In The Burning Shadow Of Fallen Leaves:

It's another year gone and the leaves are piled,
Awaiting their day to smoke and burn into the sky,
The glistening blue of a sky grasping the frost of every breath in the world,
The flames only erase the most visible past,
The ash lies underneath - infiltrating the ground,
The building blocks and foundation for what new will come,
Is it a Spring of green you await,
Shall the harvest soon to come be forgotten?

See the shadow of leaf smoke long across the ground,
It's day is nigh and the stars of Summer are falling below the Earth,
Even as the Hunter rises in the sky once again,
Eternal with sword and bow twinkling in the night,
In the night that comes all manner of ghouls and flying things will rise,
Haunting the inner vision in annual respect of death's reaping,
In the time when each flower knows it's season was too short,
Must pass and fade and brown like last Summer's grass,
And when we breath in the smoke that shadows fallen leaves,
Watch the sparks leap up and licking orange flames,
The bare dead tree limbs and endless night question us,
Did you ever love enough in your short season?

Looking through the knot hole of a gourd,
It begs a question,

"When it comes to love,
What could possibly Oh Great Pumpkin,
What could possibly ever be enough?"

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/14/2004

Author's Comments:
I feel this every single Fall. Some more than others, but every one.

On this day, September 11th, of all days:

Turn Away Cold Voices...

Close your ears,
Listen to the heartbeat of Earth,
Close your ears,
Feel the touch of love and all it's dear worth,
Close your ears and see clear and clean,
Close your heart,
To the siren of the war machine,
Turn away cold voices,
Leave heartache far away in the dark,
Turn away cold voices,
Forget to fan the spark,
Let not the liars tell you,
That death becomes them,
For no heart that beats,
Should by any man's hand end,
Turn away cold voices,
Cause not any river of tears,
Turn away cold voices,
Full of hatred, lies, and unjust fears,
Hold out your hand in kindness,
Together love this Earth,
Turn away cold voices,
And remember the measure of your worth.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 04/24/2002


The Thorn Of Crowns:

One doesn't need to be crucified to die on the inside,
Heavy responsibility is not always easy to bear,
Temptation can blind you at times,
And losing you objectivity can be worse than being blind.

The sepia tones of old photographs can't hold you at night.

Never forget those times you cried,
And how they came about,
Remember the times you smiled,
And what gave those smiles birth.

Everyone has those moments in greater or lesser degree.

Even if you are King of the World,
You can't eat diamonds and emeralds,
And fast cars and jets can carry away,
Just as easily as to.

You could be haunted even on yacht at sea under forever stars.

Think about it,
Will the world truly have been better for you having walked it,
Even just one little bit,
The sum answers of that question alone are set in stone.

The true bits of gold carried by men.

When power comes upon you,
And you've walked the the halls of rulers,
Lying with a rattle in your throat,
As the angels gather round you,

Was the life you wore torn useless by the Thorn of Crowns?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 03/15/2004

Author's Comments:
I think most people will understand.


Return My Colors:

I saw them waving in the breeze,
Those threads and dyes of freedom,
Pursuit of life, of liberty, of happiness,
Red of courage,
White of purity,
Blue of truth,
They stand for freedom,
They do not belong,
Upon the collars of intolerance,
Upon the poles where heads hang,
In the circle of a lake of tears,
In the halls where our lives are pried open,
Like a clamshell overfed on statute pages.

I want my colors back.

I want those colors to bring tears,
Because they mean a home where one is soveriegn,
Upon the lands we've worked to earn,
Where spies are some dark shadows across oceans,
Or figments in story books,
And no one is disappeared without a trace,
Just upon the say-so of fear's hounds.

I want my colors back,
To wear with pride,
Because they represent a place of good hearts,
And live as you are.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/28/2003

Author's Comments:
Our rights and liberties are critical to the character and identity of this country. There is no place on Earth like this place was just two and a half years ago. I want that place back, and the colors that go with it.



Walking The Needle:

We all must face a darkness today,
As a world and as a nation,
For the man-made shadow cast yesterday,
And that just a cumulation of many all over the world,
And as our hearts are torn with rage and grief,
We must remember that we are moral beings,
And that wanton retaliation is no such thing as moral,
And we must remember that violence only breeds violence,
And insanity does not bring death to life,
For how many bombs have been thrown in truth by whom?

We all must face a darkness today,
As a person and as a human being,
For the manmade shadow we contemplate casting today,
And that just an addition to those all over the world,
And as our hearts are torn with rage and grief,
We must remember that we are moral beings,
And that much of what races in our minds is not,
For long after we extend our hands in violence,
We will remember that we were amoral beings,
And ultimately the cost is a ticker tape of blood spots,
And shadows upon more souls.

We all must face a darkness today,
And wonder how to bring back the Sun,
And in no way can I poor poet that I am,
Give out the definitive answer,
For I must face a darkness today,
Staring at the fires within my own heart,
And perhaps that is a good place for each of us to start.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/12/2001


By Candle Lit Tears:

You see a soft yellow glow everywhere now,
Millions of points of gentle light at night,
All over this vast land with a common heartbeat,
And the faces may change but not so the tears,
You will know if you look and see,
Down from up above where you are now,
Your gift is remembered well,
The one you didn't know you would give,
As you left for your work and errands on that fateful day,
But you will know it if you look,
Not by the words of angels or historians,
Though those may come your way,
No, you will know it if you look,
By the rivers of candle lit tears.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/17/2001

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

There will be no further posts today in remembrance of the people and cherished intangible treasures that were damaged on this day in 2001.

Fish Doctah Blues:

We've got fish flying 'round the room,
There in the downstairs powder parlor,
Inspired by a picture about dreams,
Something about most people and wealth,
And the writer walking backwards,
Between flying fish and speaking animals,
So we found the little wooden trout at the hobby shop,
Looking just like the ones in the picture,
And I gave them rainbow shimmer wings,
Flew them on the wall like some creator,
And they look at me with beady eyes,
Every time I'm in there,
Like "He made us fly but what's stapled on next"?

Got a wooden child with wings coming loose,
Need to pull out the tape and glue,
Put the imaginary magic back,
Before sad-eyed trout rainbows swim my dreams,
I much prefer scaly ripples of free flight imagination,
Guess it's practice for some future responsibility,
Or just the silliest poet heart,
But if you give fish wings,
It's no fun taking a chance on them splashing down.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/08/2004

Author's Comments:
Yes, we do have this surreal scene in the downstairs powder room, and
this piece is both figurative and real life at the same time.

A Spin Around The Prairie:

I walked in the bright sunshine,
In the glad light of time alone with my wife,
In the calm of footstep after footstep,
A hawk backlit by the afternoon sun drifting,
Low over green milkweed pods and tawny dead Queen Anne's Lace,
Darting swallows around a dead tree,
The still green leaves along the river in low September sunlight,
Thinking of giant pumpkins to come,
Small yellow butterfly you flutter along with us,
Only to be followed by the regal orange-black monarchs,
The prairie flowers native to this land,
Some call them weeds the little tiny white daisies with yellow centers,
The brown of dead thistles with the occasional late blooming vivid pink,
I hold a cigar and coffee in hand strolling slowly,
And we speak of future past and present,
Hopes and dreams and wishes,
Filled lungs with the local slow breeze,
Soon enough we'll roll across the creek past weeping willows,
Burst free of the corn field into a world of concrete and brick,
Yet for the moment I feel close to the living Earth,
In synch and in time without looking once at my watch,
Feeling like a high thin white cloud over the field,
Embracing the Zen of a tree trunk that only grows in one place,
A child at play on the swings racing dandelion tufts,
Dancing on the wind in a place that deserves to live.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/07/2004

Author's Comments:
A slice of the afternoon - one I want to enshrine, to bottle up and take
home.

Plainfield Live Poetry

I've just added a new link to our live poetry reading group in
Plainfield, Illinois in the right hand border column. Take a peek if
you're interested.

Dan

Labor Day Rain:

I kind of wonder if the edge of Frances is touching us here,
Thinking of far away friends scattered about the windy circle,
But here it's gentle rain and breezes blowing,
No hullabaloo in an unhurried morning,
Ducks on the pond and vast green view out the window,
Simply four Mallards paddling,
A little yellow tinge on leaves everywhere,
Yesterday's ride through the country as gold climbs down the soybeans,
I've thoughts of amber leaves and red and brown,
Of milkweed tufts burst free,
Of wandering the corn maze holding my wife's hand like children,
Of the passing of another year,
Amber moons with black cloud veils,
The occasional bat flying past,
Even in this season young hearts falling in love,
Caught in the hurricane of time,
Enjoying every rest of landing feet,
Yet for now the warm coffee calls me,
And Fall can wait another sleepy day.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/06/2004

Author's Comments:
Fleeting thoughts, a note from one of my nieces, a morning of reading
poems after a wonderful day and night.

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

The Ghost Bird Of Plainfield

It was something graceful,
The way the tree leaves streamed with the afternoon breeze,
The sharp slant of early afternoon sunshine,
Easy old music on the baby blue cream white and chrome radio,
Retro with dials and red hands and yellow numbers,
A wasp flew by and two butterflies,
Three flies and a swift flock of pigeons raced over the rooftops,
Grey and speckled white and seeming swift,
I looked to neighbor Ron's swaying red flowers and purple tall grasses,
It was then that I saw it unrecognized at first,
Hovering at first one red bloom then another then gone,
It took a moment to register,
Just three tiny inches with invisible wings,
In that flash of fleet beauty,
I had witnessed the appearance of the hummingbird.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/02/2004

Author's Comments:
Instant replay via poetry.

Under The Vision Tree:

In the soft fog of morning,
Rays of sunlight just peeking through,
A silence of the birds is reverent,
Under the vision tree.

The grass is green in the field yet,
Just beyond the branches drooping,
Eerie white clouds hug the ground,
Back-lit leaves appear black.

The old barn and farm house sit,
Silent and empty of all but shadows,
With the encroaching suburbs at my back,
I feel the ghosts of children who once laughed.

The park has become prairie again,
The boarded windows look over a barren silo,
Bare stone foundations like headstones,
Presiding over the reminiscence of past glory days.

How many children climbed those branches,
Full of imaginings in Summer heat,
Dreaming of grown up lives far and wide,
Or of the school year's end in Spring?

In the spine-tingling shadows,
I see hints of sunlight just breaking through,
The bees will awaken as morning warms,
Blooms will open to hummingbirds and rabbits.

Like the husk of last year's monarch,
Faded orange and dead black,
The laughter of children long faded to empty silence,
Perhaps echoed betwixt nursing home walls.

Still I can almost see horses,
An old grey tractor and fresh brown Earth,
Clothes pinned on a line and puppy tails wagging crazily,
Long lost music staring me down,

As I stare afar under the vision tree.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/03/2004

Author's Comments;
The park where I practice saxophone in the Summer was a farm once. Most of
it is still there, but not the people, nor the life. It is a haunting place.

Under The Turning Light Of The Moon:

The evening was fallen between clouds and stars,
Billowing black traipsed across the face of amber,
It was as familiar as bats flying on All Hallows Eve,
As the wind whispers departing secrets,
Soft syllables upon the just-turning leaves and grasses,
Milkweed pods full almost to bursting yet still green,
Brown tinge at the edge of Queen Anne's Lace,
Black birds are gathering upon the wires as the calendar comes to nine,
The breeze is warm in evening and cool after the witching hour,
Prairie flowers fading away to golden seeds,
The stars are changing and Summer is growing weary,
Yet for a time yet she will warm us still,
Watching as the corn leaves edge with yellow,
As the fruits begin to bear,
Squirrels hoarding and rabbits burrowing,
Sweaters and jackets checked for repair,
The passing of another season looms,
Beautifully bittersweet,
The only way left to greet it is like a child,
With wonder and wide open eyes,
And the feel of ghosts rising into foggy nights.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/03/2004

Author's Comments:
It seems we've hardly had Summer this year. There have been so many cool
days, rain and fifty degree days in August. Another year gone, another year
farther from Spring. I'm going to ride my bike for all I'm worth and just
try to remember.

American Stones Face East:

Stones Face East...

...In the new museum of Native Americans in Washington,
This is true that there is reverence for the sunrise,
Yet another sun may be rising.

In the cool morning of golden rays Red and White touch the Earth together.

In Tibet the ancient religion of Bon,
Belief that there was undying spirit in all things,
Animals and winds and the very stones of the Earth.

In the Time of Ice men crossed the world hunting.

Somehow the Manitou walked across water while changing names,
And where is the surprise in this,
For Spirit is beyond our limits and small understanding.

Man can not create so much as a leaf without a living seed.

God is a complexity we can scarcely understand,
The strange mirror of East and West yields reflections to careful patience,
Tibetan ancestors would know the soul of Native America.

In the distant mists of time we all have a Source.

In the march of time,
Buddhists walked East,
Christians walked West.

Bloody footprints must be washed from this Earth.

Many spirits flew beyond Mother Earth,
In these tangles of early Spirit and complex God,
Borne of misinterpreting intolerant followers.

Only love can heal ancient pain.

In the ages to come there is another mirror,
Perhaps West and East can see each other,
For in Tibet and Washington mergers play out.

It is long past due we learned to become one again.

It is long past time for reconciliation,
For the long painful birth,
For the best of ancient and modern to merge.

We must no longer be children as we step out of the cradle.

In both lands those of ancient wisdom still stand,
While hordes of younger ideas swarm,
Youth and wisdom both lose in separation.

The stars are twinkling above and the sky is all one vast lonely place.

There is much for Youth to learn,
Yet Age is not all there is to wisdom,
Where do the generations finally meet?

The seasons go on and we have much to lose as leaves bury the path behind
us.

How can we ever heal and become one?
How long will there be two sides to the mirror?
The best of each place and time is there in the dichotomy of silvered glass.

In the Autumn the Earth is bearing fruit yet we must plant seeds for a new
Spring.

The evil Manitou Spirit Devil laughs as he melts more sand -

How long will we be grains within his intolerant fires?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/01/2004

Author's Comments:
There are interesting similarities between China's relationship to Tibet and
the United States relationship with Native American Nations. In both cases
both the younger and older cultures would stand to gain much if they could
find a way to take the best of both cultures and blend them into a new world
that was good for both. In the larger picture, the same is true of East and
West. In the microcosm or macrocosm each is diminished without co-existence
with the other. Native Americans and native Tibetans in their own ways bring
a spritual value to reverence of and stewardship of the Earth and nature. I
feel that impact in the environmental movement in the Western hemisphere,
and I wonder if it is not present in the East. This is but one example - if
we took the time, I would imagine there are many more subtleties that could
be of great value to the world as a whole, yet the fear of change tinges
everything. A question: if God created everything, is it wrong to think that
everything is imbued with a bit of His undying Spirit? Another: Could not
His name have been heard differently in the aftermath of Babel around the
world? It's always been we humans who misunderstand Him. I wonder if there
aren't fractions of truth and misunderstanding all about this world. Two web
links help to illustrate:
http://www.tibet.cn/english/zt/culture/..%5Cculture/200402004512103207.htm
and http://www.enn.com/news/2004-08-31/s_26782.asp .

Remember Your Ghosts:

When someone we love dies,
It is appropriate to miss them -
For a time.

It is the natural thing,
We think of all we will miss,
The loss - we - bear.

When we are finished with - our - loss,
We face a great choice how,
They will live on in us.

Make no mistake,
They live now partly through us,
Partly through God.

The part through us is small yet,
It is their connection here,
To the Earth.

We can show the Earth their angry bad,
Face or remember their love,
Faces leaving war masks,
To the silent invisible dust.

That choice only slightly defines their existence yet,
It greatly defines our own.

How do you call upon your ghosts how,
Do they appear when you call?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/31/2004

Author's Comments;
I picture like in legends where we call upon our ancestors to save us in dire times of need, yet we live in the shadow of the way we choose the memories of them to hold every moment we breathe.

All of my currently available poetry books can be purchased at:
http://www.lulu.com/Daniel-Stafford

Why Must I Cry?

I could write a thousand pages,
Of woe and tears and gloom,
Like every child I suffered wounds that can not be seen.

Where does the pursuit of these tales bring me?

I comb through my life looking for gold,
Because the dross isn't worth immortalization,
Let it lie buried in the past.

If I fill my eyes with jewels from the past life sparkles.

If my poetry is golden,
If it is like a ray of sunshine in Summer,
Why should I shed light on the rotted leaves that fell out of season?

The balm of a rich life is not found in a bucket of pain.

Aquarianm

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/26/2004

Author's Comments:
I've heard from somewhere that my poetry is one sided when it comes to
childhood. My reply? "Thank God I have that choice."

Manna, Manna

In the heat and confusion,
Rest from wailing and tears shall come,
Look to the sky and see it rain.

Manna from Heaven is needed again.

Bless the children oh Lord,
Those that run from steel and lead and blood,
Rest their weary feet upon green grass in a garden.

The loaves from the sky fall with an end to tears.

Soothe the mothers' worried brows,
Fill with love distant hearts,
Let manna fall like rain.

Somewhere there is a place for them all.

Manna,
Manna from Heaven and love abounding,
We give thanks it shall be so.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/26/2004

Author's Comments:
For the souls lost in Darfur.

Outfly Your Wings:

Outfly Your Wings:

In the seconds before you disappeared,
I know your souls flew up,
Did you outfly your wings there below the pearlescent throne,
Like butterflies exiting chrysalis,
Irridescent and glittering,
The dew of many tears may follow you,
Though yours no longer flow,
I feel compelled to hold prayer for you,
May God grant those who love you solace,
To see you dancing with the stars,
Unlike poor Icarus,
You outflew your wings.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

Author's Comments:
In sympathy with the passengers of the two planes down in Russia and those who lost them.


On God's Doorstep - ISBN 1-4116-0710-4
The Beach Poems - ISBN 1-4116-0112-2
are available for sale at:
http://www.lulu.com/Daniel-Stafford

Blessings And Rain:

I have a friend who will be travelling,
I will be practicing the saxophone outside,
Under the wooden roof at the park.

Blessings and rain - bring the green grass and a safe flight.

I am thankful for the cocooning of a grey day,
The quiet place in the soul that reflects off fog and raindrops,
The flowers that rise when the sun returns.

Blessings and rain between brass notes and airplane wings.

I feel the sun shining on my saxophone looking golden,
Just as I'm thankful it will after she lands,
A flowering of life unfolding.

Blessings and rain from God's tender hands.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/25/2004

Author's Comments:
For our friend Hope.

Question Spiritual Aspects Of Poetry

Often when writing poetry, the writer feels a sense of "tapping into a
source." The sensation is as if something larger than you is actually giving
you the words to put down on the page or keyboard. The favored manner of
writing differs from author to author, and really is irrelevant for the
purpose of this discussion. Many times when writing under this "spell" or
"trance" state, for lack of better words, and author feels they have written
some of the most important and profound writing.

Another interesting phenomenon that I have noticed in such instances is that
usually two or three other poets at the boards I post to will write on very
similar themes when I feel this happen. Most often it is two other poets,
and it seems to happen with three of us at a time.

Another area of interest is the concept of prayers through poetry, or as
poetry. I would like to investigate this type of poetic expression in my own
writing, and to hear from others if they use the same technique. I have
written a few poems of my heartfelt wishes in the past with lines like
"releasing prayers to electronic winds." I wondered even back then if poetry
could be used as a request for spiritual energy, for the feelings and
desires of readers to resonate with the request inherent in a poem. In
effect, the reader is "speaking the word to God for the writer" by
sympathizing with the poem's emotional content. Readers of Florence Scovel
Shinn's work "Wisdom" will have a deeper understanding of the subject I am
raising.

Could wide-spread poetry be used to bring the energies of peace, love, and
prosperity to a wider group of people? Certainly writings in the Bible's
last books, as well as things such as Norse mythology's Ragnarok and others
have brought a view of a cataclysmic end to the world into the larger
consciousness of mankind. Writing of any nature can do this. Writing of a
spiritual nature may in some way alter the universe we inhabit by altering
our basic beliefs about the universe we inhabit at a very deep level. Modern
physics touches on the possibility, theorizing that the universe exists out
of unlimited probability streams because we observe it to exist. The Bible
says in one part that "He who believes enough can move a mountain." and that
we should give thanks to God as if what we ask is already granted. Some
modern preachers warn us that the words we speak to ourselves are also heard
by God, and we can speak ourselves into trouble or into joy.

This raises many questions about poetry, and how it might be put to use to
bring positive spiritual energy to a large group of people. If this is true,
and possible, then poets bear a heavy responsibility for the visions they
craft and display. Perhaps it is time we poets as a sub-culture examine this
aspect of our art in detail. Certainly the world could use all the positive
spiritual energy that can be found in these times. It seems that the world
is at a turning point and the focal point of this is here in the United
States, in the ideology and path we choose to follow going forward. There is
a great rift in this country in view point at this time. Could the gentler,
kinder side of poetry be utilized to help heal this to some extent? Could we
possibly write our way to a somewhat better world?

Please address any comments on this topic to the e-mail link at the top of
this blog. I would like to deepen this discussion if possible.

AquarianM

Spiritual Poetry:

Spiritual Poetry:

Is this a poem,
Perhaps the rambling of a creative mind?

Is this a path,
That passes through healing,
Into self-knowledge and light?

Do the fingers on the keyboard,
Become driven by some cosmic under-mind?

How do you explain,
Poets on similar topics,
Usually posting in threes?

Can a poem become a prayer,
If written in love and light?

If so then let's pray for peace and love,
Good  things,
All across the world to come...

Starting with tonight.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/24/2004

All of my currently available poetry titles are for sale at:
http://www.lulu.com/Daniel-Stafford

Poetry Is In The Moment:

In the mindless foolish transition,
I lost my words in searching too deep,
Looking for mountains of meaning to pour out,
Hoping for some grand place in the heavens,
Forgetting the simplest of things,
When my eyes are opened and I see a small space,
The dusty trails I walked between cornfields,
The footpath along the railroad tracks in early 1960's sunshine,
The insects and prairie flowers of Wisconsin Summers,
The goldenrod and oriole and wild child hair,
Deep in rural Nebraska,
The stark contrast of dark night skies in the desert,
The deep blue of a rare New Mexico lake,
The salt tang of a midnight beach in Galveston,
Poetry is in the moment,
In the small places you live and see and breathe,
Those slices of life too precious to forget,
And all the moral ground and beliefs,
Wishes for the future and hopes and dreams and fears,
Nothing is exempt,
No single piece is all there can be,
Because poetry is life,
In the words you can find to capture it.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/08/2004

Author's Comments:
Sometimes I forget and my voice falls silent in a false lack of words.

With The Voice Of Rain:

In no uncertain terms I described the sky,
Every hue and color and their meaning to me,
The mesmerizing dance of leaf and wind and raindrop,
The utter rhythm of raindrops upon roofs,
The chill I feel at the way ideas fall on Earth,
The frightening vistas of change and passage,
How it burns that those younger do not know the value,
How it burns that I fail to see the worth of new,
In these moments I chastise myself and find youth,
In others I find staunch deliverance in timelessness,
Still leaves whisper upon the branches of trees,
Fall is filled with beautiful contrast,
Love is the final air we all breathe.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/22/2004

Author's Comments:
I miss old times and love new times. Sometimes I wish I were more a part of them, others I realize I am.

Rainbow Of Hope:

The thin thread of light in the sky,
The painted wisp of God-word,
Contract of peace in one fashion,

When the triple rainbow of peace falls across a Northern sky,
I will rejoice in the futures now untouched,
In the rich silk of youth coming home,
In the fine glow of the stars that just exceeded black clouds.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/26/2004

Author's Comments:
I will rejoice when the last person standing has walked home.

Flowers In Dull Places:

A bloom in a window,
In a yellow brick wall,
In an alley seen only,
From the height of a parking ramp,
Hearts reach everywhere,
One piece of beauty that lights the definition of invisible,
Just look where you expect nothing wondrous to live.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/27/2004

Author's Comments:
Inspired by a real sight in the middle of nothing in real life.

Invasion Of Bones:

The breeze blows softly,
Flowing through open truck windows,
Carrying the sounds of parking lot denizens to my ear,
Home Depot breathes in the heart of the Burbian Blob,
With the setting of the sun imminent,
I stare at the steel bones digging into concrete laid over the Earth,
Metal frame studs reaching two stories,
A see-through cut-away precursor of more blocked sky,
Where the crops once grew,
Gone - verdant fields and slow time daisies,
Creeping steel bones and parking lots.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/03/2004

Author's Comments:
Incessant sprawl was driven home by my surroundings.

Digging A Spark Out Of Exhaustion:

They said it'd never be done,
It was too cold a place,
All frozen ground and ice chips and whatnot,
Red-eyed like a demon with tears streaming,
Mouth yawning open every five minutes,
Yanked by the anchor to fall into the sleepy sea,
Still my fingers flew on keys like a tattered sail fluttering in a gale,
Struggling - reaching - clawing for a bit of tack,
In a humble moment of utter faith,
The sun struck down through the clouds,
The muse flew back in from Saturn or wherever,
And !WHAM! there it was on the page,
A bit of profundity and dazzlement,
Lighting up the decks and scaring off the sharks,
The oil lamp lit and my head hammered pillow down.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/06/2004

Author's Comments:
Weeeeee'reee Baaaaack!

Stars After Sunset:

The cool breeze of the evening whispered from the left,
Grasses waving and tree leaves danced,
Birds flew and gold lined every cloud,
The sun was fallen below the building across the street,
Cigar smoke was swirling slow and easy,
The fading blue and orange West called to me,
Haunted by the twinkling lights overhead,
The first stars winking knowing another day gone,
Further and further from roots and nostalgic longing,
Closer and closer to whatever knowledge or wisdom,
Well something like that I suppose,
The music on the new CD full of beautiful angst,
The red cherry of my cigar glows,
Still I wonder what we really know,
Thankful the only lights and sounds,
Only music and grass rustles and glowing stars and clouds,
Underneath all our worlds we know it,
The sadness is borne each day in bloody blackened sand,
Search for hope or meaning whatever you will,
Should we hurry or hold slow a major dilemma,
Another day’s light is going out,
And I want to crawl slowly through the beautiful night,
Up into the far haunted twinkling bejeweled sky.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/07/2004

Author's Comments:
The politics of the day seem unwilling to leave the back of my mind. I want to see right and humane choices made, want the country I grew up loving to touch once more it’s kinder and hopeful soul. I feel like we’re all searching for that somehow, like we’re all lost in a nightmare with morning glowing just out of reach.

Bannana Freeze:

Hot sunshine on endless cornfields,
The sky free of haze and open blue,
The fearsome high dive,
First time swimming under without holding your nose,
Ripples of golden light on blue-painted concrete,
In the ear-ache deep end,
Sounds magnified clicking rocks on bottom,
Flying like Superman with mask and fins,
Holding your breath until desperate tingling,
Driving up with all you can muster,
Splash fights and cannon balls,
Hating the sounds of distant thunder,
Lifeguard whistles and numbered pin in your suit,
Lying on a damp towel and hot grey concrete,
Everything from Elvis to Beatles playing,
Tinny grey bullhorn speakers,
Finally-over fifteen minutes trying not to run,
No eating they say you'll cramp up,
Fifty cents for a day in Heaven,
Hop on your bike at hot evening,
Last ten cents gets you a cherry-dipped,
Frozen luscious bannana at the Tasty Freeze,
Just a tiny-town Nebraska swimming pool.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/07/2004

Author's Comments:
1970 Genoa, NE, population 1050.

King Of The Orange Track:

Fifty cars strong,
Two Slingshots,
Rubber band powered zoomers,
Two loop the loops,
A California Eight set,
Juice Machine and ten Sizzlers,
Twin side-by-side thirty foot runs of orange track,
The best Hot Wheel set in town,
The pinnacle of it all,
A purple 1968 Didge Charger RT,
Would run the whole circuit every time,
Never flew off,
Eight year old King of the Orange Track.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/07/2004

Author's Comments:
1970 Genoa, NE

One Black And White Step:

Third grade I remember,
Teacher said it was something special,
Something completely amazing,
Rolling a black and white TV out,
Front of the room on a metal cart,
Quick draw the shades so we can all see,
I heard the tinny voice live,
Tranquility Base it's one small step,
Followed by incredible bounds,
Eagle had landed on the Moon,
And in those moments everthing had changed,
In all our hearts hope sprang forth,
Earth was tiny and beautiful,
Too small to hold us,
We'd witnessed the fire three days back,
Burning away the infancy of Mankind,
We all grew up expecting to someday fly.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/07/2004

Author's Comments:
Winter 1969, Genoa, NE.

August At Four A.M.

Standing over the wall four stories up,
The gentle scent of cigar smoke slows me now,
Hot perked coffee sips on my tongue,
Looking down from the parking ramp where I stand,
Each pool of street light on the world below is a little universe,
I wonder if the man pacing by the bus stop knows he's famous,
Carrying his umbrella and wearing a back pack,
Staring down the street waiting for the one that will take him,
I watch the red LED signs at the EL stop scroll,
Illuminating no one in particular,
Occasionally someone strolls down the street,
What strikes me is none of them hurry at all,
Just an easy gentle walk every one of them takes,
The low lights of empty restaurants and offices,
Apartment windows like a million dark shining mirrors,
Delivery trucks stop by the newspaper machines,
Herald or Tribune or a fresh baked batch of help wanted ads,
Cars and cabs driving easy without any edge or push,
Trees sway over sidewalks ever so slightly,
As I watch another ghost flow up up up off my cigar in the quiet,
Thinking in poetry and believing that this is the real world,
I see the clock glowing down the street on the side of a building,
Looking like the only warm frozen object under heaven,
I reach decision time with reluctance,
As the bus rolls past with people sleeping,
Will it be one more puff or two,
Before I lay something gently glowing,
In the ash tray atop the garbage can,
Thankful I'm a creature of the night,
Free of the harsh world of five minute cigarettes,
High voltage coffee shop hustles and watching a watch,
I slide into the sunset truck,
Turn up NPR's gentle Jazz hour,
Listening to the thrum of an acoustic bass expertly strummed,
Thumping easy like the ocean a saxophone floats over,
Passing the river on the draw bridge,
I see the sheen of lights rippling off it like city stars,
Out onto the barely full interstate,
As NPR slides into gently romantic latino hour musica,
And the cruise home is soft and cool with the window cracked,
Ten miles an hour less and home twenty minutes faster,
Pulling into the drive with a soft blue glow in the East,
Venus brilliant high above the approaching dawn,
I close the door and ease out the poetry of the night,
A place where you can now go without fear,
Without urgency or drama or tears,
Kiss my barely awake wife in a space of comfortable love,
And leave the day to those in high gear,
As the pillow key eases my engine off.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/15/2004

Author's Comments:
There are some good things about working nights.

Mirror The Eyes:

In the space of sixty blinks another story flashed in,
Watching the Watchers was the hard and fast line,
Moment after moment filled with shadows of great import,
Would that it could be,
Poetry can make of no less reality the flood,
Your eyes wide open are all that stand,
Sooner break a leg than leave the booth unattended,
There's a call to duty in the push of a button,
The reason you're not walking laryngitis,
The flash of a silver handle flicker,
If you say it doesn't matter and walk,
Don't waste your bacon grease,
Considering you left your eggs in everyone else's basket,
Shut your mouth as everyone else feeds,
It doesn't matter it's an overflowing flood of ink on white,
If you don't sip and spit you forge your own chains.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/19/2004

Author's Comments:
Educate yourself as much as possible then vote.
************************************************************************
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.

A Walk On The Side Of The Hill:

Fourty five degrees is not something to sneeze at,
But this was only a gentle slope so no worry,
Grass underfoot and green interspersed with ancient stone,
The same grass crowds had sat millennia past,
Olympia was calling her own home,
The bodies glisten in the sun after 2,000 years and more,
The columns dinged and cracked and fallen,
The sea visible off in the distance and salt on the breeze,
The challengers were all hushed with awe,
This was the birthplace of Democracy,Of philosophy and more,
The place where heroes were granted stars up in Heaven,
A place where the strongest youth of all nations journeyed,
The Games are the oldest contiguous tradition,
Maybe, maybe - and then you realize the voting booth,
That and the debate circle are all equal in birthday count,
More or less a crown of olive wreath,
In this place and time where the only war of the moment,
Is an attempt to shatter conceptions of human limits,
In that spirit then let the games begin,
There in fair Olympia.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/20/2004

Author's Comments:
I find it utterly fitting that the Olympic games this year are being held back in Greece and at least some of them on the same field where ancient Olympians challenged the limits of human nature in so many brilliant ways. Take a pictorial tour: http://www.magicaljourneys.com/Olympia/olympia-interest-photos.html

Unfortunately, Literary Angels Publishing went out of business after only ten copies of On God's Doorstep were printed. I have now moved the book to a new publisher, Lulu Press at http://www.lulu.com/Daniel-Stafford . I have also released three other titles at the same publisher with more coming in the works. You can find a link to all four titles currently out in the right-hand column of this blog or you can visit the link in this post to see them. Such is the nature of Mejik - when one good thing leaves you many new good things return. I am stil on good terms with the former Chief Scribe of Literary Angels, often reading her poetry to my great enjoyment.

My new Chapbook, "On God's Doorstep" a season of Saturday mornings at the Madonna Della Strada Chapel Terrace, Loyola University Lakeshore Campus is now available for sale at: http://www.literaryangels.com/Danstafford.htm This is a collection of poetry and photography about a very beautiful place, and not the religious work the title may imply. A postcard from a place of beauty and serenity, so to speak. It took a year to write the poetry, and nearly another year and a half to get the photography and publishing work ready for print. All photography is unenhanced, and was taken with a very inexpensive toy 35mm film camera, and yet turned out stunningly beautiful. Here's a peek at the cover photo - ther appears to be an angel praying in the sunlight, and this is exactly how the unedited 35mm photo turned out, nothing was touched up or added:

Inch By Inch:

In battling the brass,
There is no fast and furious,
Only incremental improvement,
A microfraction every day,
Slowly getting better,
Like a snail catching on,
Each note dragged out by it's squeaking hairs,
Yet the however is simple and stark,
I'm still moving up hill,
And if it takes me years,
I will play yet someday,
I will win the sweet battle,
Of buttered brass and reed.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/10/2004

Author's Comments:
I'm steadfastly struggling to improve my saxophone playing just a touch every day.

Grey Sky And Angel Feathers:

I fell into reverie,
Lost in clouds and sun departing,
It was flurries on water frozen into a sheet,
Sparkling white dust like a diamond circle,
Turning a plain pond into something mystical,
I won't cry over Winter as I hold her dear,
So much in this world needs these days of rest,
How man's clumsy hands are hurting the Ice Queen,
How careless and callous it can be,
I wonder for a world devoid of snow,
All the creatures that will die away,
All the cities that will be awash or sunken,
All the changes and hardship this might bring,
I dance at every flake like a new-christened child,
I feel joy in cold drops upon my tongue,
I see my breath in a cloud and consider it righteous,
I would be the Druid standing at the Stones of Winter,
Looking between the snow covered fir trees,
Sighting down the East and seeing sunlight not yet in,
If we truly knew what was coming,
We'd be frightened out of mind,
But today the snow was falling,
Like God's whiskers and angel dusted feathers,
And when the night is muffled with clouds,
And the pretty flakes dance in the beams of streetlights,
I hear sleigh bells ringing and see warm fires and hands holding,
Children with rosy cheeks and snow-filled pant cuffs,
Ice skates and sleds and snowmen,
And I could care less if I drive slower,
It's easier on Winter anyway,
And when I lose the child inside me,
That's when living will be a separate issue from breathing,
But right now I'm going out into the pretty snow,
And let the twain joyously collide.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/10/2004

Author's Comments:
Snowy weather is a treasure. It says the world is not yet truly unbalanced, just teetering. It says be child-like and have faith. Global Warming is a nightmare and I owe a very great debt to Winter and all it has brought into my life. There are so many reasons to rejoice in that the Winter is come to bring the world to order for the mad rush of Spring.

A Cigar With My Ghosts:

I won't play favorites I loved those gone,
Every one was something special in my life,
Still is 'cause I hear their voices,
Feel the love they left in this place,
On some sunny days I sit and slow time smoke,
The scent reminds me and I see them there,
One in pony tails drumming tennis on the floor 'n gum poppin',
One sitting back with a newspaper no longer toiling over the stove,
Another next to me with a glowing cherry in a cloud,
And as the music plays back behind me,
The wind whispers by like yesterday did,
I feel the chill of all they are,
And smile because in my heart,
I'm sharing something with these spirits that still move me,
In the sights and sounds behind my eyes it's all good,
I remember and I dream and I play fast forward or rewind,
Just one of the special scenes that graces my mind,
I could listen to that part of my soul for hours,
Some times I do,
But I guess it's a gift to me,
This little happy fantasy,
That let's me hold on to the best of you.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/10/2004

Author's Comment:
I wish sometimes in life I'd been able to share a cigar chair day with my Grandfather, but I'd bet Mom 'n my Grandmother would've been there too.

Limestone Under Sunset Siege:

I walked the path today,
Saw the crumbling limestone,
Foundations a shadow of when,
Simpler has gone or so we'd say,
Blacktop paved prairie paths,
Between tame milkweed ponds,
Canada geese sail a spring fed gravel pit,
And the only signs of amber waves,
Are crumbling limestone squares,
Planters for shrubs and trees,
Reminders of where children dreamt,
And people lived close to the land.

The sunset swore soft pastels,
It was late December and warm,
Barely ice on the water,
No speck of snow to see,
Just Canada geese and crumbling limestone,
In almost hidden shrub covered squares,
Buried under Prairie grasses seemingly freed,
I wonder how long the herons will be gone,
In this only place they still make little herons.

The ghosts are trembling amidst the crumbling limestone,
Under the barely chill sunset rays,
Looking at the sunfire on water,
Tied to disappearing haunts,
Even Winter holds their trembling ethereal hands,
Walking with them into faded memory,
Like the sun at the end of a beautiful day.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/27/2003

Author's Comments:
It all seemed to come together, the fading sun, the crumbling ruins you barely knew were there, the lateness of Winter. The world changes and it only seems slow.

Last Breath:

The Oil Demons breathed their last breath,
It was thunderous rejoicing,
Children need not die in the sands,
In the streets or in the far countryside,
Winter could someday come back home to stay,
Poison could leave the land and lakes and seas,
In the silence of golden sunlight,
In the peace wrought of whirling white blades,
In the bountiful cascade of rolling waters,
In the field of golden harvests,
The treasures of gold and heart,
Home again to stay, to stay,
And once the people finally believed,
That was when the monsters were no longer needed,
And we could all walk closer to what God gave us,
Even though it took so much horror and filth to understand,
Cleanliness IS next to Godliness,
Just expand the concept,
Because the entire world is your home.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/24/2003

Author's Comments:
My biggest Christmas wish is that people will truly see what oil is doing
to us and add their voices to the clamor for a clean life and world. It's
worth it!

"In the six kinds of fantasy I inhabit, in the lands where my mind must go,
I will picture resolution's face in a blur, and yet it shall come to be what I see."

Belief is a powerful thing. Many practice this mejik without understanding it in the least. So many have been told of the doom of fire for so long that their beliefs demand it to appear - and so it does. Yet in the understanding that beliefs can change is where the answer lies. There is a solution to the rising heat of the *Monotnussverse*, and it will be found by those who believe it will be found.

When China Comes Calling:

The dust bowls that are a quarter the size of the USA,
Blow hard on the minds of the prescient,
The rise of the Yangtze River screams the death knell of temples,
As the peasants climb away from home,
The grain stocks are almost gone and crops are failing,
Oceans rise and push inland slowly,
Squeezed between hungry blowing Earth and drowning swamps,
The deserts, oceans, and river are coming,
But who's going to feed that nearly a billion,
When China comes calling?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/18/2003

http://www.earth-policy.org/Updates/Update31.htm

By: Daniel A. Stafford
Author's Comments

The Earth Policy Institute's analysts believe that China's grain storage will be completely depleted by 2004 - and that the huge country will for the first time in history turn to grain exporters such as the USA for food imports - In such quantities that US citizens will be competing with Chinese import companies for food. At the same time, crop yields worldwide are declining due to the advance of global warming. See the report at the link at the end of the poem.

THe structure was somewhat unusual. It was entirelty crafted of some yellow metal. I couldn't for the life of me tell where the seams or joints were, it looked like it was all one piece.

Also, the ice was on the verge of turning to slush, so I had to stop my descent and set up a shield bubble spell. The shield bubble would stop any physical matter from getting through by diverting anything that touched it into a random mejiverse on the entry side and returning it to it's original mejiverse on the exact opposite side of the bubble. This could present problems for living beings, considering that their trip through the random mejiverse could take them through either a mejiverse with hostile phylaws that didn't allow life to exist, otr through an environment that was hard on living tissues, such as rock or hard vacuum. For this reason, the shield bubble spell also had a component that caused a blood red glow on the outer edge of the shield. This didn't serve as an effective warning to every life form, but at least 85% of known life forms are carbon based, and most of those in oxygen rich environments and using an iron-based liquid oxygen carrier for blood. Perhaps it's a superversal, but for some reason nearly all creatures stop when they see red. There could possibly be a psychic component to itas well. That would also qualify as superversal, but mejikal research was still in progress on the question and had been for a few millennia without a concrete answer.

Once the shield bubble was glowing, I advanced through the remaining ice between the yellow metal structure and myself until I was within three meters or so. At that point, I conjured a rubber ball out of the superverse and hit it with a slight impetus spell. The ball shot through the ice and hit the side of the structure. No reaction. I even set up a sensate spell and listened in for vibrations on the physical plane of the deep rumbling sort that usually proclaim danger in adventure stories. Nothing. It appeared that at least this portion of the structure was deserted. Perhaps it was too cold for watery life forms at this level. At any rate, I started up an Oxyjen spell to keep the air in the shield bubble within my phylaw tolerances for gas composition and temperature, and headed downward looking for an entry point.

I was flying quietly around a planet in the Snowbelt - basically just a little ice ball that you couldn't see through. It appeared to be wobbling in it's orbit, but I wasn't quite sure. I took a six sided divination spell out and popped the mejik on it. Sure enough, the little tyke was wobbly.

Now, in this particular mejiverse, planets do not get wobbly, especially ice ball ones, unless they have some sort of life force field around them. You see, the laws of physics in various mejiverses vary, so I had to check the rule star in this one. (A rule star is basically an old black hole with three white dwarfs circling it's LaGrange points.) I checked the distances and orbital speed of the marker stars orbiting the rule star and got a rough read on the set of phy-law in this mejiverse. It was relatively close to my home mejiverse, but not identical. Of particular note was a rune marker left on the log asteroid in L-5. It noted specifically that life could be detected in this mejiverse by orbital wobble of planetary bodies due to a fairly strong interaction between gravity waves and life force emanations in this mejiverse.

Another interesting note was that the upper speed limit for physical travel in this mejiverse was four times the speed of light, provided the travel was including living entities. It seems that the life force in this universe also had a tendency to weaken inertia by twenty five percent or so once the life forms got clear of deep gravity wells such as planets, etc.

Now, it was already known that semi-intelligent humanoid creatures were evolving on the second rock from the parent star in this particular little planetary system. The parent star was of interest, as well. It had a high content of violet in it's light spectrum, giving everything a distinctly lavender tint, and looking similar to a blacklight bulb from any appreciable distance. An interesting side effect was the luminescence of anything white in the vincinity of this star. Hence the little ice ball not only was wobbly, but the ice had a slight chalk content to it, making it glow like some kind of pagan tree ornament.

I took stock of my current spell catalogue and found what I was looking for. It was a McKintosh Ice Borer spell. With it, I could travel through ice as if it were air, because my body and belongings would vibrate at a specific frequency that caused my atoms to miss the atoms of ice. I did what any third year novice mejishun would do, and verified it by landing on the surface and ice boring a marble through an ice chip on the surface after first using an Emerald Stare And Compare spell on the marble. (The Emerald version is compatible with 99.99999999999999999 percent of mejiverse phylaws.) The marble checked out perfectly after being bored. It's a good thing to be careful not to lose your marbles, you never know what they might be useful for.

On that note, I used the McKintosh to get bored. I floated in at about twenty knots for starters, and sure enough I came upon a layer of liquid water at a depth of fourty five fathoms. At that point I pulled out a Nucleustide Submarinating Particle accelerator spell and began diving in earnest. I was careful to use a Visifilter spell to utilize the ultraviolet penetration in order to see. That allowed me to blend into the natural setting here on Iceball. (I like the name, kind of catchy.)

I neared a hundred sevent fathoms and suddenly a clearly artificial structure loomed out of the darkness. I stopped the Nucleustide and pulled out a majorscrying spell to investigate.

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.

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.

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/

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...

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!

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.

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.

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.

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."

!!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.

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.

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!

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.

The darkness of Mercurial Retrograde affects the casting of spells, leaving the Blogverse in the darkness of a mejikless night. No Whizzyrd, no matter how great, may post in a fog of Plenetary Mejik, unless the Godforce smiles down upon them.

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

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.

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.

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!

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.

* 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...

A place out there in the eythre I need to *Spelleport* to: Kessler's Whizzyrd Spell Recording House For the retention of *greenspells* produced through new *mejik* works. I have a few good ideas about how to craft some new *mejikal* devices and spell components...

Becoming Druid:

You walk under the stars and changing skies,
The scent of the Mother slowly invades your heart,
Reaching in with tears and whispers and dreams,
Aspirations for cleaner lives flash burn in the heat of intuition,
And in that moment of inner light you feel her cry,
Saviors operating in bits and pieces,
Like ants we are many dispersed,
Like leaves we feel the wind and sun and they are good,
Working always to bury the detritus that beetles dig up,
This amazing awe in each place untouched,
Poetry is life and life has verses of it's own,
Hearing the whispers in a rainbow will tell you,
But when your un-trained inevitable vision quest comes on you,
There are no other choices because it's your nature,
Our nature but only so many achieve it,
Once the light shines down on you,
Learning to live it in some form of harmony,
Only on that path will the spells and whispers and words,
Add to the bones being shaken,
Bring the wave to crescendo and harmonic force,
Plant a bare foot upon the Earth and you are caressed,
Child and clan open your ears,
The green and the blue and the sky are in your eyes,
Crisp and clean is the common goal,
And the Mother is giving warning the undermind slowly hears,
The trees of her lungs are huffing loud,
Heat on the nape of every neck,
And the few first to notice are a named clan,
The Mother is calling them back home,
Under the stars the children with ancient souls,
Fast are becoming Druid,
And the stars in their eyes best we pray,
May save us all.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/19/2003

Author's Comments:
More and more I find that I want to learn how I can help
heal the Earth - and every day that I read about others
who sense the same urgent beat of time I do,
I realize that this is what my idea of Druid is. Were we
called to these births in this time by God? I hope the sum
adds up in time.

*POOF*
Good to be back here in my mejikal little corner of the *Blogverse*. I've been working hard at becoming a Drued. A Healer of the Eyrthe. I'm learning much about *Windspells* still, and also much of the underlying Blech Mejik that is causing the Eyrthe to slowly catch fire. It has a lot to do with Evile Mejishuns and Politico Eevil Bollweevils that are casting all sorts of eevil blech mejik that seems *pretty* and fun to monotnussians all over the Eyrthe. I must apologise for not spending a lot of time here in the keep. My Drued Duties keep me quite busy in other regions of the *Blogverse* and poring over Envirotomes in the vast mejikal library of the *Spellweb*. My assigned region appears to be the Great Lakes area of the *Monotnussverse*. Somehow the Fayte Spirits seem to have woven me into it's local *spellweb* and so you have it.

I'll be very busy in the *Monotnuss* moon of Augustus as well. I have two Spell Readings scheduled on the ninth and twenty third days of Augustus.

At any rate, I'm just dropping off a few drams of treasure for Admantium, the Silver Dragon. He may wake up one of these days and need a bit of gold and such to chew on. Meanwhile, my *Spell Book* has been missing my quill as I study the ways the *Multiverse* needs me to do Drueding. On that note, dear readers, I shall *Spelleport* back to the *Monotnussverse* and carry on and such. Faretheewell!.

Through The Door:

I walked through the door,
There were cotton candy clouds,
Lost in a blast furnace orange sky,
Stick figure birds glided over,
Ice slush waves I couldn't walk on,
The salt water sea monster awaited with whirlpools,
At the slightest toe touch I'd be drawn to the bottom,
All I could do was stare into the sunset,
No words could be cried loud enough,
Someone already spoke the magic,
Some sixties song in between purple hazes,
About Plasticene Porters and Marmelade skies,
Me, I was stuck in the boat on the river,
Man, it was a hell of a ride.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/05/2003

Author's Comments:
I painted a sunrise at the beach mural on our upstairs wall.
It's still a work in progress, but fun nonetheless. Our bedroom
door is in the mural, literally. It's quite surreal when the door is
closed.

For now, please use the LEFT archive link...thank you.

Interesting mess I seem to have going on in the past scroll library...the *Archive* spell has gotten a bit twisted out of alignment.

I just crafted a new spell for a friend of mine, the Green Witch...not only was it her *Nativity Day* very recently, she also sent me a special set of spells for my own *Nativity Day* just recently, and though belated, we all know such spells arrive in our *IMAGINATUS* collections at the time that the *Multiverse* ~*Ruling Soul Force*~ is ready to allow it in the Master Plan. Without any further *Adiue*....

The Green Witch:

The Earthe turns to butter at her hands,
Fingers flying,
Spells in delicate collision,
Anything imagination can find,
She conjures easily to combine sights before your eyes,
Famous names and fantastic places,
Mejik hours in a glass tower,
Components in every closet waiting,
The perfect arcayne hour always found,
One never knowes with whom they'll speak,
When the Green Witch lights the brazier,
And burns certified Midnight Oils,
Voices, voices, letters and all that,
The Green Witch eye-twinkles with a kind clear laugh,
"Who could be prepared?"

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/02/2003

Author's Comments:
A very big THANK YOU to my friend Mary,
Otherwise known as The Green Witch.
And a belated but much-deserved Happy Birthday, Mary!!!

I've been busy over in the *Monotnussverse* again casting local *WIND* spells upon the electronic breeze. So far the effects are small, but growing, as various Monotnussians begin locating my scrollpad there and dropping by. That's the thing about *Visual* spells, they require a special class of Whizzyrds or similar creatures in any *VERSE* called *READERS* in order to gain energy and power. That takes time as they drift in off the *Spell Web*.