Grymwyre Of Atlantean Spells - Blood Rose of Atlantis

Grymwyre Of Atlantean Spells

Mejik is a fascinating thing. It feeds on belief. Anyone's belief. If something inside a person can twist in just the right way, reach a certain angle of viewpoint, and see the universe in a certain way, the universe can find it easier to follow the viewpoint than all the viewpoints in the past.

When it comes to conflicting beliefs, that's when things can get interesting. Sometimes, they get academically interesting, like a text book question. At other times, they're more like the ancient Chinese curse - "may you live in interesting times." Something like the times the Earth is passing through now, but I digress.

There are earlier times in human history, forgotten times. Times with scattered clues all about us, yet so distant as to be like fragments caught in the amber of a hillside that only seems natural, or where a customary gesture comes from. We don't know why we have certain little rituals about us, they've just always been. Or so it would seem.

Wouldn't it be interesting indeed if we could look back into those distant ages and vanished cultures, possibly even civilizations? If we had a mejik mirror that saw the distant past and let it fill our vision now, today. What secrets might we learn?

Perhaps, we might just look inside, and the mirror is right there, when our eyes are closed, piecing the clues we have into sections of a subconscious puzzle - illuminating areas no one else has seen.

Soon, it will be time to begin those explorations, and I will bring them to the pages of this grymwyre like candles from the darkest corners of the night.

First, though, I must walk the land of djriems. Only in that place might I find the matches to light such candles to glowing.

I shall soon return.

AquarianM

The Blood Rose Of Atlantis

Many people today believe that vampires originated in a land called Transylvania. Certainly vampires today welcome that belief. In fact, like many spells and curses, the curse of vampirism originates in ancient Atlantis. Modern vampires prefer this to remain unknown because such ignorance allows them to use their raw power without the vulnerability of conscience or feeling.

Modern vampirism is a bastardization of a powerful spell used in lost Atlantis to create its most feared and respected soldiers to enforce the rule of the Atlantean Council and the Grym Whizzyrd, leader of the Council. Vampirism is a bastardization by omission, caused by its Transylvanian originator only finding half the spell. It is a result of ignorance, and because of that ignorance, it serves the purposes of the archetypal Satanic Entity rather than its intended higher purpose of creating Keepers of Order.

The Blood Rose of Atlantis is the second half of the transformation process necessary to create a true Vampiric Court, or Court Crimson, as this order's name would translate in modern languages.

Here, I will reveal the Blood Rose of Atlantis, and give an historical example of its use, as devised and employed by the first Grym Whizzyrd of Atlantis.

The Blood Rose of Atlantis is employed once a vampire is created. Its effect is to cause vampires to regain their human emotion and feeling, and conscience. It returns to a vampire its connection to its soul, and therefore its connection to all souls and the laws of spirituality, such as Karma, Dharma, and suchlike. A vampire to whom this spell is gifted also regains its ability to sustain life through eating and drinking ordinary foods and renders a spiritual alternative to the energies of human blood available through the Universal Source. This means that the vampire no longer requires human blood to survive, nor is it vulnerable to sunlight any longer.

Vampires under the laws of the Blood Rose of Atlantis are still subject to death by a wooden stake through the heart, decapitation, or fire. No longer, however, need said vampire fear the sun nor holy water, nor the burning touch of the universal symbol of the Christ archetypal entity. (The cross and the Universal Spirit that it represents are as old as time and more.) They are rendered in service of the Light rather than the Dark by this spell.

For this reason, I must return this spell to current knowledge rather than leave it lost in the mists of forgotten history. It is my duty as a Whizzyrd of Light.

Required Materials:

1. A single flawless ruby of one carat or larger. (Used to focus Universal Light and shine it eternally into the heart of the undead.)

2. Five one carat or larger rose quartz crystals. (Used to gather Universal Light and feed it into the ruby focus.)

3. One pint of the Blood of the Christ Spirit. (Used to replace the blood a rose-less vampire requires to live. I believe it may be possible to use wine converted to Eucharist in Christian worship ceremonies, but were I wrong, the results could be deadly for whomever attempts to place the Blood Rose of Atlantis upon the vampire.)

4. Pure silver of sufficient quantity to set the Blood Rose of Atlantis and allow its permanent placement upon the body of the vampire to be treated.

5. Five drops of cord-blood from a virgin birth. (This gives residual merikal energy to the spell.)

6. Seven drops of the juices of desire from seven virgins, collected while they were in the unfulfilled throes of desire for their heart's true love. (To replace the passion the vampire lost in becoming undead.)

Procedure:

On a night when the Seven Sisters are surrounding Jupiter, then the flower may be grown. By starlight and moonlight the ruby and quartz already cut are laid in silver in the shape of a flower.

Behind the ruby in the setting, place the love throes of seven virgins mixed with the blood of innocent birth. These must be sealed within the center of the flower, its nectar, the tone of the energies it shall play upon the undead.

The flower is then inscribed upon its setting with the symbol of life and the symbol of the Peacemaker, and also the symbol of the Mother of All. This is done with concentrated moon and starlight, heating the silver just enough to lay in these runes.

The ruby, the heart of the Blood Rose of Atlantis, is the last piece set. As it is laid in place, the Whizzyrd recites the Oath of Service over the budded flower, ending with the intonation of Anahkh.

Seven silver bells and five golden are pealed at once by twelve disciples of the Whizzyrd, exactly and perfectly at the moment Anahkh is uttered.

The budded flower is then allowed to bask in only moonlight and starlight each night for twelve years. Upon the exact night the twelve years are fulfilled, the flower-maker shall open its blossom to the red rays of the sun's birth at the exact moment of morning in the East. At this moment will be heard the echo of the twelve peals in one.

Immediately enclose the Blood Rose of Atlantis in darkened silk in a cedar box. Store it such until its placement upon the vampire.

At the moment of next dawn, open the cairn of the vampire to the first rays of morning, and immediately lay the Blood Rose of Atlantis over the burning vampire's heart. Leave the cairn open to the sunlight until nothing remains but the undead ash and the Blood Rose of Atlantis. Close the cairn immediately.

Take the cairn to the steps of the closest temple of the Peacemaker, arranging it to face the sun. There, all the priests of the Peacemaker must perform the rites of birth over the cairn, ending at dawn precisely. As the last note of the rite perishes in the first ray of dawnlight, open the cairn.

The reborn vampire will step forth into the morning sun, no longer pale nor pallid, but flush with the rosy hue of life. He or she will now break bread and share water and wine with the Sons of Man as a brother. By moonlight and by sunlight they shall live. They shall bathe in the Mother's waters and breathe the Father's air exactly as does Man, Whale, or Dolphin. They shall father or bear children, and love them as does any parent. They shall know every passion, pain, and hope of human life. They shall be known as vampires of the Court Crimson, and live among men as friends and allies.

Being vampires already, the Court Crimson are immune to the bite and other powers of undead vampires.

The vampires' trick of not appearing in mirrors does not fool them. They know to look just beyond the mirrors' field of view where the vampire's reflection has been shifted by mejik. They are themselves able to work such spells themselves, simply through an act of will.

Should an undead vampire turn to mist and try to flee in shadowed breezes, the Court Crimson can smell the faint scent of the undead and follow it in its own draft.

Were an undead vampire to become a bat and attempt to fly away, the Court Crimson can become a nighthawk and seize the undead in its powerful talons.

If the undead vampire attempts the guise of a wolf, the warrior of the Court Crimson becomes a lion and rends the undead wolf completely.

However, should one of the Court Crimson bite an undead vampire in the fashion vampires are wont to do, the undead vampire will immediately burst into eldritch blue flames, and turn to ash upon the spot. The next morning, the ashes will spring back to life, subject to the spell of the Blood Rose of Atlantis, and subservient to the Court Crimson agent that caused its painful rebirth.

Perhaps now you understand why modern vampires choose to let the world remain in ignorance of the Blood Rose of Atlantis, and the Court Crimson. You must also realize that I make no friends of the undead in revealing these ancient mysteries.

An Historical Example of the Use of the Blood Rose of Atlantis:

To be revealed soon...

Whisper Simple Secrets...

If you stare into the flickering brilliance of the candle flame,
Watch it until you can see the vanishingly small,
Somewhere in the back of your mind,
You might just understand.

A picture of the world rests behind your eyes,
That thought gleams as a fraction of the energy,
The same field that is everything's essence,
The web of white light it takes imaginary eyes to see.

Hold the world like a Christmas ornament,
Floating in a golden glow tinged with soft green,
There in the cupped palm of your hands,
Gift unto it a sweet gift.

Call the white light down from Heaven,
Do it with all your heart,
Let it flow through you,
Wash over this tiny blue globe of life - healing.

God gifts us each a spark of his everything,
Else we couldn't be here at all,
His children yet to mature,
Still in school.

If every thought you had was of something joyful,
Never would a hurtful day enter your life,
You have the keys to the Universe,
But Mother and Father say you must be a passenger first.

Think of pain and painful things come to you,
Drawn like flies to a rotting stench,
Think of joy and joyful things will come to you,
Drawn like light into the empty dark.

Call the white light down from Heaven,
Do it with all your heart,
Let it flow through you,
Wash over this tiny blue globe of life - healing.

Let's do it together.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/09/2006

Author's Comments

http://www.thesecret.tv

Reading Martì...

I was at first somewhat astonished,
Time stepped out of the picture and faded into the distance,
A bit player whose part was done in an epic timeless,
Where bare truths about the soul of a land are laid,
Flayed of all pomp and circumstance and artifices of finery.

The honest opinions of one in a land new and unknown,
Waiting in dusty tomes a century and more on the page,
Speaking of first impressions and speaking truth without mercy nor spite,
With the clarity of seeing everything hidden beneath,
Rivaled only by modern miracles like MRI's or x-rays,
Hits your preconceptions of culture between the eyes.

"We worship wealth here,
For we came without it and without its respect,
The downtrodden cast-offs of old lands all,
In waves and droves and sea-sick jubilation of landfall,
Only to emulate the visible qualities of our oppressors,
Seeking what we perceived as their strengths without true knowledge."

In a land where the clocks must be punched,
Where work rules every aspect of our worth and ability to exist,
How do we have a moment for the grace of souls malnourished,
Do we ever feed the worth of our souls when our mouths are our rulers,
Still slaves to our bellies which can translate only gold into food and shelter?

It is of small wonder that the sword that threatens our necks comes from "on high" -
A curved scimitar swinging with the weight of yellow metal,
Hiding at its core a hollow vacuum - a void where a graceful spirit should be,
If it were filled with what belongs there it would melt into a ploughshare,
Or perhaps into the bricks that could hide our heads from hurricanes and tornadoes,
Or the hearth that used to warm our bread.

The least among us are our true mirror,
The clearest glass we shall ever gaze into,
And if the bones of them are prodding their flesh,
Their frost bite of lack of shelter and bellies full of nothing but air,
Their pitiful rags wrapped 'round the vision of skulls that is the source of our fear,
It will pull that sword of gold upon us all to cleave our necks as surely as the clocks tick.

How many among us would give even the illusion of a five dollar bill to their pantry,
If it had to be given without the craven illusion of a tax deduction?

This world is not and never has been divided by arbitrary lines on a plastic globe,
Not one of marble nor glass nor clay nor wood nor paper,
No matter how well-drawn or sculpted its representation of Earth,
For what we put into the sky or the water or the land travels freely,
Not one law can arrest its progress or its consequence.

Our souls and our fates are as intertwined as is the atmosphere or the waterways,
Filled with underground rivers that carry every deed and action throughout the whole,
A permeated brew stirring by convection and gravity unseen yet ever-present.

What we do with the "least" among us we will drink and eat,
Regardless of whether we know it or acknowledge it or remain ignorant of it,
It will fuel poisonous growth or it will be clean and gentle with us,
As we reap we will sow is the pertinent verse.

Fires do not burn without fuel,
Fuel made of greedy intent or even plain ignorance,
And if violence and harm do not treat us as harshly as flames in the end,
It will be simply because we gave them no cause to burn.

In the end it all congeals into that basic truth -
Which crosses all those artificial and arbitrary lines on globes and maps.

We made a play for "freedom" here,
A crop which only thrives when shared and tended well.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/30/2006

Author's Notes:
This was inspired by reading the early newspaper articles written by Jose Martì when he first came to live in New York in the 1870's. He wrote for New York and multiple Latin American newspapers his observations on the emerging culture in the United States - which to this day values work and wealth but forgets the values of spiritual nourishment, charity, and the human need for self-worth not always gained through financial acumen. It shows in the way we drive ourselves nearly beyond our physical limits for work and career, the way we look down on vacations long enough to truly rest the soul and body, and the way we are driven to work at the expense of family and community. When one steps back and takes a fresh look, we are tragically out of balance. The fact that people in this country or any other go without food and shelter is a clear reflection of how such scales are tilted. What happens when things are unbalanced for too long and stretched too far away from the balance point?

By Rainbow Light...

Teased with visions of a fragile world healed,
I sense a hunger of titanic proportions,
Hiding in the mists of the collective undermind,
Waiting to climb the ladders of belief and faith,
Pushing on the heavy lid of fear that covers the exit,
The one from fantasy into reality.

I hear it spoken of with a nervous laugh,
Like it might shine in reflections from a tinfoil hat,
Something cooked up by a lunatic fringe in a crazed moment,
This utterly surreal idea that peace and kindness could somehow win,
When what seems like preservation is to kill more of "them,"
Still it's a haunting vision that lives in a joke,
A world where everyone has a roof and clean water.

I suppose it's all fine if the rich chase children in other countries,
Bullets bombs or underwear,
That sort of thing doesn't "belong" around here,
But can you tell me where it does so I never go there?

There are those of us like mirrors,
We shine mirror light on all the dark places,
You know - where a soul tries to hide when it's afraid,
Places like Denial and Ignorance and the like,
Because we see that world shining in the tinfoil hats,
Where everyone has the basics of life,
It's a vision of a possible truth,
All it takes is a lot of love and a little rainbow light.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/19/2006

Reggae Heart...

Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.

A night song o’ sail cloth flapping under dese brilliant stars,
Bring de morning sun down upon de beach.

Palm trees, dey sway up over our smiling heads,
When de reggae plays de limes fall into de drink.

Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.

Rum runners dancing south dere, down by de sweet blue sea,
Coconuts floating out past de Keys where we sing.

Oh Lord, take me away down dere in de sunshine,
Where she swims by de light be dawn now.

Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.

We free now, Darlin’ mine you be de sunshine,
Fishin’ for your love gentle an’ slow now.

Put de peppers on de chicken an limes wit’ sweet plantains,
Love me slowly now, my miracle on de wing

Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.

I wan’ be seeing de parrots so colored pretty,
De albatross, he fly slowly over you an’ me.

Fly wit’ me reggae heart an de Wailers play,
I’m gone up on Heaven while Bob Marley sings.

Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.

Fly wit’ me reggae heart an de Wailers play,
I’m gone up on Heaven while Bob Marley sings.

Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/01/2006

**NOTE** My web host did a network-wide server upgrade, and this resulted in the shut-down of all my blogs hosted on my own site, including *Spell Book*, for one month. Tonight is the first time I've been able to post here since early June.

*Spell Book* will resume publishing in the next couple of days. Thank you all so much for your patience!

Dan

Dreams Of Sand...

He awoke to heat and thirst and pain,
Not sure where he was in the silence,
Lying torn on burning sands,
Seeing the cloudless blue sky waver and shimmer.

Rolling over with a groan,
He shakily got his feet under him,
Unsteady and drenched in sweat that steamed away instantly.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes,
All the world was sand unbearably bright,
A scorpion crawled by nearly at his feet,
He licked his cracked and bleeding lips and remembered what it was,
Just in time jumping away.

Dizzy with confusion he turned around and followed his own footprints,
They led to a smoldering building in ruins,
An arm lay outstretched from under a shattered block of stone,
A child's arm by the look of it.

He remembered being a child once,
Playing with toy cars as his sister cradled her Barbie doll,
"I'm going home in a week" he thought,
Suddenly terrified at something he couldn't remember,
Maybe couldn't bear to remember.

It might happen again back home,
He suddenly knew this even though "what" was only a burning haze,
He knew he couldn't let "it" happen back home,
The tears burst into his eyes along with white hot rage,
Out-burning the sun as he saw a smoldering teddy bear near the arm.

He reached for the gun at his hip,
Pointed it at his face as he thought "I can't let this go back home,"
Flipping off the safety he started to squeeze,
Just like they'd squeeze the truth out of him in horrible ways,
If he let "it" get back home.

Just as he heard the final click before his angels were due,
He woke up in sweat drenched sheets,
Screaming incoherently as his wife looked at him with THAT look in her eyes,
The sickening animal fear that he knew was on his childrens' faces in their room,
The look that made a lie out of their words of hope for "recovery."

There was only one way he would ever recover from something,
But God help him - he couldn't figure out what "it" was,
And as he reached for the pills in the drawer by the bed,
The thought burned his soul all the way to his core.

The teddy bear was familiar...

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 06/02/2006

Mapleflight...

For announcements SPECIFIC TO PLAINFIELD LIVE POETRY READINGS, Please join the Plainfield Live Poetry Group at:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Plainfield_live_poetry/

All,

We have found a wonderful new place for poetry readings. The location is convenient to poets in Plainfield, Naperville, Aurora, Montgomery, and Oswego.

Poetry readings will be held the first Tuesday of the month from 7pm to 9pm at:

Green Leaf Coffee House
(located in Sun Plaza)
2400 S. Eola Road, Suite G
Aurora, IL 60504
630-851-8410
greenleafcoffee@sbcglobal.net

Attendance is free of charge and all poets are welcome to read.

Contact Dan Stafford at aqmstaffo@mailbag.com or 815-483-8878 or Jillmarie at Green Leaf Coffee House (greenleafcoffee@sbcglobal.net)

Sun Plaza is located on the far Southwestern portion of Eola Road about two miles before it intersects US Hwy 30.

Our first reading will be Tuesday, April 4th starting at 7pm. Please forward this message to anyone you feel would be interested in reading or attending!

Please join Dan Stafford at Green Leaf Coffee House for the kickoff of the new Western suburbs poetry readings, and let's get this off to a wonderful start!

As always, please bring material suitable for a family environment, and let's all show our new hosts how wonderful the spoken word can be!

I'm looking forward to seeing and hearing many talented poets at Green Leaf starting in April!

Sincerely,

Dan Stafford - Emcee

Bye Bye Black Cloud...



Enough grey skies and rain,
Lightning strikes and pain,
Bring on the wind today,
Blow this low down black cloud away.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Let it dissipate into a blue sky now,
Sweet sunshine come on down,
Softly warm my up-turned face,
A breezy smile I wear in new-found grace.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Like a hawk on the breeze I'm soaring far,
Flying up to touch my lucky star,
A happy song springing from my lips,
Double rainbows at my fingertips.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Love and peace all within my view,
I walk in grace and glory complete and true,
Fortune is my companion at every step,
Harmony wraps my every relationship.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/07/2005

Author's Comments:
A daily prayer. 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 Last Of Monowi...

The prairie grass returns,
Covering over fallen homes,
Places only ghosts now roam,
Empty houses and broken streets,
The hopes of generations fallen to ruin,
All at the stroke of the globalization pen,
Farms and factories silent and deserted,
Gone back to what it was before we came,
A white-haired stubborn old lady,
The lone inhabitant of a place that's gone,
No future apocalypse,
Nothing you have to wait until 2100 for,
They say we've never abandoned an American city,
That lie is apparent all over the countryside,
The last lady of Monowi can show it to you today.


http://www.whizzyrds.com/Ghostville.html

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/21/2005

What Exactly IS In A Word?

A word is a discussion all by itself,
It holds an image of what it tells,
It's a picture agreed upon by you and me,
It's a contract unspoken we speak every day,
Origins that trace back to the first "what is it,"
"Let's call it this - what do you say?"

In order to understand the nature of this treasure,
We must realize that the universe is built of foundational blocks,
Within or without words shape it because they are the basis,
Given to us by divinity and no other creature we do not teach,
We speak to our God with them whatever name we use,
We often fail to understand that we do not have to address God,
Every word is heard and may result in action from Divinity,
As poets we choose words with care,
Missing the proper understanding perhaps,
Although not necessarily entirely.

Forgive me if it seems presumptuous,
For I know of no other creature,
That speaks to and in front of God,
With every breath or stroke of pen,
As such we poets are more than we know,
We stand closest to this particular gate.

Step through the gate into the parlor,
Read the writing on the walls,
Come back out with an understanding whereof you speak,
Turn - the gate is here:

www.concentric.net/~conure/shinn.shtml

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/20/2005

An Angel In China...

Wing beats dust bamboo,
Halo shines on rice paper,
Bearing love's soft dreams.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005

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.

Snowflake Whispers...



Falling in silence,
White on winds accumulate,
Swirling pearl dreamscape.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005

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.

Cherry Blossom Steps...



Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.

Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.

Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.

Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.

Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005

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.

Nursery...

They call him Orion and he hunts the night skies,
Appearing above just as Winter wakes from Summer's heat,
You can see a sword hanging at his belt in the cool nights,
Yet not so many know what it guards,
What drives the hunter to the drawn bow.

A mystery it took Galileo and at least a century to resolve.

Right there,
Tucked away in that sword sheath,
Orion's nursery - a nebula where new stars are forming,
The fires of creation lend their soft glow to our nights,
Gracing Fall nights with a harvest of new light,
I've always wanted to go there.

The first thing I ever pointed a university telescope at.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2005

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.

Under Charcoal Skies...



The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.

Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.

The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.

Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.

All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005

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.

Just A Dustin'



Eighteen degrees on a silent night,
Minus eight if Centigrade is your right,
A few fat flakes dancing all about in a swirling breeze,
Two coats with a scarf and ear muffs,
Don't forget the gloves or your fingers will freeze.

It's that time again,
Wishing for Summer a fruitless test,
Yet lest we forget - it's Lady winter who lets life rest,
A cycle we all really need,
Endangered seasons all to meet the need for speed.

When you glide down a slippery road,
Try it with snow shoes all wrapped up in the hush of the night,
Remember all the miracles of icicles and frost,
Adulthood left your Winter magic in ruins you say,
Still it's up to you if your inner child is really that lost.

So even just a dustin' -
It's far better than nothin' -
Let Mother Earth heal a bit before balmy days,
Time enough before Spring showers or harvest to reap,
Gaia is tired and weary - we must let her sleep.

For myself and piece of mind,
I'll throw you a snowball and put a sled under my behind.




By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005

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 Bluest Angel...




Tiny Angel, wings so blue-white,
Watch over me as I pray goodnight,
Let Mommy be safe and happy please,
You in your robes so blue, me on my knees.

I watch you fly in God's grace.

Tiny angel, flit down upon my cupped palms,
Smile up at me, singing, with no qualms.
A voice so ethereal and uplifting,
Carry my heart through a life that's shifting.

Thank you for carrying my prayers to heaven so well.

Bluer than the skies,
Angel with the bluest eyes,
Singing and free,
Thank you for loving me.

Fly always in beautiful childhood dreams.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000

Author's Comments:
A dream, from very early childhood in Madison, WI.
This took place when I was three, in the time of the Dinosaur Safari.
I think it may have been inspired by watching a show on
TV about the Navy flying team, the Blue Angels.
You see, to me as a child, airplanes were the grandest
vision in the whole world. We lived off an Air Force base.
I lived in a world of fast jets, heard sonic booms before they
stopped supersonic flight over the continental USA.
I woke up crying because the dream was gone.

*One thing I should note but never have before posting this at Flowing Quills: the entire dream was very vivid, but I dreampt it as if it were a Saturday morning cartoon that I was living in, like I was in the world of comic art. I never really had that piece stand out to me until now. Perhaps that's telling me something I should do...* (I just had a thought - the Fire Angel - I think she is my Bluest Angel from childhood) This was also my first paper-published work.

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.

A Day of Peace...

It whispers under the skin like a silent need,
An itch that needs to be scratched,
We all pray we'll find it somewhere,
Under the next law where they snuck in this or that.

"Not a single drop of blood shed today."

Some of us can live and let live,
Maybe that's an excuse not to pay attention,
We think our struggle is too important for all of that,
Pooh-pooh on it all my ostrich friends.

"Peace agreements today were signed in the last conflicts on the globe."

We come home looking for dinner and the TV,
Bathing in a make-believe life instead of our own,
Wandering away from everyday miracles non-chalant,
Dulled by incessant friction like a bug in the ear.

"Poverty finally averted as the last drop of oil was burned."

It's a slick predicament filled with glassy-eyed stares,
The tired Earth is weeping of loneliness,
Her children having fallen to electronic dreams,
Too lazy to even enjoy the beach.

Just once in this life I'd love to read the headlines of a true day of peace...

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005

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.

Under Charcoal Skies...



The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.

Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.

The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.

Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.

All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005

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.

Cherry Blossom Steps...



Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.

Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.

Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.

Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.

Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005

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.

---

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

Fire Angel...

Walk upon the still waters,
Pouring down in silent sunshine,
The waves of blue that touch a poet's soul,
This vision of peace a gift,
Bow your head in silent prayer,
Nevertheless,
God hears you as clear,
As the color of your heart,
In that cool blue moment.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/04/2003


Note:

This is also the cover photo for my chapbook, "On God's Doorstep" at www.lulu.com. This image was taken with a 35mm camera - a $3.00 child's toy plastic camera, which was all I had at the time. It was scanned on a flatbed scanner, no digital re-touching was used - this is exactly how the image came out as developed by the film lab. It was taken early on a Saturday morning facing East towards Lake Michigan at the doorstep of the Madonna Della Strada Chapel, also known as "The Poem In Stone" at Loyola University's Lakeshore Campus. The chapbook features poems written on Saturday mornings at the chapel terrace, which is the place I call "God''s Doorstep." Each poem describes what it was like to be there on that given Saturday morning, what I was thinking and feeling, how it looked, etc, and is accompanied by a photo of one aspect of that part of the campus grounds. 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 Word Whizzyrd's Castle...

An airy place full of holes in the walls,
Gaping and black from spell blasts,
The stones are slowly uncrumbling and crawling back into place,
Even around the courtyard where the young whizzyrd played,
A healing spell on stones whipped up from sparkly grey dust,
Fossilized dragon scales and bones ground up.

The banks of the moat are jagged and cruel,
But the secret mejik spell is something like rocket fuel,
The whizzyrd begins chanting with arms raised to stormy skies,
Like a majestic balloon the entire castle begins to rise.

The guests are all unknowing as they party in the grand ballroom,
Sipping on zephyr honey and star twinkle wine,
Eating moonbeam soup from griffyn bone bowls with phoenix feather spoons,
*Puff* they go and the soup is glowing and hot,
The spoon rises from it's ashes for the next sip,
Moonbeam elf waiters bring kraken claw knives,
To cut the sunshine noodles from the blue sky.

Flying up to the edge of space,
The Word Whizzyrd castle begins to race,
Off to Saturn in a bubble of air and light,
Soon to chase ring baubles for an orbit in the endless night.

Won't they all be surprised the whizzyrd thinks to himself,
I'll give the whole party the grandest show,
Of shepherd moons made of fire and ice,
Huge dented rocks of mountainous size,
The coffee cream swirl of saturnine clouds,
And whiz-bang asteroid showers with basket ball sized diamonds,
Maybe mountains of pure gold.

Inviting the crowd for a roof-top dessert,
Cosmic ray candy with aurora borealis sauce lights,
Up the stairs they walk until gravity reverts,
Wide open eyes on a fanciful night flight.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/01/2005

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.

Nursery...

They call him Orion and he hunts the night skies,
Appearing above just as Winter wakes from Summer's heat,
You can see a sword hanging at his belt in the cool nights,
Yet not so many know what it guards,
What drives the hunter to the drawn bow.

A mystery it took Galileo and at least a century to resolve.

Right there,
Tucked away in that sword sheath,
Orion's nursery - a nebula where new stars are forming,
The fires of creation lend their soft glow to our nights,
Gracing Fall nights with a harvest of new light,
I've always wanted to go there.

The first thing I ever pointed a university telescope at.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2005

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.

Exposure...

The lies that are told are no longer on hold,
The ice is all melting to reveal what it kept,
Every corner is filled with light,
Angels are circling and guiding moonbeams through the cobwebs,
The covers are all thrown back,
Pulled wool now faces Spring's sharp shears,
The scales will creep back into balance,
All the creeps will find dark corners,
Standing behind iron-barred shadows,
Sunlight streams into the cell they painted themselves into,
Meanwhile the mystic walks with a wooden staff,
Mumbling sunshine spells for poets to spill,
An afterthought of the Green Man dancing beneath Autumn trees.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/10/2005

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 Word Whizzyrd's Castle...

An airy place full of holes in the walls,
Gaping and black from spell blasts,
The stones are slowly uncrumbling and crawling back into place,
Even around the courtyard where the young whizzyrd played,
A healing spell on stones whipped up from sparkly grey dust,
Fossilized dragon scales and bones ground up.

The banks of the moat are jagged and cruel,
But the secret mejik spell is something like rocket fuel,
The whizzyrd begins chanting with arms raised to stormy skies,
Like a majestic balloon the entire castle begins to rise.

The guests are all unknowing as they party in the grand ballroom,
Sipping on zephyr honey and star twinkle wine,
Eating moonbeam soup from griffyn bone bowls with phoenix feather spoons,
*Puff* they go and the soup is glowing and hot,
The spoon rises from it's ashes for the next sip,
Moonbeam elf waiters bring kraken claw knives,
To cut the sunshine noodles from the blue sky.

Flying up to the edge of space,
The Word Whizzyrd castle begins to race,
Off to Saturn in a bubble of air and light,
Soon to chase ring baubles for an orbit in the endless night.

Won't they all be surprised the whizzyrd thinks to himself,
I'll give the whole party the grandest show,
Of shepherd moons made of fire and ice,
Huge dented rocks of mountainous size,
The coffee cream swirl of saturnine clouds,
And whiz-bang asteroid showers with basket ball sized diamonds,
Maybe mountains of pure gold.

Inviting the crowd for a roof-top dessert,
Cosmic ray candy with aurora borealis sauce lights,
Up the stairs the walk until gravity reverts,
Wide open eyes on a fanciful night flight.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/01/2005

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 Go The Tomatoes...



Jack Frost paints silver,
Tomato leaves turn Fall brown,
His fog breath floats low.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/28/2005 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 Mars Effect...



It last came so close in A.D. 2003,
And a nation of law turned to its first un-provoked war,
The Red Planet was burning in the sky,
God of anger was rending spirits from their bones,
Looking for what wasn't there while Baghdad burned.

Marching along in the sky he raged far and wide,
The anguish and misery festering like a boil under the skin,
Maimings and flag-draped heroes falling home,
Angry faces in the desert exploding with rage,
Giving a "go home Yankee" bang on every street corner.

October first 2005 saw the warrior planet start walking backwards,
Mars retrograde at his closest approach in 60,000 years this Halloween night,
Right next to the severed head of the Medusa,
A malignant star called Caput Algol whose baleful glow has darkened history,
A time for leaders to lose their heads or their way,
Time for a very cautious step as the stars are serving dangerous beauty.

When you see the sky on Saturday night,
Look for his baleful bright red eye in the East,
And wonder which way the knives of fate will dart,
It's a whole new era rough and tumble starting in,
Yet when the Red God finally wanders away,
Will we recover from the Mars effect?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/28/2005

Author's Comments:
For more insight on this particular Mars retrograde, see the below two linked sites.
Mars retrograde occurs when the planet appears from our perspective to be moving
backward across the sky. It's strongest effects are at the "station" points, where the planet
appears stopped in the sky, and it lasts until the planet passes back over the point where it
first stationed and starts gaining ground in it's proper direction again.

www.astrologycom.com/marsret.html

www.astrologycom.com/marsred05-1.html

Godfingers Touch...



With quiet silence reaching down through the wind,
He touches you like a saint full of kindness,
Brilliance stabs your eyes like a whispering ghost,
Barely inside existence yet your powerlessness shines in your face,
Where destiny will take you is woven in a cloth,
Like the small traces of a mystery you await it,
What comes down off the sky.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/26/2005

Mile Markers...



Another mile whispered by,
A season on the road behind,
As daylight fades into starry night,
Where do we seem to fly?

Every leaf of memory fallen away and passed,
Another piece of existence and I wonder,
Is there a great book somewhere,
Something it will take an eternity to read,
Speaking volumes about love and lies,
What would it say of me and mine?

Another year now passing by,
Tires on pavement moaning hum,
Who sits in the passenger seat,
Are they filled with happy love,
The radio is a small thing - just part of the road,
Blaring out things out of sight of pavement.

It's nice to know of pot holes and rain clouds,
When to roll the windows down,
But kissing in the back seat under red Autumn trees,
That's what seals the gold of summer to my heart,
The foundations of you and me,
A leaf in a vast pile rather than one swirling in the breeze.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/25/2005
"For Saren."

Grieving Elephants...

I heard it this morning on the BBC,
Elephants grieve.

They walk up to a skull and bones,
Stroke it gently where it fell alone,
Try to bury it if they can,
They bring no flowers and have no hands.

They can walk away for weeks and miles,
When they return to this place quiet rules,
Walking directly to the spot they stop in silence,
There is no hiding grief at death.

We're not alone on this Earth,
Something to remember,
We have a hand in all creatures' greatest treasures,
A place to live and a reason to go on.

If you can't love Earth for our sake,
Love her for theirs.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/26/2005

Falling Leaves...

Leaf falls slowly down,
Orange Autumn sign of God,
Beautiful cool rain.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/25/2005

Seasonal Detail...



The beauty in the small things is priceless,
An eye close to the world so seldom reviewed,
What falls to the ground un-noticed is of short duration,
A day or two too late and everything changes,
Too early and it's not at your feet,
A world all around you singing a song in color and whistling wind,
Look and listen closely now and again,
In the still small places so few choose to go a universe awaits,
Poems can fall to the ground and become of the Earth,
Leaves upon the human tree and the ground that nourishes,
All around you just waiting for a moment of intention,
Or lost in the lack of attention,
You choose the colors of your own Fall,
Twisting and turning in the breezes of life,
What do you whisper into the winds?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/21/2005

Fields of The Tawny Days...



Flowing like gold across the field,
Lost in an endless sea of breeze and waving amber,
Life floats upon the sky that seems boundless,
To walk here is to be healed,
To live here is to understand the cycle of life with intricacy,
A season and a season's passing,
Promises of renewal too priceless to forget,
In this vast place called the Heartland,
Here the Mother whispers in her childrens' ears,
Awaiting the embrace both so desperately need.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/19/2005

For The Love Of Life...

I will whisper incessantly of the beautiful things I find,
The alive things and the necessary things and all that holds us up,
I will never remain silent as fools' errands are run,
I will show the glory of Mother Earth in all it's forms,
Be it God or any superior notion that created this,
It was never ours to destroy,
For the love of life I will walk through dreams and nightmares,
I will point my finger to the Moon's tides at night,
I will wash the shores of souls like a rolling wave that never sleeps,
For the greatest gift of life is love,
The Universe would share none without the other,
For the love of life I can never leave you alone,
Until you understand the sacredness of every seed,
Man - raise your intellect to walk hand in hand with that from whence you came,
In walking roughshod over your Mother's unconditional love you spell doom,
In working with in the stead of domination you find Grace,
And only Grace will suffer you to live,
Or have you learned nothing of true efficiency in the struggle to heights,
For the love of life...feel love.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/17/2005

Dance Of The Prairie Winds...



Even as the Milkweed faeries dance down the breeze in whistling sunlight,
The Thistle sisters sway their crowns like a trance waiting to happen,
A seed falls here or gets stuck on pant leg there,
A little brash maybe but no secrets to hide,
Dressed in Prairie gold they play with Zephyr princes,
Baiting foxes, stags, even wolves for a ride,
Far past their honey bee pink blush and no longer green with envy,
Fall is their amber season of reward and delight,
Even in Winter's frigid arms they show but little restraint,
They will lonely-peek over pure white blankets,
Always ready for their turn at the ball,
Pretty as gilded lilies in a simpler fashion,
Queens of the prairie waving and fluttering,
They'll always gift you a back -home feeling if you look long and slow,
Sort of child sisters of Mesmer.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/16/2005

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.

Mister Scott's Final Miracle...

He's going back up,
High up into the black silent void,
Where the stars never blink in myriad colors,
Riding a quaint old rocket's roaring flame,
No impulse nor warp nor ion drive,
Although he'd "miracled" them all at some place or time,
Now his ashes will orbit the Earth as is only fitting,
A little something he engineered while still alive,
The inspiration of thousands of engineers,
Aye Cap'n and a star to steer a teary eye,
They twinkle and sparkle don't ye know,
Mister Scott's final miracle utterly fitting and right,
God bless you James Doohan as you ride the endless ebony night,
For this time, you've gone where every man has had to go before.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/15/2005

Author's Comments:
James Doohan's ashes will ride a rocket into space on December 6th, 2005, to orbit the Earth until atmospheric friction causes them to spiral in and burn up. His vaporized remains will eventually become utterly a part of all the Earth thanks to mortality, the one ship he couldn't fix. He inspired so many young people to go into engineering he was awarded an honorary engineering degree. He sails the night with the hearts and hopes of many millions, exploring the final frontier even in spirit.

www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/...index.html

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.

Benny The Bug's Fall Diner...

Heh-Heh,
Step it slow and cautious down my block kid,
You never know who'll punch yer lunch ticket,
Better fly high right on by,
It's a hungry day and I've got a thousand babies to feed,
I've climbed the ladder and I'm all set,
It's the Halloween hustle if you come too close,
I've got a sticky spell better than most,
A cold and calculated contract to fulfill,
I'm a bug-eyed bandit out for a thrill,
I'll sit at a witch's door full of poison brew,
Bite a black cat or a Druid what's more or even you,
Come see the pretty silvery shadows that shine,
I'm Benny the Bug and your carcass is all mine!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/14/2005

Milkweed Magic...

Soft silk bursting to float on chill Fall air,
Milkweed pods like cotton puffs release their aviators,
When the winds kick up and a hawk circles amid swirling white motes,
The sun breaks through the grey cloud fluff and mist,
A single beam onto the amber and straw prairie below,
Lancing through the center of a flotilla of Canada geese,
Lazing down a little Midwestern river,
Their follow-on mallard groupies quack and dive,
The world is slow and at peace.


Coffee mug in one hand and slow cigar in the other,
I smoke signal the sky along the walking path,
Watching toast-gold thistle crowns swaying in the breeze,
Ruling over rustling gentle bleached yellow grasses,
Yellow tiny butterflies flutter around the occasional regal monarch,
Tiny denizens daring the silvery spin of spiders' web,
Giant oak and walnut trees tower over the maple,
Red or yellow or orange or rust with sugar maples for company,
The thickets and the canopy full of bird chatter,
Flocking blackbird pit stop full of brown sparrow gossip,
The robins too good and cheery to participate,
My steps are slow and soaring easy over the path.

Feeling connected to the Earth I walk this path of peace.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/13/2005

Ghosts Of The Fall

---

This picture was taken at Eaton Preserve in Plainfield in the Fall of 2004. This house was the original farmhouse of the farm that became the preserve. This house was torn down this past week, only a hole in the broken ground remains.

Dan

---

---

It is the small things in their billions from which we derive life,
In the shades of every leaf of the Fall and every blade of grass,
It is in the unknown stories of abandoned houses that the past haunts us,
And we see ghosts in the colors of the Fall.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/10/2005

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.

When Comes The Fall...

Sun low and slow across the sky,
Each ray slightly tilted,
As cloud fish fish swim the sky in earnest,
A different tint of azure comes above,
Ancient trees give leaf prayers to the cooling winds,
The amber fields are drawn up and cleaned as we pray thanks,
Birds swirling swarms alight on wires by the mile,
Gold of grasses past their season,
Candles and back yard fires glow as sun falls,
Stars come out and the Hunter rises again,
Hearts turn inward in reflection,
Seeing the season and seasons past,
Wondering at the spectacle of rest before renewal,
All things come in their time,
We remember such grace and grandeur anew,
When comes the Fall.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/02/2005

A moment to point out my new chapbook of poetry, "Battle For New Orleans."

You can find a link in the column to the right where a copy may be purchased. All royalties earned will be donated to Oprah's Angel Network for Katrina survivors. (Oprah pays the administrative costs, so anything I raise will go directly into relief for the victims of the hurricane.)

This book includes 14 poems that I feel sum up the timeline of the hurricane emotionally and spiritually. For $0.69 you can download a copy and $0.50 will go to the Angel Network. (After I recoup the $34.95 fee for the ISBN number) If you prefer hard copy, you can order the print version for a little over $5.50 and $0.50 will still go to the Angel Network.

Even if you decide not to purchase "Battle For New Orleans" please consider donating to the charities supporting Katrinas' victims as often as you possibly can for the next two or three years. They have suffered terribly and will need all the help they can get to get back on their feet.

You can purchase the book here:


Battle For New Orleans

Royalties go to Katrina charity.

Sincerely and with thanks,

Dan

Magic Mirror...

She looks in the misty silvered glass with a deep sigh,
Black candle burning with bright purple fire,
Black cat with burning purple eyes curled up in her lap,
Such tedium as she puts on the basic green,
Glues on warts and a crooked nose,
"Mirror, mirror, tell me no lie,
Am I finally ugly enough to fly?"

Silly silly rules to fly by an amber gibbous Moon on Halloween,
After all, if you had crystal balls and love potions by the numbers,
Wouldn't you snap your wand and look like Clarke Gable or Marilyn Monroe?

A gal's gotta keep up her image, you know!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/31/2005

Serious Review...

She pushes the spectacles down her nose at another Soul left to Ponder,
Closes the window to falling leaves and beautiful colors,
Her couch is lost in the Deep Dark Woods of the Soul where we lie tied,
Seeing scene after scene of questions as a quilt of potential guilt wraps us,
Stifling and hard as the coffee grows cold like our bones,
She walks out the door leaving us to untangle the wounds and woes,
Eyes locked on the channel we are helpless to change,
She has fulfilled her mission in droves,
Thin cords will bind us beneath sight or logic,
Maybe we'll discover her sister sweeter,
A certain archetypal type called simply Resolution.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/30/2005

Hawkbelly Grace...

I glide above as a signpost,
Good omen lying upon a breeze that graces your face,
Soft tawny sandy underbelly and reddish brown wings of silence,
Pierce the sky over your windshield,
Simple in my need of thermal energy to rise,
The death of a small creature to fall,
Such is nature without compassion,
I will share with you the message of a feather falling,
Look up at crisp skies of blue,
See the grasses at your feet before the tawny Fall comes,
Let the wind kiss your cheek and God grant you open skies,
Let the Universe itself hold you up from falling,
Bank into your favorite tree,
I am your omen today,
As you travel a good path.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/26/2005

As The Ages Speak...

I was staring a 19th century Navaho poet in the words this afternoon,
Then surfing Neruda's private seas en ingles y espanol,
Hearing the call to love the Earth with the bonds of stewardship,
A duty simply laid upon man and forgotten in conveniently complex fashion,
The albatross of sanity was flying jigs as I looked beneath a carpet of customs.

Legends and Genesis from three continents cry as the butterflies pass by,
Multicolored threads woven through a fabric of life once lush and rich,
Lunatic shears born in five fingered hands sever such yarn as they may find,
Convinced of dominion yet holding no understanding of the shape of that mountain,
Blindly following the blind searching for a candle already laid at their feet out of sight.

No host need come down nor Almighty lift a finger,
Walking the highway to Hell is all down hill from here,
Girded by entrenched walls of silence and fear,
We were given a job and our fears have hands in the small of our backs,

As we lie down and the clocks tick by a Revelation nears our door and it is Us,
Stagnated in the walls of tradition and habit and who do you know deals,
Speaking of ideals in nonchalant splendor and failing to live His word or our own,
What we speak and live is what defines us and our fate.

The time of Tribulations is rooted in a simple failure of vision, social compact, and too-glued traditions -
All God has to do is sit back and watch; all we have to do is Steward the Earth and each other,
As the ages speak of Tribulations come and gone only now we can do it bigger and bolder,
Such is the nature of duopoly consisting of duty and free will.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/25/2005

Rattlebones Review...

Amber Moon perched on the hilltop,
Down at the end of Red Eye road,
Walk the chill spines rattling all along,
A marching band of bone flutes whistling an ancient song,
Jolly Jones and Roger too in rotted tatters they stroll,
Risen for one night - All Hallows Eve.

The band has singing notes from cutlasses,
Swishing in bare knuckled hands,
A drumming upon stretched skins,
Stolen from the Witches' lair,
They dance and they rattle their symphony,
Beyond any mortal care.

Symbols bang upon reality that bends,
Following the black flag down,
Unearthly lights in ghost town windows,
Bats shriek high over skeleton heads,
To meet the bride of Dracula 'pon the peak of Dead Man's Knoll,
Furious sticks of wormwood beat like heads the drums do roll.

Eerie honks and whistles blare,
Calling spirits of the night,
A sight few mortals shall see yet live to speak by day,
The coven is cackling harshly high upon straw brooms,
Black clouds swirling fast over every star,
The rats and worms dance quickly into the medicine jar.

Howl now - howl me buckos the ship that sank,
She's rotting upon the bottom rocks,
This stony shore we tonight must walk,
The seas are tossed and lightness black,
The waves cadence to our soulless song,
Raise what hackles you might have left -

We'll play it all night long!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/28/2005

Gossamer Soul...

If there is a font of kindness you have drawn it's draught surely,
In the well of imagination you have bathed by Moonlight,
Dancing upon clouds you rain smiles upon the Earth,
Even filled with tears to bursting you are a light among shadows,
Knowing that to be human is to feel pain you still exude joy,
Worry not that your empathy is leaden.

If you impart laughlight into darkness then you have sung your brightest song.

Whirl upon your pedestal amidst the soulflowers,
Itself merely the earthen hill where the sunrise is your backlight,
Innocent wisdom becomes you,
As we are all graced to know your name,
When you light upon your castle's ramparts,
Rainbow wings folded shut and having done what you must...

Be filled with knowing that this is enough.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/28/2005

Author's Comments:
For Spinny.

Re: "Last Gas":

I know this is a tremendously difficult subject in this poem. Somehow, some way, we must heal the wounds of our division and search our souls to find the kindness, compassion, and ethics that had been the hallmark of our nation. In the end, this is what all people of honor in our country truly long for. It is critical to the future of the entire world that we find a way to do so. We will never be able to accomplish this within the bounds of silence that seem walled between us. Even in anger this is what drives me to speak. In our heart of hearts, we all know this need. How will we ever satisfy it?

Dan

I really wish I didn't have to say this, but it needs to be said...

The Reason The Hurricanes Will Intensify The Anti-War Effort:

They say Katrina & Rita are going to detract attention from the effort to end the war. I say Bullshit. They are going to cost so damn much money that they are going to force the Bushwackers to BRING THEM HOME to deal with it financially and physically. There are too many links between the subjects.

1. The war in iraq is about oil. Even Bushwack himself said so not long ago.
2. The hurricanes are messing with the oil supply worse than you'll ever want to know - although you WILL...
3. The hurricanes are being made worse by Global Warming as the higher water temperatures in the Gulf of Mexico add energy to these storms. They may have to create a category 6.
4. We need the troops home and the money home to deal with the messes.
5. Even the densest SUV drivers are going to feel extreme pain filling up if this thing hits the Galveston refineries and it suddenly costs ** $80.00 + ** to fill up a regular car, let alone the $100.00 + to fill up a big PIG like a Hummer or Suburban.
6. If we had done our homework over the past 20 years like we should have, (Get that idea, will you cheaters and "only money matters" people) we wouldn't need nearly so much oil, Iraq wouldn't have been worth the bother to the Oil Mob that the computers elected, and Global Warming wouldn't be adding nearly so much steamroller "oomph" to these Gulf hurricanes.
7. We AREN'T GOING TO LET THEM FORGET THAT THE TWO SUBJECTS ARE INEXTRICABLY LINKED FOR ONE NANOPICOFEMTOMILLIMICROSECOND! Raise that flag in DC this weekend. Frame the whole thing continuously and inextricably in WHAT IT IS ALL REALLY ABOUT. *ENERGY GREED, EVIL, AND STUPIDITY* 

--
"Loyalty to the country always. Loyalty to the
government when it deserves it."
----------------------------------
One person, One vote, It Counts! Do it, America!
http://www.illinoisprogressives.org/pdi/

----------------------------------------------------------

Last Gas...

"And they said her name was Rita..."

She came ripping up the gulf like a bad Godzilla swarm,
Mother Nature's take on B-flick horror,
Headed straight for the refineries like a tight-wound white steamroller,
Storm surges higher than twenty feet.

Those silvery Moonlight beaches of Galveston I remember will never be the same.

The pundits were screaming five bucks plus and lines at the pumps,
The stocks were at the bottom and digging  for China,
Guess they had a bamboo handle on the shovel,
And all the heat in the Gulf these days must go somewhere.

Straight for the source of the tailpipe emissions.

Houston to the station - mayday, mayday, mayday,
We're on an evacuation route doing ninety North and dodging busses,
Not sure how long the cell phone will hold out,
Give our regards to Moscow and tell 'em we're sorry but runnin'.

Texas may be big but it's about to be flat.

The white clouds are swirling and underneath it's black as night,
Another three million gallons a day capacity under Mother Nature's heel and squished,
The Earth herself is nuking the source of the sickness better than Commies on steroids,
She's not whispering at all anymore folks - close the moon roofs on your SUV's.

How many more oil company CEO's you wanna elect now?

Guess we here in the North are going to be doing tent cities and soup line set up,
The refugees are on the roll again poor souls - their erstwhile hosts are joining the caravan,
So now the shoe is on both feet tight and hurting bad to blistering,
And half of us plus the computer glitch didn't want to buy the pair.

Shoulda listened to those environmental folks 'cause today is the Last Gas.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/22/2005

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.

Divination's Dance...

If I light two candles which will flicker and sputter first,
Will the light upon the wall be a simple steady glow,
Could a candle flame dance like a ball gown upon a late spring breeze?

I have a question Lord and I'm peeking for signs.

In times not so distant past people would kneel in the chapel all night,
Surrounded by saints in the quiet solitude yet one of a multitude,
Calling your name for an answer.

I guess we're not so far removed from our roots.

As the last Summer breezes play around the stars,
Somewhere just before the tree leaves decide upon scarlet and rust,
I'm facing a dilemma that asks for faith and a coin toss.

It could be a word etched in an antique glass for all I know.

If I could lie on the beach by a crackling campfire,
Listening to moon-silvered waves rise and fall,
Arms crossed behind my head I would look up to you.

Will a star fall to the left or right?

Your word and your clarity Universe - this is what I ask,
Set this simple prayer upon the world's stage,
Call it a night and await what is best for us in peace and harmony.

Under grace in perfect ways the answer now comes clear.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/20/2005

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.

Of Whispers And Secrets...

In the calm place that should be my mind the words are winding up to pitch,
I lay on the cotton thick and darling - unprepared to sort wheat from which,
Internal ear muffs and denial like ambrosia for the blind,
I see too much and hear too much and live in interesting times.

The muse comes and lays down tracks like a rock star in high fidelity.

There is no ignoring the pace of the race that no one seems to be winning,
Insipid whispers howling and faces all around scowling,
Tied up like rats in the maze when we only need to let the words go soft,
Find the strength it takes to abandon fears of weakness and bear the character of kindness.

It's written in ancient books and modern songs what salve to the wounds we must find.

The answer my friend is blowing in the winds of change and potential is charging,
Spiritually the way to love can not be forced or coerced or feared into being,
Only one path leads to salvation founded in mortal coil or spirit,
As He said love thy neigbor as thyself - stop treating yourself so badly.

Love is a slow and undefined path where fear is a greased toboggan run to doom.

When you open your eyes and ears fully what voice are you choosing to hear,
Faith or fear and love or lies - in this space there are no shades of grey,
There are two kinds of angels and I prefer those that fly rather than crawl,
The ones who simply state and never whisper.

Honestly - Love needs no secrets.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/17/2005

What Came After...

As endless as the leaves of the Fall,
It was the Common Man who came to the rescue,
Often in outright defiance or sly and clever dodging interference,
Always with a kindness of heart that graced the scenes behind the scenes.

How many everyday heroes don't we know of?

It wasn't the sensational or the angry that prevailed,
Though they seemed the loudest in our lives at the time,
Through the days and weeks and months and years,
The unquestionable truth reigned unspoken yet utterly supreme.

Open hearts are the only balm to an ocean of tears.

When the real soldiers of God came down in droves,
They shone in a million ways only known by a million more of the few,
With their weapons of shoulders to catch the tears and hands to hold and arms to hug,
What none of the investigations may ever uncover.

The exhausted days and determined knights as they battled the Devil's due.

The true leaders that made the lie of the policy glare apparent,
The little man helping the little man for as long as it may take,
You can find your answers right there and close to home,
In the colorless clarity of those truly Human souls among us.

The only thing washing away these miseries Katrina has cried upon us.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/13/2005

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.

In The Silent Streets...

...heavy silence like a lead curtain.

Live oaks wading nameless into the Fall,
Scent of the reaper in the dead air where the rage blew through.

Home of the jazzblues has lost its neon nights,
As the ghostwalkers reap the harvest in solemn earnest.

Tropical heat heavy with hearts' burden thundered down deafening,
It's the time for tears now as the stars shine down,
Sheets of hand-written music with famous signatures...

Fade away into the stench of forever,
ragged angry shades in the silent streets.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/10/2005

Author's Comments

I was thinking of what it must be like walking in New Orleans doing the clean up. The task they are faced with now. The other thing that struggles in my mind is the lost music - New Orleans' musical history is extremely rich. I've heard that Jelly Roll Morton, for instance, wrote all of his music by hand with pencil and paper - and those precious sheets of our history may well be lost forever. The live oaks are all named and chronicled in New Orleans. Look up the Live Oak Society - many will die having their roots submerged for so long. What a wicked harvest this Fall has reaped.

The Simplest Evil...

All it takes is a glance,
Just look the other way in the heat of the moment,
Pretend you don't see the very stones you are standing upon.

Perhaps they won't even exist.

You can spend days creating a new reality,
No need for that hammer and nails son,
The house is standing just fine.

In twenty feet of water.

The eyes that see the murky depths are countless,
Not even the computers are sure,
How many ghosts are in the rotting rafters.

Just turn away and it's not your fault at all.

The Big Easy is now a showcase of Voodoo economics,
No more red beans and rice on Mondays,
There's only a couple of groups well fed in New Orleans these days.

Maybe the 'gators and most of all the snakes.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/07/2005

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.

I wish that I could be writing of something else. It breaks my heart to write something like this of my own country, but I have to. I have to call it like I see it. It infuriates me that so many people were left on their own for so long, so many resources turned away, witheld, wasted. The things I am hearing are terrible and dark. The only plus I can see is that all this darkness is shedding light on things that have long needed to be realistically addressed. It's too much to bear without writing witness for all the souls lost. The next thing I have to do is figure out what I personally can do to help, and that will be an obligation to meet at least monthly for a long time to come, because all of us here need to do what we can for the victiims. They are our countrymen.

A Poor Day To Die...

In the terrible currents of fear and wind and rain,
Left with nothing but their feet and maybe not even that,
No dime no nickel no car no gas,
Maybe no job if they left - I guess now it's too hard to laugh,
The stench and the heat and the waters full of death and disgust,
Six days with nothing but bullets and broken promises,
Thirst and pain and confusion comprise everything,
Bodies plugging the bathtub drains,
Call it looting or scavenging to survive,
When the world ends without a plan,
And everything that could have been done never was,
The night falls and there are no coins for it all,
The flood of eyes that have crossed the toxic river,
The Ferryman played golf and shook his cup of tin,
In a crisp suit where workaday clothes belong,
The beach is stripped bare and the attics are filled with skeletons,
By God - it's a poor day to die,
In this train wreck they call The City of New Orleans.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/03/2005

Author's Comments:
There are natural disasters and there are moral disasters. Some days they converge, like the last six have exposed. I woke up early from a horrible nightmare about nuclear war last Monday morning. It seems I wasn't so far off. The guard at the elevator door to the underground shelter told me to go through the door to the left. It was the entrance to a boxcar on a train going back towards where the skies were being lit up like a billion lightning bolts. I jumped the train and awoke...to the news of Katrina.

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.