You,
Climbing the wooden stairs away from the beach,
She felt lonely and forgotten,
Barely noticing the midnight black 1957 Caddilac,
At least at first,
But then she realized where the song was coming from,
A pale slender figure in black leather,
Leaning against the front fender,
Slicked back jet black hair,
Sharp features and prominent sideburns,
Laser blue eyes that pierced her soul,
And man he could sing,
So easy about it while the hair on her neck rose,
Half in fear half in fire,
Damn he was good looking too,
She couldn't help walking close,
And he smiled that half-lip way she remembered,
Like in the movies and on the Ed Sullivan show when she was little,
He had that magic and he looked un-Godly like the real thing,
But hell it was August 16th 2003 on a beach in Hawaii,
And that king was dead,
But she looked in his eyes and she swore,
Swore that they were all somehow wrong,
She walked close just listening,
Her eyes glazing and her breath coming in shallow gasps,
Just his voice was melting her there,
Like when she was home alone in the bath,
Listening to those records and fantasizing over the calendar,
The one of him on the wall that made her fall,
She'd spent years loving a voice and dream too old for her,
But this she couldn't resist,
Not a word she let him take her hand and pull her close,
She looked up and burned in his gaze listening,
She never remembered for certain but she'd later believe,
There was music in the air to back him up,
And he reached out with a toss of his head on a soft note,
Grabbed the gold door handle on the black as night Caddy,
And opened the door like that kind of gentleman,
The kind you barely found these days,
And seated her in the plush blood red interior,
All the trim was gold and the red of the velour was LOUD,
Like he used to be when he decorated his place,
And he had that certainty to him,
Like he knew he couldn't lose,
And as the door closed the smoky tinted windows engulfed her,
Just like his embrace,
How could he still sing while his lips,
Were raising gooseflesh on her throat,
And the song changed to hard and fast,
Hound Dog hard she clung to his black leather and fell from grace,
Gladly.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003
Author's Comments:
A little taste for the King on his anniversary...mmmm.
Black Leather - Red Lei:
He walked in the shadows,
Under the pale Hawaiian moonlight,
It was cast full and searching over the palms and waves,
He remembered a time long ago,
He'd called this place blue...
She walked unaware following faint notes on the wind,
Hearing a beautiful voice that was forever,
A lei of red flowers draped from nape to breast,
The only light was the silver moon,
She could hear the soft strains of Loving You,
Climbing the wooden stairs away from the beach,
She felt lonely and forgotten,
Barely noticing the midnight black 1957 Caddilac,
At least at first,
But then she realized where the song was coming from,
A pale slender figure in black leather,
Leaning against the front fender,
Slicked back jet black hair,
Sharp features and prominent sideburns,
Laser blue eyes that pierced her soul,
And man he could sing,
So easy about it while the hair on her neck rose,
Half in fear half in fire,
Damn he was good looking too,
She couldn't help walking close,
And he smiled that half-lip way she remembered,
Like in the movies and on the Ed Sullivan show when she was little,
He had that magic and he looked un-Godly like the real thing,
But hell it was August 16th 2003 on a beach in Hawaii,
And that king was dead,
But she looked in his eyes and she swore,
Swore that they were all somehow wrong,
She walked close just listening,
Her eyes glazing and her breath coming in shallow gasps,
Just his voice was melting her there,
Like when she was home alone in the bath,
Listening to those records and fantasizing over the calendar,
The one of him on the wall that made her fall,
She'd spent years loving a voice and dream too old for her,
But this she couldn't resist,
Not a word she let him take her hand and pull her close,
She looked up and burned in his gaze listening,
She never remembered for certain but she'd later believe,
There was music in the air to back him up,
And he reached out with a toss of his head on a soft note,
Grabbed the gold door handle on the black as night Caddy,
And opened the door like that kind of gentleman,
The kind you barely found these days,
And seated her in the plush blood red interior,
All the trim was gold and the red of the velour was LOUD,
Like he used to be when he decorated his place,
And he had that certainty to him,
Like he knew he couldn't lose,
And as the door closed the smoky tinted windows engulfed her,
Just like his embrace,
How could he still sing while his lips,
Were raising gooseflesh on her throat,
And the song changed to hard and fast,
Hound Dog hard she clung to his black leather and fell from grace,
Gladly.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003
Author's Comments:
A little taste for the King on his anniversary...mmmm.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
Friday, July 25, 2003
An interesting *spell* cast by a true Star Whizzyrd in the *Monotnussverse*. See how a cheap scrying glass can take you to the far reaches of the heavens: Backyard Paparazzi to the Stars
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
Explosive Sand:
Well over one hundred miles long,
And you can see at least five without too much trouble,
All this sand along the water's dividing line,
It was hot,
Blue,
Goldfire Sun,
Flaming across the waves,
Cold,
Crisp and rolling,
Waves about two to three footers,
White caps peeking up now and then,
But the Sun started falling,
All the blue above and below the horizon line,
Faded down to inky black and merged,
Just boat lights in the distance,
An endless line of green before white trolling slow,
The big dipper appeared,
At about eleven forty o'clock and eighty degrees azimuth,
Yeah, and eighty degrees Fahrenheit too,
The moon shot up at nine by seventy,
Ducking in and out of heavy isolated cumulus darknesses,
The last gold rays of sunfire fading fast into pink,
And the sand lit up,
Bangs and howls and screamers and sizzlers and popcorn poppers,
Red white blue green gold orange firefall,
They were shooting right into the pan on the dipper,
As far as eye could see,
Over the city lights on both ends of Sand World's curves,
The Lake Michigan shoreline was a multi-hued strobe light,
The gulls were off in hiding,
And all you could hear was boom bam sizzle pop ohh ahh,
For nearly three hours the firefall dance said one message loud and clear,
"Happy birthday, home."
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/06/2003
Author's Comments:
Fourth of July night, Indiana Dunes.
Well over one hundred miles long,
And you can see at least five without too much trouble,
All this sand along the water's dividing line,
It was hot,
Blue,
Goldfire Sun,
Flaming across the waves,
Cold,
Crisp and rolling,
Waves about two to three footers,
White caps peeking up now and then,
But the Sun started falling,
All the blue above and below the horizon line,
Faded down to inky black and merged,
Just boat lights in the distance,
An endless line of green before white trolling slow,
The big dipper appeared,
At about eleven forty o'clock and eighty degrees azimuth,
Yeah, and eighty degrees Fahrenheit too,
The moon shot up at nine by seventy,
Ducking in and out of heavy isolated cumulus darknesses,
The last gold rays of sunfire fading fast into pink,
And the sand lit up,
Bangs and howls and screamers and sizzlers and popcorn poppers,
Red white blue green gold orange firefall,
They were shooting right into the pan on the dipper,
As far as eye could see,
Over the city lights on both ends of Sand World's curves,
The Lake Michigan shoreline was a multi-hued strobe light,
The gulls were off in hiding,
And all you could hear was boom bam sizzle pop ohh ahh,
For nearly three hours the firefall dance said one message loud and clear,
"Happy birthday, home."
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/06/2003
Author's Comments:
Fourth of July night, Indiana Dunes.
Saturday, June 28, 2003
The Sixth Canticle:
Long hours in betwixt braziers and glowing skulls,
The stars lie in their appointed hour,
As a comet falls furious into the ocean,
The Moon gives sight to the racing wave,
In the tower of open night sky,
The Canticler drones in *mejik* rhythm,
And the Jewels of the Firestar light in brilliant purple and green,
Twin beacons of power at precise points of the Runegard,
The circle of silver characters which surround the star,
The Pentagram of Unicorn hair and Dragon blood,
And the purple-green braid of light races around the circle,
Black flames leaping from the pentagram,
The gateway opens into a distant sky,
And a howling wind screams into the void,
The Canticler sounds the Six Bells of Devonbane,
And the blood-red light erupts from the tower,
Leaping straight into the sky six Light Dragons,
Creatures of *mejikal* energy,
Awaiting the sight of the Canticler's wish upon their minds,
For they are bound him as Earthe to Sun in the Heavens,
Six points of the Canticler's soul given form in the night,
Eating the energies of starlight and Earthefire,
The Kingdom will soon be riven of the Usurper's minions,
And the Darklords scream as their crystals shatter,
And fire pierces their skulls like lightning from Heaven,
Two only, left standing to face the Canticler,
They are unholy Demons cloaked in robes as black as their hearts,
And yet he shows no fear,
For the Sixth Canticle he has bespoken,
And upon the dawn the Seventh shall fall from his quill.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003
Author's Comments:
What the mind sees, the page brings crystal clear.
Long hours in betwixt braziers and glowing skulls,
The stars lie in their appointed hour,
As a comet falls furious into the ocean,
The Moon gives sight to the racing wave,
In the tower of open night sky,
The Canticler drones in *mejik* rhythm,
And the Jewels of the Firestar light in brilliant purple and green,
Twin beacons of power at precise points of the Runegard,
The circle of silver characters which surround the star,
The Pentagram of Unicorn hair and Dragon blood,
And the purple-green braid of light races around the circle,
Black flames leaping from the pentagram,
The gateway opens into a distant sky,
And a howling wind screams into the void,
The Canticler sounds the Six Bells of Devonbane,
And the blood-red light erupts from the tower,
Leaping straight into the sky six Light Dragons,
Creatures of *mejikal* energy,
Awaiting the sight of the Canticler's wish upon their minds,
For they are bound him as Earthe to Sun in the Heavens,
Six points of the Canticler's soul given form in the night,
Eating the energies of starlight and Earthefire,
The Kingdom will soon be riven of the Usurper's minions,
And the Darklords scream as their crystals shatter,
And fire pierces their skulls like lightning from Heaven,
Two only, left standing to face the Canticler,
They are unholy Demons cloaked in robes as black as their hearts,
And yet he shows no fear,
For the Sixth Canticle he has bespoken,
And upon the dawn the Seventh shall fall from his quill.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003
Author's Comments:
What the mind sees, the page brings crystal clear.
Firefly & Sulfur Mejik:
Lights that sparkle in the night,
Time is slow and easy,
Cottonwood seed drifts across skies,
Barbecue flames and sizzles,
Sunglow falls to stars rising,
Fire flies dance and that's when they start,
Big boomers across the water,
All the lights are out tonight,
And the country's not alone,
We're all celebrating our Independence,
'Cause when the sun comes up we'll still be dreamin',
No alarm, no hurry, no coffee clutch,
We've got sunshine, gliding birds and water,
Calling all our names,
Shuuuush, shuuuush, shuuuush,
Dance the dance of sand and blue.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003
Author's Comments:
Vacation over the 4th RULES!
Lights that sparkle in the night,
Time is slow and easy,
Cottonwood seed drifts across skies,
Barbecue flames and sizzles,
Sunglow falls to stars rising,
Fire flies dance and that's when they start,
Big boomers across the water,
All the lights are out tonight,
And the country's not alone,
We're all celebrating our Independence,
'Cause when the sun comes up we'll still be dreamin',
No alarm, no hurry, no coffee clutch,
We've got sunshine, gliding birds and water,
Calling all our names,
Shuuuush, shuuuush, shuuuush,
Dance the dance of sand and blue.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003
Author's Comments:
Vacation over the 4th RULES!
Happy Birthday To The Wordsmith
Life is a page,
Yet to be written,
It's all in what you see,
Claim the letters of happiness,
For your own on this,
Your shining day,
And fill all your future pages,
With the divine light and right,
Of a life well-lived.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/26/2003
Author's Comments:
Written as a birthday wish for our friend,
The Enchantress Roberta - who loves to *journal*.
We gave her a new *spell book* to do her *journalling*
in, and a birthday scroll with this spell in it.
Life is a page,
Yet to be written,
It's all in what you see,
Claim the letters of happiness,
For your own on this,
Your shining day,
And fill all your future pages,
With the divine light and right,
Of a life well-lived.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/26/2003
Author's Comments:
Written as a birthday wish for our friend,
The Enchantress Roberta - who loves to *journal*.
We gave her a new *spell book* to do her *journalling*
in, and a birthday scroll with this spell in it.
* A note for any Whizzyrds from the Grand Control of the Blogverse Council *:
I used a *CHANGE TEMPLATE*spell to correct the *Scramblization* curse affecting my corner of the *Blogverse* since I sent you the scroll begging for your whizzyrdly assistance. Please dis-regard the scroll, I managed to fend off the *Eevil Grimlins* on my own. Thank you for following through...
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