Poetry, ponderings, ideas, fantasy stories, spirituality and life philosophy, and ecclectic interests of a dyed-in-the-wool Aquarian mind.
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Tuesday, October 25, 2016
The Great Pumpkin Is Real...
I saw it in plain sight,
It was three hundred pounds,
No joke,
No boast,
The Great Pumpkin landed in our front yard.
Funny thing,
He always had his back to us,
In daylight that is,
Wouldn't show his face,
Not to a single ghoul,
Ghost,
Goblin,
Skeleton,
Vampire,
Nor witch.
No magic was powerful enough,
Not even when the veil was thin,
Not until kissed by the rays of Harvest Moon,
For at night that Great Pumpkin,
He came alive!
I heard his secret late one Halloween night,
Long after children were abed,
Thrashing in candy throes,
Trying desperately to sleep.
"I believe in Linus you see,
I must visit a different pumpkin patch each year,
For some day,
There will be a little boy,
With a blanket and a girl,
It will be up to me to save her faith."
I wish I could believe in the Amazing Linus,
Who could make a toy piano sound like Mozart,
With one thumb still in his mouth.
I hope the Great Pumpkin finds him someday,
Only to save her faith.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/25/2016
Monday, October 24, 2016
Grasshopper Tracks...
Post by AquarianM on Mar 4, 2005 at 2:12am
Hot and sunshine beaten,
The grass is tall over our heads,
Wandering along the rusted rails and timbers,
Grasshoppers bouncing off our ankles step by step.
Sneakers tied tight over tube socks,
Birds were flying over and perching on wires,
I remember the oil-browned poles with blue and white glass insulators,
How the wires could sing at times the birds grew wary.
Garter snakes slithered off into the grass harmless,
Pocket compass and toy binoculars,
What kinds and colors of stones best fill your pockets,
Footpads in bicycle world with un-wound watches.
Wade through the pricker bushes pulling burrs out of socks,
Climbing trees for a lookout or to stare down clouds,
It was a lucky day when the trail ended in watermelon slices on the porch,
And hide 'n seek was the show for the night by lightning bug lights.
July had just started and tomorrow was the lake,
Corn on the cob and hot dogs with lemonade,
Digging up clams from the mud and getting dog-shake splattered,
Grasshoppers bouncing off our ankles step by step.
I wish I could burn THAT in a board with a magnifying glass.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/04/2005
Sunday, October 23, 2016
A Single Voice...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 5, 2005 at 4:57pm
The peal of thunder is just upon the verge,
Lightning flashing all about,
The cracked bell tolling wildly in the gale,
Ghosts swarm the harbor and ride a swift steed,
All about the East headstones twitch and Earth rumbles,
Spinning, spinning so that smoke rises,
Amidst the falling snow,
Shall we hear a single voice?
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/05/2005
Saturday, October 22, 2016
Words Of Water...
Words Of Water...
It was a black wall moving fast,
Surging upon the beach at 500 miles per hour,
Sweeping like the broom of God,
Amidst all the wailing and cacophonous roar,
Driving it's own wind of change.
I could write a thousand words on each of one hundred fifty thousand deaths.
Instead I write these few words on another current,
That after the blackness swirled back out to sea,
Hundreds and then thousands and then millions gave,
Some going and some sharing,
Incredible need reaches incredible numbers of hearts.
There is a wall in another sea greater than a tsunami.
From deep in the Ocean of Hearts a great wave arises,
Lapping the shores of grief over and over,
Common people and un-common people alike,
Hands and hearts extended amidst a sea of tears,
Is a groundswell of sympathy and kindness and compassion.
Words of water indeed...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/08/2005
Friday, October 21, 2016
Time Of Fire And Gold:
Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 10:09am
The leaves are burning without smoke,
Sun or grey skies the fields glint of gold and harvest,
The land is calling to be taken and I walk the hills and paths in my dreams,
The honking of vast clouds of geese circling whirling over corn,
Blackbirds fill the trees and wires,
The burning bush is rampant and replicated innumerably,
I landed in a field of harvested corn with still neat rows,
Walking in the morning that should be silent,
But the geese are speaking in volumes and I long for open hills,
Free of the concrete burdens of clocks and city,
This is no time of life for lifeless lines and angles,
Give me the wild disarray of red and orange and gold leaves,
The sprawled leaves lying in evidence of harvested corn,
The endless wisps and blankets of grey fall clouds,
Breath on the wind and following the sun and moon,
Haunted nights speak to me of dreams and changing guard,
I am ancient in the fields and reminiscent of fire in stone circles,
Of stealth in the woods and grasses and wielded hoe and scythe,
Of dancing to echoing drums by firelight 'round golden sheaves,
Watched by the blazing yellow of Jack 'O Lantern eyes and such ilk,
Silent in the moment of drawn bow in my mind like Orion in the night,
The world is starting to turn here in earnest,
The world is ablaze,
I am bathed in the time of Fire and Gold.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2004
Author's Comments:
Fall is an incredible gift.
Inscribed In Stone...
Words are everything.
They break us.
They echo us to the future,
Long after our dust is eaten by Earth.
Shining in the depths of night,
Words give voice to our silent light.
See and hear,
If you can read the stars,
Inscribed in stone.
(C) 10/20/2016
Thursday, October 20, 2016
The Quiet "Why?"
Post by AquarianM on Jan 13, 2005 at 1:18am
Don't whisper that, or even hint.
It's no place to shine the sun.
I'm half-believing, half fearing.
Unable to admit to myself that, that...
My world isn't that way, it just isn't.
Everything will be just fine, in time.
Don't whisper that, or even hint.
It's no place to shine the sun.
I'm half-believing, half fearing.
Unable to admit to myself that, that...
I refuse to see the reflection off of tin foil hats.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/13/2005
Celebratory Lights...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 14, 2005 at 2:14am
In the January darkness cold breath is rising away,
God's house is full of candles tonight,
I'll never stop looking up at them,
Stars up on high crisp and clear,
These celebratory lights,
A season of rest,
Sleeping frost,
Silent.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/14/2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
A Majority of Angels...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 13, 2005 at 1:53am
Wings aren't all they've been cracked up to be,
Some darlings caught between moments whisper softly,
Dear prayers rise up like smoke in the night.
How many hearts really just want everyone and everything to be alright?
The majority of Angels stand between human heartbeats,
Just one second away, just all around you,
Looking out through the carefully-labeled toughness mask.
It's something you have to count with insight.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/13/2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
Stars and Stones...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 14, 2005 at 2:37am
Is it something tribal or just a hint of survival,
A place in the heart so dark and lonely only God could fathom,
That black hole of a missing soul gone too far from heaven,
Just a dream I see when a certain stone tells me to believe,
Wrapped up in silk and flying in the future,
Dancing like a dervish under my silly skin,
A dream of Neptune for children of Uranus, Saturn rising,
Garnets and amethyst in the night,
Polished and shining and forever recorded,
We were poetry whose page burned,
An ancient ritual of the Spring's return,
Whispered in a far too brief dream,
Like the fallen leaf turning scarlet,
Too bright and pretty for forever to bear,
Still, we once were there.
It was written in the stars...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/14/2005
Borrowing Arthur's Car Park...
I know we're in America,
Silly,
But when it's THAT space,
You simply must say it in that fashion,
There's just nothing else for it.
Have you spilled the pages yet?
Of course I mean Hitchikers' Guide To The Galaxy,
What other pages could there be?
Did you lose your Babble Fish?
Is it sick or drunk?
We went to the International Society for Astrological Research conference,
Where we proceeded to borrow Arthur's car park for two days.
Arthur is off in Space again you see,
You can tell by the missing towel and bathrobe.
I hobbled,
I wobbled,
My knee was just ripped to junk,
But I have stars in my eyes,
Have heard all the astrology of elections I could bear,
And wish for all the world to have a return to Normality.
Little white mice squeaking at my feet have to be better than this,
I'm as depressed as a hyper-intelligent robot opening doors,
For no one told me that Vogon Poetry was portrayed in American politics,
But there it is in orange emails.
Of course,
Earth might be destroyed,
If one of them wins by 42 votes,
If I could only get to the local galatic planning office!
I'm sure the plans were on public display in another star system,
For they seem to have been written for years and years.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/18/2016
Author's Note:
We did attend ISAR, and we did get parking space 42. As to the rest, only Wikileaks and Anonymous know.
Monday, October 17, 2016
It Was A Fish Floater...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 23, 2005 at 7:17pm
© 01/22/2005 by Daniel A. Stafford
(Inspired by the movie "Silver City")
To Be A Child of Muses...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 25, 2005 at 1:21am
Who else could see a dust speck floating in a ray of sunshine,
Single it out and see it as a star in some Lilliputian universe of dreams,
Speak it's name upon the wind even as it was slipped into your whisper ear?
In the shadow mind with your heart-eye open to listen...
Who could see a yellow flower growing alongside tarmac at seventy five,
Tell the whole world of every breeze and raindrop each petal touched,
Whisper out every secret of a life lived in one place all in a single springtime like a child?
Swimming the current of sentimentality like a dolphin racing a great white clipper ship...
Who else could stand upon a flying thistle seed,
Brush a kiss upon the cheek of the amber Moon,
Then spin a pillow story around the crown of a young child well loved?
Seeing strength in the keenest eye of make-believe Paradises...
Yet somehow these velvet visions become real,
Watercolored upon the pages of history where only Love wins in the end,
Breathed out in insight-guided whispers of inner-speak...
Simple things in the world of a child of Muses.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/25/2005
Sunday, October 16, 2016
January's Sign...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 27, 2005 at 11:52am
I heard it on the radio as the tiny snow flakes fell,
Just as she was singing "Kiss Me," the D.J. broke the news,
Something I can only wish I saw...
The tiny lake effect flakes were dancing,
Road humming under my tires about going home,
Sun was shining behind me East through the thinning clouds...
Cold and clearing,
Salt spray painting my windshield like fog,
I was just about to sing along with the chorus...
"I wish we hadn't missed it,"
She said in her best smooth radio voice,
"...I hear they're very, very rare..."
"The beautiful snow rainbow everyone's been calling about."
Some people complain about January in Chicago,
I just wish I hadn't missed it.
January's sign...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/27/2005
Author's Comments:
True story this morning, listening to The Light, www.WLIT.com
Saturday, October 15, 2016
You Are NOT Alone...
Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:43am
There was a bad whisper coming from the high hill, just a lie on the wind.
Followed by many, and many more.
You chose NOT to listen while you spoke of sunshine,
Dreamt of warm hearts and caring arms being a global fashion,
Sowing the seeds that would devour the bull refuse in a blaze of green and sunshine,
You wrote poems that spoke of a spirit of giving and caring and inclusion.
Eyes are opening with every whiff of bad wind blowing, believe it.
A thousand years of peace is not a dream - just a prayer waiting to happen,
And you stand there with love in your heart for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall...
Wondering why you only hear dark and see dark and dream light,
Waiting for tears to end and people to "get" embracing everyone - instead of coloring circles of enclosure.
Don't just change the channel...turn it off, leave pages un-turned, go into a different paradigm.
If you look in the right places there are thousands and millions awake,
See the right weathervane - it's racing in bit torrents like a flood,
The congregation rising from where the fooled say only fools live,
But you can see that the finger pointing for lunacy is being done by the insane.
Look up - look out and about - see all the sunshine and cool breezes....you are NOT alone.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/05/2005
Friday, October 14, 2016
A Short Bio...
Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:42am
I was born, I breathed, that breath,
- it was filled with the mist off a Midwestern river,
I walked the Earth and read the people,
I wrote,
I write, and I live -
...and I want everyone to live.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/05/2005
Thursday, October 13, 2016
The Ghost Bird Of Plainfield...
Post by AquarianM on Sep 2, 2004 at 12:10pm
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.
Labor Day Rain:
Post by AquarianM on Sep 6, 2004 at 10:50am
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.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Broom Rider:
Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:13pm
Or a twitch of black cat claw on the backside,.
That lifted the first broom off the cauldron lip.
Perhaps the long green stockings,
And whippy black cloak,
Just trappings to hide picking broom splinters,
Out of something "nether" or such.
What they don't show you in corn bristle assembly class,
Is how to wrap milkweed fiber over toad skins,
So you can cling to an upside down spinning yew spear,
After you blast up the chimney in a puff of soot and sparks,
Big screeching black tom spike hackled and all.
The big question of the day,
Corn strings or long straw,
Batwing leather or worn old scalps,
The best method of cleaning black wax off cracked skulls,
Which type of toadstool stew to use for broomsores,
Or the best angle from which to cross an ambered gibbous moon.
Just remember to tip the vampire valets,
After you finish landing in the pumpkin patch,
Never let them catch you out racing ghosts,
And make sure you have a solid supply of sandpaper,
Before you take off for any spell casting match,
Standing naked and green under the stars,
There in the pentagram of a Druid circle.
There's a reason Fall brings out slang like,
Cold as a witch's...well,
Considering the entry fee is getting kicked in the face by a unicorn,
Is it any wonder you'll eat only small things stewed?
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/15/2004
Author's Comments:
For some ghastly reason, I'm looking forward to Fall and Halloween.
Even The Tiniest Place Needs The Sun...
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Plight Of The New World Witch:
Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:14pm
Green-nosed Halloween caricatures,
black hats and totally missed points.
Thum datta thum datta thum datta thum...
Maybe some ancient crone playing with black arts,
Maybe just a vicious tale,
Made to scare children abed.
Unmask the wicked ancient dreams...
When reality is blown free of October fog,
The magic is in the balance,
The dance of Love and Faith against Fear.
A clean clear wind whispers over the green hills...
There's a white light in the world today,
A gift from God and not an enemy,
Simple teachers of believing in Love.
Thum datta thum datta thum datta thum...
When the message is to have Faith,
Mountains will move,
When the message spreads Fear it sadly landslides.
Fear is only Faith that Evil will win...
Satan paints with Fear,
Rejoices in each soul bathed in that tool,
The exact opposite of Loving Faith.
Love is Faith that God wants us all to win...
God's own word teaches,
Faith is the source of what could be called magic,
Granted only through His universal Love.
Thum datta thum datta thum datta thum...
Faith blighted with Fear only illuminates pain,
Faith lighted with Love illuminates the way,
Have Faith we're all meant to be one in a new world.
Embrace Love each night and day.
THUM.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/15/2004
Author's Comments;
It's there in His words - all one need do is look.
Far Better Than Farcebook...
Yes,
That's exactly the name I gave it,
For farce it is,
But certainly not scarce.
I don't know if I can bear it,
One more cucumbered kitty,
One more skinned doggy,
Not another man shot in cold blood,
Nor the conspiracies you want to believe,
Neither the ones you don't.
The science,
Oh to be sure,
The nieces and nephews,
Sons and sisters and brothers,
The Dads and the others.
The music and invention,
But not the games and deception.
I'll stay here where the Muses never lie,
Yet always always always,
Keep you wondering how and why.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/11/2016
Monday, October 10, 2016
Fish Doctah Blues:
Post by AquarianM on Sep 17, 2004 at 8:31am
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.
Sunday, October 09, 2016
State Of Crisis:
Post by AquarianM on Oct 7, 2004 at 6:57pm
The thousands and thousands of messages,
A never ending litany of fear and fire,
The flames of the Beast must be stamped out,
And I'm hopping upon e-mail after e-mail,
Dancing like a clown in too-small shoes.
In every place I look the Beast seems to be raging.
Slowly I'm coming to realize,
Some subtle understanding of change behind my eyes,
In the analysis of near poetic standstill,
I've come to a state of crisis,
Barely able to lift my hand to dip pen in ink,
Let alone delisciously stroke the page.
In every place I look the beast seems to be raging.
What the soul says is the answer is hard to believe,
It's wispy and willowy and ephemeral and electric,
It's a dance of the merger of physics and spirit,
Some might call it even shamanistic,
In every place I look the Beast seems to be raging,
Until I look inside my heart.
Defuse the state of crisis,
I refuse to be a lonely heart.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/07/2004
Author's Comments:
KNOW the Beast will lose. KNOW that Spirit will win.
JOIN in.
Saturday, October 08, 2016
Remnants Of Gold:
Post by AquarianM on Oct 5, 2004 at 8:50am
Gone to bursting milkweed and dead amber everywhere,
Flaming leaves dueling in ageless dance with still-yet green,
Walking round the trail the river is slowly flowing reflection,
Hand in hand we wonder at stalks and leaves and tufted seed,
Flight is a marvel as the vee circles again and again,
Hovering over golden corn stubble low and slow,
Like this sky without a cloud,
And they mate for life just as they gather in the harvested corn,
Hundreds and hundreds and voices of forever,
The sun is falling and we're walking past the barn,
Boarded up with it's children long gone away,
The sky will be all stars tonight and sheets over the mums,
A hard freeze will come they say,
It never ends but it ends every year,
We'll turn to sweaters and coats as tawny returns,
Tawny in every corner of the world and gold in the sky,
The turn of sunlight angle speaks to your soul of time,
In the manner of stone-shouldered hills and book-pressed flowers,
The world bears fruit despite harsh masters,
Yet the amber prairie bones fill our eyes,
Calling for a healing long overdue.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/05/2004
Author's Comments:
We have duties and we have treasures.
Friday, October 07, 2016
The She-Devil Of Hanover Pit...
I can't believe it!
She bought me a speedo one size too small,
Took me out to Hanover on a sunny week day.
This old gravel pit has a beautiful beach,
And a solid thirty-foot cliff to leap from,
And now it has her.
She caught me by the broken heart strings,
Near twin to my first love,
But love wasn't what she wanted to pull,
No - I wouldn't call it exactly that.
I was just over nineteen,
She maybe the same,
Only the two of us and her little sister,
The beach all to ourselves.
All hands and no modesty,
She wanted to show me off,
Took me past caring about being a trophy,
My only relief to dive in,
Too late for staring eyes.
Oh,
I could tell you stories about that one,
Oh,
I could indeed,
But I want you to live.
Nineteen hundred and eighty-two was an interesting year.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/07/2016
Author's note:
True story. Like any good story, there's a LOT more to it. I couldn't help it, Goldenmyst tossed my Muse right back into my personal gutter! Lol
In The Burning Shadow Of Fallen Leaves:
Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:12pm
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.
Thursday, October 06, 2016
Under The Turning Light Of The Moon:
Post by AquarianM on Sep 2, 2004 at 7:30am
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.
Better Ways...
I hear a ticking drumbeat that calls me in the night,
--
Compassion is the greatest sign of Humanity.
Wednesday, October 05, 2016
Birds Diving Off Wires:
Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 12:27pm
Up against all the greyed-over sky,
A day for old blues piano,
Solid voices roll over golden grass,
Singing songs of falling love ends,
Fires as painful as burning leaves,
Guitars twang and echo,
Blinga blinga blue like cold creek water,
Another Fall season burns,
Birds are diving off wires,
Flocking South in the grey-blue sky,
And I am thankful I've found home.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2004
Author's Comments:
Listening to old blues on a fall drive.
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.
Tuesday, October 04, 2016
Those Heady Days Haunt Me...
I remember the hustle and bustle,
There were so many of us alive then,
I fly like a silver albatross to the drumbeat,
Samhain is more than a dream of poets,
All hail!
All hail!
Another Star burned down out of the deep dark night!
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
Author's note:
River Fest...
Post by AquarianM on Oct 26, 2004 at 2:44pm
River Fest...I was born in a little town in the Midwest,
In the heart of Winter when it was the harshest cold,
In a small industrial town with a mighty river run through it's heart,
The length of the city it flows,
From far North in Wisconsin down to the big Mississippi,
Seeming to freeze over in this time,
Never believe moving water is more than passingly solid,
Stay far from the dam,
The water is green with a strong scent as such rivers like to be,
People have been drowned in it from time to time,
And such is the nature of rivers...
In the summertime when the leaves are green,
It's hot by the river and there is a long park along it's Eastern bank,
Maybe two miles and a bit more,
The trees are large and towering mostly,
The lagoon where the pedal boats play has a warming house,
They plow it for skating in colder winters,
But in the joyous Summer the leaves and water are green,
And everyone from here goes out that weekend,
In boats packed like a school,
In flowing human rivers of feet,
Strolling up and down the sidewalk there are carnival rides,
Bright colored lights and popcorn and hot dogs and cotton candy,
Children darting forever around the trees and laughing on the rides,
And all along the park stages and music -
Country bands - blues bands - rock bands - polka bands,
Time crosses over in a small town and the river flows seemingly slow,
Cheap Trick is on the big stage again tonight,
Way down by Portland Ave - local boys from twenty minutes away,
This river runs through their town too,
For all of us it's banks are stuck in our definition of home.
In child days I walked hand-holding along these banks and sidewalks,
Seeing all the rides and dreaming of being frightened out of my wits,
Sugar cookie in the hand not in Noni's and it was Summer,
Bright lights and lightning bugs were filling my eyes,
The cotton candy puffs were like giant balls of wished-for Heaven,
And I learned to stay a good bit back from the river,
Because I might fall in and drown,
And there would be pasta with meatballs on the table tonight,
When the teenagers and twentylings owned this place,
These lights by the river and the endless flowing sounds.
In first love days I walked hand-holding along these banks,
She had bright blue eyes the color of pale ice like when I was born,
Raven hair and part Native American only neither of us used those words for it,
I almost missed the carnival lights by the river completely,
Every ten minutes we ran into friends somewhere in the flow down the sidewalk,
All going to see Cheap Trick play for the first time here,
River fest was growing and my dreams were growing,
Dangerously I swam the currents,
Never knowing her ice blue eyes were the river,
I reveled in my strength swimming,
In joy in that season before the ice came,
I had flashbacks of cotton candy and lights,
She had another man's ring and children later that Winter,
And I swam in the green scented waters freezing and thawing for ten years,
Drifting with whatever flotsam would keep me breathing,
While Summer became half over.
In what I thought were growing up days I walked hands-free along these banks,
Seeing children care-free and lovers and old friends missed since last year,
Or was it the Riverfest five years ago,
Or maybe two but they were here again,
Where the carnival rides played their music and I wondered,
Wishing I were hand-holding here along these banks,
Standing alone as the rock and roll washed over me,
Drinking and walking because I could and it's what we did,
Dancing now and then and pretty eyes reflected the carnival ride lights,
Passing me by like the green water of the river twenty feet away,
But I cared less about cotton candy,
And the hot dogs with chili were all right,
Don't hold the blues on the halfway stage,
Twentyling swimming the riverfest,
Still caught in last year's ice.
In one short summer I walked hand-holding along these banks,
Seeing an occasional old friend and saying hello,
How many years has it been now,
Proud and beaming like the lights on the joyrides,
Awash in the rock and roll she had auburn hair and cinnamon apple eyes,
And I was swimming in the water as I walked,
Understanding it could drag you down dogged my heels,
Worrying like a child wanting to be on the rides,
Hoping the cotton candy was going to be sweet,
Unconscious and vividly awake at the same time,
Cheap Trick was playing the big stage,
And I ate the hot dogs and chili gratefully,
Glad to give whatever I had and in love like a doormat,
Begging for even the touch of cold feet,
I learned after that Summer was gone like the carnival lights,
That no one can respect someone swimming in a river of obsession,
No matter how beautiful the pretty lights and cotton candy,
Too sweet is too sweet is the wisdom,
Yet the ride on the other side of the sidewalk was it was a great summer,
That I'll love likely all my life,
And the green water still flows along and the dregs of that summer,
Long flowed down the Mississippi and out to sea,
Like an old tramp steamer you miss her and all the dancing but she can't keep you,
The stage is empty and they turned out the rock and roll lights.
In another time I walked hand-holding down these banks,
Not seeing a single soul I knew,
Styx was warming up for Cheap Trick on the big stage,
It was hot in the Summer night,
Children were darting and crowds were flowing up and down,
Circling the sidewalk circle under the stars and big trees,
Red and green and white boat lights and the occasional firefly,
Glow stick necklaces and the music blaring from the rides,
And I felt solid ground beneath my feet,
A warm hand in mine as the bands played,
Noni and Nono were on the other side of town,
Years in the ground but right here along this river of green water,
Mom was fading to ashes but I didn't know it yet,
Honey was unimpressed with this little town.
But I was born on this river and the music was good,
There was real gold on my finger and I was far from drowning,
The bratwurst and coke were tasting great,
Funny thing it still feels like home,
I've left and come back so many times,
I could feel these banks under my feet and never mistake it,
Maybe next summer I won't be on the pager,
The carnival will set up and the moon will shine on the river,
The bands will play all up and down the heart of the city,
After all this is Rock River we're speaking of,
And I will walk the banks searching for long-forgotten faces,
Yes my brother's out there on his boat,
Got two little boys just like him now,
I'm not sure if Dad or Sis came down this year,
Yeah they're still around here,
No my other Sis is up in Madison,
My other brother's living in the area still,
Step brother's out in Michigan and got married,
How's your mother and your brother,
Yeah Beloit doesn't change that much does it,
By the way how long has it been,
Since I last saw you at Riverfest, here along the Rock?
I was born in a little town in the Midwest,
In the heart of Winter when it was the harshest cold,
In a small industrial town with a mighty river run through it's heart,
The length of the city it flows,
From far North in Wisconsin down to the big Mississippi,
Seeming to freeze over in this time,
Never believe moving water is more than passingly solid,
Stay far from the dam,
The water is green with a strong scent as such rivers like to be,
People have been drowned in it from time to time,
And such is the nature of rivers...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/26/2004
Author's Comments:
I just woke up a few minutes ago, I'd been dreaming of old friends and home.
Monday, October 03, 2016
Early Morning At The No Name Cafe:
Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 10:10am
When the sun comes out you only find it by looking at reflections,
Steel and concrete and glass cocoon you,
There in the No Name Cafe they have bright colors,
Back in the corner of the building,
Only those at this address know,
No signs at all anywhere,
Nothing in the windows facing out to the bustling streets,
But they speak spanish and flip up eggs and sausage with a smile,
Corned beef hash only on Fridays,
Change from mariachi to light hits at seven,
Always cheerful to precede sun or rain,
Clutching my umbrella I order up,
Surrounded by brilliant yellow walls,
Grilled potatoes with onions and bell pepper shreddings,
Breakfast sausage links and a bottle of orange juice,
One plastic fork and two paper packets of salt,
A single napkin and those fifties tables and chairs,
Yellow and green vinyl and formica with banded chrome,
Stainless legs polished gleaming off checker tile floors,
The scents and early morning faces smiling in greeting,
Finished I pop the swiveling trash can lid,
Whip out the revolving glass door with the second half of cigar,
Pop my umbrella from it's folded up respite,
Strut between raindrops under my tote-a-roof in green,
Elevate up to the sixth floor of the parking ramp,
I close the umbrella and lean on the concrete wall,
Flick the lid open on my Zippo *snick*,
Light up and puff as I look down on the sidewalk,
A river of umbrella colors moving in some semblance of order,
I look up at the buildings with all their glass windows,
Seeing the billions of individual drops in the cascade outlined in hive relief,
Zipping up the black sweat jacket full and relaxed,
I just left work for the day,
After stopping by No Name Cafe.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2004
Author's Comments:
I wanted to write this a few days ago, but it just popped out today.
Saturday, October 01, 2016
Dope Me Daddy:
Post by AquarianM on Dec 11, 2003 at 8:18am
Dope Me Daddy:It burns - what they want to do.
The angels are falling into the grass -
Psycho tropic poison flowers fed on tears and paper.
They'll take you away for letting day dreamers dream -
Rule your children for you like they know something better,
Made up a name for it all fancy dancin'.
The death certificates that sing like Elvis's last seconds -
Hearing things seeing things,
Hearts hammering uneven rhythms on the precipice.,
The black shrouds wait and I know it's wrong.
Dope me, Daddy, I'll get my homework done -
Dope me, Mommy, I'll keep quiet my mouth shut,
Dope me, Teacher, I'll get my homework done,
Dope me, Doctor, was it kickbacks on the drugs,
Dope me, Principal, more big federal bucks.
The death certificates fall from the trees -
They let the winds bury them in the bushes where you can't see,
It keeps the kids in that uniform size box,
First cousin to coke and blood brother to meth,
They'll take away your kids for negligence -
If they don't dope them to cold in the ground death.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/11/2003
Author's Comments:
www.adhdhelp.org
Ritalin: government-backed and school-enforced kiddy cocaine.
They'll push you and push you until you cave - or just take them
and do it anyway. But this is America! So they say. I'm being pushed to OK
my son being put on this garbage from every direction by well-meaning killers.
I will NEVER say it's OK to do this to my child. Just because his head doesn't
fit in their little tiny square box of a picture of how people should be. Thank
God they didn't get to do it to me. They just ignore the deaths - the "small" percentage.
Cigar Chair Secrets:
Post by AquarianM on Sep 25, 2003 at 7:31am
In the loud silent space,
Inside your mind,
Falling into your eyes,
Every nuance of sun angle,
Every changing detail of cloud,
Every passing bird and rustling grass,
Frog voices and wind blown,
Distant words fall in your ears,
Every hint of wind or breeze,
Patch of magenta sunset cloud low,
You feel the Earth spin,
Remember Grandfathers,
Flavor and aroma of,
Life and Earth and,
Then and now,
Small and huge and in place,
Blow through you like,
Smoke,
Landing gently crushing,
Underskin upon your bones.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/24/2003
Author's Comments:
A fine cigar, late afternoon sun, a note book and pen,
big cup of coffee, lawn chair...timeless.
The Long Shadow of Time:
Post by AquarianM on Oct 9, 2003 at 7:15am
I feel it in every cool breath,
The ones I can see and not just hear,
In the slow turn of the stars I so adore,
In the disappearing green,
Like a flood of ennui in a field of stalks of gold,
The barest hint of purple twilight coming behind me,
The long low visual hush of fall fog over hugging the corn,
The way the geese are in ever larger vees overhead,
Or the growing blackbird clouds,
The death of green leaves and flowers last week,
In a hard night time freeze,
The slant of sunlight in disappearing afternoons,
The incessant insufferable inevitable ticking of clocks,
Every last tale of another year gone,
I sing with the mourning birds,
I could fall into the sky and hear stars whisper,
Or maybe spend a season in the headstones,
Crying over those I lost,
Candles with ice and snow coming,
How many more springs will we see,
Before I'm dusting pyramids in Egypt,
Specks on the wind that outlasted me,
Like all my personal legends,
Forgotten and fallen off the world,
So I write and I pray midnight mysteries,
Beg Eternity for a stone in it's pool from which to croak,
Pray that it's not the lilly pad,
Floating transient and lost,
Somewhere under the long shadow of Time.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/09/2003
Author's Comments:
The changing season always drives it home, like a stake through the heart.
Time Warps Do Exist...
Which must be the theme for this morning, because people were posting pictures of their Deloreans on Facebook, and the comments went all the way back to the future.
Now, getting past that digression, I just went through and skimmed over the content on this ol' blog, and just wow! It goes back all the way to November 1st of 2002. I'm pretty sure that's close to when I first started blogging, period. It can't have been too long before that.
I'm amazed at how much of my poetry is archived here. I'm damn lucky that it is.
I had at the last count I remember, nearly 1,800 poems published on Lightverse.com before it went down. I'd thought I had emailed myself almost every one of those poems as I posted them. They'e nowhere to be found in the email folders I expected to find them in.
There are many of those poems scattered across multiple poetry sites around the web. However, nothing was as comprehensive as Lightverse.com. Luckily, a lot of my early poetry survives here, on this sweet old blog. I'm very grateful for that.
I'm probably going to work to recover a lot of my poetry from a couple of other sites that have quite a bit of my more recent poems. Maybe from 2005 on.
We'll see just how much I can recover, and put up here in this place where my mejic still reverberates through the webverse.
At the moment, I'm killing time in the wee hours of the morning working on a computer that has just been giving me fits. The thing has been an utter nightmare to work with. I'm on my last-ditch attempt to fix it. I'm waiting for a system image backup to copy over to a portable hard drive.
I had a great email from my dear old friend Spinny yesterday evening. That was cool. She lives way Down Under. We've been online friends since back in 1996. Who has friends on the web that long? The internet was in its infancy then. It was like a naive little baby compared to now! Seriously, Netscape Navigator! How many of you remember that? Or AOL? Remember the first time you found out what LOL meant, or ROTFLMAO? Windows 95? Yeah.
At any rate, I'm going to go find a poem and bring it over here. Happy morning world!
Thank you for reading!
AquarianM
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
She Speaks Yinglish, He Speaks Yanglish...
A wise man once sang that love is all you need,
A lot of it indeed.
Did I ever tell you I worked for a communications company?
Twenty-one point five years in fact,
Connecting all corners of the globe,
Data and voice as far as Antarctica,
As near as down the street.
I wonder how many trillion words are spoken each year,
Trying to get across the great divide?
"Turn left, turn right, do the dishes tonight."
To quote the fabulous Joan Jett,
"Do you wanna touch,
Do you wanna touch,
Do you wanna touch me there,
Where,
There,
Yeah?"
Exactly where that center in the male/female brain is,
The one that gets the exact image and emotion I mean,
To be recognized and understood.
Twenty minutes is forever,
Only to find you've both said the same thing,
All unknowingly.
Thankfully we have a lotta love,
To make things turn out right.
"No, go left here!!"
AquarianM
(C) 09/28/2016
By: Daniel A. Stafford
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
So My Oldest Blog Has A New Look...
I love to think in poetry and metaphor. I think they're powerful tools for awakening the human mind. This morning, I think I need to speak mostly in a more straightforward manner.
I'm remembering three poets who have passed away since I began writing poetry online back around the year 2000...or was it 2002? I don't really remember for certain.
Clearly the online poetry world has gone through major changes in all that time.
All three of these poets I wrote with for several years on different poetry boards before their passing. Some of their poetry can still be found online, should one care to look.
These are my poetry ghosts:
- P.G. Smith of Perth, Australia. (Known online as Hope Smith)
- Ivor of Britain. (Known online as Poetic Piers)
- Christine Doran of the USA. (Known online as Talitha Ruatha)
Use yours well, my readers. Thank you for stopping by and reading.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Blog Updates And Wow It's Been Six Years Since I Posted Here...
I still can't believe it's been so long since I posted to this blog, (I have over 30) but I'm super-glad it's still here to post to.
*Spell Book* is one of my oldest blogs. It was showing it, too. The blog was running an ancient "classic" Blogger theme. I went in to try and update it a couple of days, and the Blogger Gremlins damn near ate my homework. The blog went down hard. It just fixed itself and came up on a modern template today. Maybe it just took several hours to convert to the new blog format. All I know is that I wanted to kiss my screen!
Worse, much of the poetry on this blog had been lost from elsewhere on the web. Some of the poems here may be my only surviving copies. Try any of those links on the list of poems I had published on Lightverse.com. They won't work. The owner of the site got a major hike in hosting costs, so he let the site go down. I've gotten emails from some of the other poets asking about it. I've emailed the guy. He says it will eventually go back up, and he has a copy of all the content, but it's going on two years now. I'm not holding my breath.
Now I get why there are always "unpublished" or "never-seen" works from so many artists that pop up from time-to-time. It's damn near impossible to stay on top of everything anymore. I have numerous notebooks and journals, and well over 30 subject-oriented blogs. (Including my main home online, www.SuperAquarian.com)
I've been through a lot of life changes over the years - moved three times, the last to California. Swapped out a 21.5-year Telecomm career for two small businesses. Gained a couple of grandchildren. Started karate, and stopped because of breaking an ankle on Illinois ice shoveling snow. Started up again just a month ago.
At any rate, I'm still around, and so is my old blog. Now it looks better than ever. Life is good.
Thank you for reading,
AquarianM
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Path Of Jubilation...
It was a year-and-a-half ago I was broken,
Wounded bird unable to fly,
Passing the seasons in injury's chains,
Wondering what the sight of recovery would mean.
The Tinker Man fixed me with bolts and braces,
As if I were a thing of tin and oil,
Yet it worked in its fashion,
In its sweet time.
I wondered then if I would walk again,
Then I wondered if I would dance,
Would I ever know the grace of the Katas,
Let alone run forward in life?
I walked and walked and walked,
Doing everything the healers bade me,
Bent and pulled and pushed,
Eventually gently danced - muted with caution.
Today the Tinker Man declared me free,
To kick and jump and run,
Race to the Moon if I dare it,
Stand in for Bruce Lee if I feel silly.
Kato I'm not,
But I'll be back in class soon,
And I'll keep walking,
Even run a little.
I am healed, and I feel fine.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)
Back story:
Many of you know I suffered a severely broken ankle in February of 2009. It was put back together surgically, the bolts and braces are still in it. I slowly went through healing, physical therapy, walked further and further a little at a time. I even got to dancing again a little. Still, there's always a little twinge now and then, a slight reminder that it happened. I've used care and caution and stayed out of karate, never ran one single stride since, not jumped an inch. I went to the surgeon's office yesterday afternoon to see if they were going to have to take the hardware out. The surgeon was amazed at how well I've healed, and the strength and flexibility I've gotten back. I'm within a degree or two of my original range of motion in two directions, and the other two directions are as good as before the fall. Not only did he tell me that I don't have to get any hardware removed, but I'm fully cleared for any physical activity I wish to pursue within normal human limits. I plan on being back in karate by January at the latest, and to try running a bit very soon. Needless to say, this is a huge relief, and I celebrate it.
Dan
Shadow Throne...
Shadow Throne... **Awarded**
| Author | Comment | ||
|---|---|---|---|
| | Shadow Throne... **Awarded** | Lead | [-] |
| Tags [Edit]: None Shadow Throne... I sit in the silence of the Spruce cathedral, Hearing and seeing, Patches of sunlight drift down through the canopy above, A needle carpet at my feet, This place where time is shattered, And I search the quiet for the scent of soul, Something missing in that other world outside. Every rustle and every breeze carries a scent, Sweet pollen or musty old leaves, Seasons turn me back to the beginning of time, Leaving me to think that only this stone is real, This hard thing that bears my weight in a place of surreal beauty, Where my feet rest and my heart dances. AquarianM Awarded by Rick 10/01/2010 By: Daniel A. Stafford (C) 10/01/2010 Photo in the Spruce grove, Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL 09/28/2010. 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 In the silent reflection of things gone by, we remember and gild the best, pray for the redemption of the worst, learn our lessons and move forward, hoping and dreaming of the betterments to come. Wishing us All the world-over a blessed, peaceful, and prosperous New Year and Decade... William Stafford's (No relation I know of) poem, "When I Met My Muse." ( http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-i-met-my-muse/ ) Last Edited By: LostInEternity99 10/01/10 10:26 AM. Edited 1 time. | |||
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The Daydream Deficit..
Children,
To focus on the here-and-now,
Sit up! Pay attention!
It was punished and ridiculed into us,
Practicality enforced with a social baseball bat,
We got it so well,
Dreamless to our bones.
Is it any wonder then,
We drug the daydreams out of our children,
Run a chronic national sleep defecit,
Rule our exhausted world with an iron fist?
Was the human need to dream and imagine so dangerous,
That we abhor it to the point of our own collapse?
It's known by psychologists,
Humans laugh at things that cause them social tension.
Is this why it's so hysterical,
When I dream of a world built on love?
AqarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/29/2010
Friday, December 25, 2009
Fw: Merry Christmas To All, With Love...
Words are the mind's bridge - its connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - its connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Merry Christmas To All, With Love...
The lights are strung,
The presents all tucked under the tree,
Sleepy smiles on cherub faces,
Abed even for you and for me.
If ever there were a moment,
When love could be found most anywhere,
This is it.
If there's a magic to Christmas,
It's the love we all share,
That's our greatest gift.
Tonight, we do as our Teacher said - and love thy neighbor as thyself.
Merry Christmas to All,
With love.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/25/2009 - donated to public domain.


Merry Christmas To All, With Love...
Merry Christmas To All, With Love...
The lights are strung,
The presents all tucked under the tree,
Sleepy smiles on cherub faces,
Abed even for you and for me.
If ever there were a moment,
When love could be found most anywhere,
This is it.
If there's a magic to Christmas,
It's the love we all share,
That's our greatest gift.
Tonight, we do as our Teacher said - and love thy neighbor as thyself.
Merry Christmas to All,
With love.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/25/2009 - donated to public domain.


Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Welsh Hills...
The evening is raw and fallen,
The chill bone-deep upon the wind.
The stones by the solemn blue seaside are wary and drab,
Laid in a place where hearts rage in wounded silence.
There is a cold and ancient magic there,
Amid the barrows and monoliths in the Welsh hills.
It makes people sing.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/18/2009
Monday, June 08, 2009
The Perfect Bowl Of Soup...
If I could take what's in your eyes,
Boil it down in a huge steaming pot,
Stir in what's in your heart,
Maybe a fresh onion,
Carrots and tears and smiles,
Celery and pain,
The scent of helpless joy,
And the taste of home,
Just a hint of future possibilities,
Ancient ways and traditions,
Youthful exuberance and chopped carrots,
Five drops of a dream come true...
The scent roiling up from the pot would leave me speechless,
The perfect bowl of soup.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 06/08/2009
Author's note:
I watched Ramen Girl tonight. Poets will get it easily.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Isla De Los Suenos Malos... (Island Of Bad dreams)
Life on an island,
Late afternoon sun,
Dinner at a sidewalk cafe,
Latin dancing in the streets,
Mission architecture everywhere,
Colorful and beautiful,
A movie crew filming down the street.
High-wire dancing ladies,
Cameras up high on booms,
Rooflines only pictured,
"Psst - why only the roofs?"
"A movie on Global warming, they'll blue-screen the water."
"Won't that be a thousand years from now, that deep?"
"No, a hundred at most, if it keeps going like this."
Wandering home darkness falls,
A six-story apartment house with balconies,
Wide open walls at the ground level,
Looking West waves are coming chest high,
No winds only light warm breezes,
Waves right into the house and rising,
Soaked and shivering climbing stairs,
Fourth floor finally high enough,
Fitful sleep All manage.
Morning comes,
Waves lowered down to first floor now,
Far above the beach now sunken,
No storm - rising water,
Wading to where the beach should be,
Community trying to pile sand to block waves,
Struggling as water washes all away.
Back to the house,
Movie dancers in the air in crystal skirts in the distance,
Giant squid reaching into the house searching prey,
Dodge and walk upland to the air strip.
Small plane very high,
The Earth's curve below,
The land on the map shrunken and sinking in reality below,
Everywhere.
Alarm clock rings.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 05/27/2009
Author's note: My dream last night.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Dream Life...
A course set in stardust,
Moonbeams and silver screens,
Paper wizards dying gasps,
Mental insulation encapsulated in desire,
Lust for status really is lust for better flesh,
An orchestration of psycho-science's black magic,
Played against instincts like Bach's piano,
Until no one knows reality from cotton clouds,
Sold dreams and living ignorant of nightmares.
It's so easy to lie on that sofa,
Exhausted from chronic lack of real life dreams.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/27/2009
Author's note:
The average working adult in the USA gets six hours per night of sleep, two of television, and very little non-corporate news. It's only with the advent of the internet that this is beginning to change.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Black Ice...
In the frozen chill that is the world right now,
In the dark of silent Winter night,
Smooth riding down the highway of life,
Suddenly you’re fish-tailing wildly,
Heart beating frantic,
Trying to simply recover without getting ditched.
The temperature has dropped precipitously,
The world buried in glistening white,
Tiny flakes swirl about the air like flying diamonds,
A fairy-tale view to a seeming static world,
Hush-muffled and quiet and waiting,
It looks like damp pavement,
The only clue you’ll get.
Watch the road carefully,
Watch and be ready at an instant’s notice,
Black ice changes everything,
Faster than an eye-blink.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/15/2009
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Winter is calling my name...
Back in January of 2002, I started a fantasy novel entitled "AquarianM and the Heart of Winter." I had only barely begun when a Forgotten realms title which was nearly identical came out. Harry Potter was also quite fresh at the time.
I then decided to shelve the project until the other book with the very similar title had run its course.
The Harry Potter series is now also a wonderful, comfortable old shoe in literature. A classic to be treasured. However, it's been on the scene long enough that I can come back to my story, which has some similar elements and would target a similar audience/demographic.
If I can break ground with this, I have another very special concept waiting to follow.
The best fun is, I have a possible co-writer for the rest of AquarianM and The Heart of Winter. I love doing collaborative works online, especially with a talented female writer. It lends an authentic feminine perspective on the story that makes it more detailed and believable.
Keep this note in the back of your minds, because I'm hoping to drive this one home in the next year or so.
Dan
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Palmer 3 Ovals Pizzelle Maker
http://www.fantes.com/pizzelle.html
Palmer 3 Ovals Pizzelle Maker
$49.99
#3362
Temporarily unavailable; being re-tooled
Top of Form
Bottom of Form
Makes three oval pizzelles,
4-5/8" x 2-3/4",
C. 3/16" thick with 1/8" wide grooves,
10" x 5" oval plates,
UL Listed 120v, 60hz, 800 watts,
10 year limited warranty
(Palmer stipulates that you contact them directly for warranty repairs.)
USA
Model 3600
Thursday, November 20, 2008
My new sax blog...
... is called "66 Sax" after my 1966 Selmer Bundy tenor sax, "Bello." (Serial number 411559 - and the name is a play on the English word for making a loud noise or yell, and the the Italian word for "handsome.")
You can check it out here: http://66sax.blogspot.com/ - including my healing Earth song, "Pacha Mama Prayer."
Regards and have fun,
Dan
Friday, February 15, 2008
Learning "The Empty Hand."
Regards,
Dan
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Totality...
I reached for my cherry staff and walked,
In the whispering subconscious of pre-dawn,
Intent on seeing the Blood Moon,
Totality - the Earth's shadow eating Luna.
Sadly the fractal clouds hid her demise,
She would be reborn on the other side of Earth,
Child of our mother-world that she is.
I had to satisfy myself with another rare view,
Earth's brother Mercury tucked between two rosy dawn clouds,
I whispered to the Messenger,
Playing notes softly at the Crossroads,
Just a few whispers of harmonica.
The un-finished cherry staff stands as tall as me,
Filled with the un-seen energies of the Blood Moon,
And the visible energies of the Messenger,
Still wearing its rough bark and un-capped,
A sphere of Brazilian Amethyst awaits to crown it,
Once I find the runes true,
I will focus the sun-glass on the bare wood,
And burn its true name in Rongrongo.
Then and only then will I finish it,
Give it its foot,
And walk with its totality.
AquarianM
By Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/28/2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Grymwyre of Atlantean Spells gets its own blog
MP3 version of The Blood Rose of Atlantis, Part One.
Dan







