As Our Lord Wishes

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	10/4/2000 7:09:08 AM 9/17/2020 7:44:26 AM	809

As Our Lord Wishes

All my life, all my days,
I am created as the Lord God would have me be.
My creator determined the basics of me.
I try to live my life in the loving way of which he has spoken,
Even though at times I know my heart has been broken.
Forgiveness and kindness are the vitues he teaches,
And we should all rejoice and be happy,
When these are the things our heart reaches.
The cross was born by God himself,
Though Jesus wore a mortal shell.
He did it in love and for love's sake.
Thanks to him, you and I shall not partake,
Of the harsh logic of justice in the end,
Should we give over ourselves to love,
And make our lord and our saviour our best friend.
This world, others hearts, not mine or yours to judge,
Our place is on Earth to learn how to love.
The only one qualified to dictate fates,
Is high up above, past Heaven's gates.
Place no one in ever under your judgemental rule,
Treat them with kindness, acceptance, and love.
These are our tools.

Know your place, and no one else's.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000

Author's Comments

Let no one tell or order another in religious form,
it's your duty to keep your own house.
If you are keeping the morality of another clean,
Let it be through example, of the loving kind.

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	10/4/2000 7:09:08 AM 9/17/2020 7:44:26 AM	809

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Total Comments: 1

Comments
Janine Daniel	spinnys@hotmail.com	www.spinnys.com	10/4/2000 5:09:00 PM
I think you know already that I agree with you. I may have different ideas to the next person, but we all meet in the same places in the end.

 

The Price Of A Moment

 

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	10/3/2000 3:12:56 PM 9/13/2020 3:18:14 PM	867

The Price Of A Moment

Can you find a gentle place in your heart,
Or somewhere that smiles are born?
Where is the land where kindness plays it's part,
And love is happy, never forlorn?

As time sends you on the wild ride,

Can you take a moment and look inside,
See what makes your loved ones smile,
And hold it up with a kind, laughing pride,
Bringing joy into being for just a little while.

That's how to spend your time in style.

Sweetness and light are hard to find,
And there's a price that must be paid,
Tears and a face that's lined,
The cost of a moment when you left your smile behind.

Relax, love, just unwind!

Look in heaven's treasure chest,
Just a sneak peek of curiosity,
See with your own eyes what is the best of the best,
It's love, happiness, and harmony.

Share the wealth.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000


By: Daniel A. Stafford

Author's Comments

I think we pay a tremendous price when we forget what life
is really about, loving those we love well. I know life's
demands can pull us all away at times, but if we all at least
do our best to return to this loving, kind place, maybe
it wouldn't cost quite so much for a moment.

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	10/3/2000 3:12:56 PM 9/13/2020 3:18:14 PM	867

Author	Email	Web
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Total Comments: 2

Comments
Claud	klugecc@jps.net		10/4/2000 12:34:41 AM
Well said, Dan. Introspection can be a good thing at times. Most of us don't do enough of it.
Janine Daniel	spinnys@hotmail.com	www.spinnys.com	10/4/2000 5:04:44 PM
I agree Dan, a wonderful poem ..... *S* ..... :o) *S* = smile :o) = smile

Misty Time Wine

 

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	9/22/2000 6:02:24 AM 10/6/2020 10:54:15 AM	692

Misty Time Wine

Sweetheart, you know it's true,
I love you gladly through and through,
My heart swells with pride,
Thinking of the day you'll be my bride.

So glad you came along, think it should be our song.

Hard work, I might do,
Hours and hours to see us through.
As long as you love me, I'll be fine,
But if you ever leave, I'll die on the vine.

I'll cry a bottle of Misty Time Wine.

I've seen sadness in my day,
I've had lovers go away.
I've lost family and friends too,
But I pray I never lose you.

No, that particular sadness just won't do.

I see happiness coming my way,
When you tell me you're here to stay.
Sweetheart, by God's design,
You are my definition of mighty fine.

It's time to put away the Misty Time Wine.

Old teardrops from afar,
Now there's dust upon the jar.
Memories quite distilled,
But it's with you I'm really thrilled.

I might revisit younger days in my mind.

They say you never forget what you leave behind,
But in the end you'll find,
That in the depths of time,
It's all just Misty Time Wine.

Because I'm yours, and you're mine,

There's dust on the bottle, of Misty Time Wine.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000

Author's Comments

This is dedicated to my sweet Saren, who has changed my life
so much for the better. She is my wellspring of hope and love.

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Janine Daniel	spinnys@hotmail.com	https://spinnys.blogspot.com/	9/30/2000 2:40:04 PM
Another wonderful one for the love of your life. A beautiful poem Dan.

Sweetheart Beach: Two

 

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	9/20/2000 5:44:49 AM 10/10/2020 11:59:37 PM	1071

Sweetheart Beach II

Sweetheart Beach II:

The Assumption:

All eyes upon us, waiting for our words.
You can just feel the questions waiting.
The room is silent as our words are awaited.
The plain facts are what come first.
Everything must be looked at, changes made with care.
Caution, a need for the team to pull together.
We depend on these people as much as they depend on us,
And ALL of us depend on Sweetheart Beach Hotel.
If Sweetheart's broke, so are we.
To get across that we need them, that the worry is not needed.
Get used to changes, you'll do some things differently.
Get used to sameness, some of what you did was great.
We'll be here beside you, pitching in everywhere,
Trying to learn the normal scent of the very air,
Making this thing a go,
Sweetheart Beach party on a long term roll.
The smiles grace the French glass and Sun,
Once they all learn that we're going to give it a run.
The long tables clear, faces moving out,
White cloth draping, chandelier rainbows reflected about.
Head out on the beach, a moment to relax,
Breath in the salty air, we put away the axe.
It's time to learn how to walk on water and run on sand.

Smiling off into the waves.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000

Author's Comments

A wish for a good start off on the right footing
with the hotel staff, let them know they
are considered a part of the team. And we
intend to be, too.

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	9/20/2000 5:44:49 AM 10/10/2020 11:59:37 PM	1071

Author	Email	Web
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Total Comments: 1

Comments
Janine Daniel	https://spinnys.blogspot.com/		9/21/2000 2:52:59 PM
I'm looking forward to reading part three. This's as good as reading a novel. Chapter by chapter written in verse. Quite brilliant really...*S*

Sweetheart Beach: One

 

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	9/19/2000 4:28:18 AM 10/4/2020 4:39:56 AM	726

Sweetheart Beach 1

Sweetheart Beach

Part I: Arrival In Paradise

The place looked a bit haunted, but it would surely do.
There was plenty to whitewash, a lot of work to go through.
The wooden planks on the hardwood porch,
Grand columned entry facing east, inviting.
Red carpet dream for a new pair,
Awaiting grace for a coming affair.
The couple both stopped and stared, late in the day,
At the place where their dreams just might come shining through.
An old hotel, in need of repair,
Marina slips with waves lapping, a sultry air.
The palm fronds wave hello.
Looking out through the french doors glass,
Dining room over beach, elegant hard wood and crystal class.
Down on the sands with a drink in the setting Sun,
The fire popping and crackling,
An ocean blue bed for Apollo's Chariot to rest upon.
Slow, curling breakers, constant rhythmic background.
The first of stars appears, here a wish may be found.
The new owners take in a slice of heaven before they retire,
Relaxing in darkness now descended, next to the fire.
Soon there will be a million little things to do,
Clean up here, there, fix that, too.
Meet with the staff, encourage the team,
Cook up more details of the marketing scheme.
Live a bit of life and make love in between.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000

By: Daniel A. Stafford

Author's Comments

A recurring fantasy of mine, living a bit in my poetry.
I'd like to see how it developes.

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	9/19/2000 4:28:18 AM 10/4/2020 4:39:56 AM	726

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Comments
Janine Daniel	spinnys@hotmail.com	www.spinnys.com	9/21/2000 2:46:42 PM
I'd like to see how it developes too. A wonderful poem.

Cruisin' Plainfield

 

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	7/27/2000 8:58:30 PM 10/12/2020 9:16:28 AM	949

Cruisin' Plainfield

Cruisin' Plainfield:

Plainfield, Illinois. A small town at the edge of a giant, reaching for identity.
Slightly slower place in time, small town feeling like home, I find, for me.
Takes me back through the years, nostalgic feelings holding free reign.
Summer in another time, another world restored from which I cannot abstain.

Bass rumble of American V8 Iron, gleaming chrome and the smoothest colors.

A thousand trips to yesterday rumble down her streets on Cruise Night,
Every Tuesday from May to September we remember by sight.
Camaros, GTO's, Mustangs, Thunderbirds, Impalas, Shoeboxes.
Everything from a Model T to this year's PT Cruiser carry foxes.

Every man's teenage dreams reverberate or roar down the main drag.

Lockport Street houses hundreds ogling over two hundred beautiful rides.
Gleaming, screaming, throbbing steel chariots doing graceful glides.
We love them and admire them and adore them truly,
When you put your foot in it and sound a bit unruly.

My son and I both stand together and cheer wide-eyed.

White headlights, red blue-dotted taillights, dreamy reds, whites and blues.
Candy Apple Red Fury, Gleaming Pearl White Electra 225 I'd choose.
Aqua Teal '66 Convertible GTO in immaculate white trim,
Champagne '57 Chevy, Stingray Corvettes, white-wall and chrome rim.

The Model T owner gave my boy a seat, then hand cranked the T.

Old Lou rides off into the sunset in a 1914 vintage machine.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000

Author	Date Entered/Modified	Views
Daniel A. Stafford	7/27/2000 8:58:30 PM 10/12/2020 9:16:28 AM	949

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Total Comments: 1

Comments
Janine Daniel	spinnys@hotmail.com	www.spinnys.com	7/29/2000 9:24:13 AM
Dan, I felt like I was standing next to you and your son, cheering loudly too. I've seen something like this and can remember how exciting it was. I loved the sound of all those engines as they went passed.

Sunrise, Surprise, Sundown, Go Round

 

Author Date Entered/Modified Views Daniel A. Stafford 5/6/2000 10:19:39 PM 10/19/2020 1:22:09 AM 954 Sunrise, Surprise, Sundown, Go Round It lights up......my world. It lights up......our world. It lights up......in orange. It lights up......in gold. It lights up......wake up. It lights up......make up. It lights up......we give. It lights up......we live. It lights up......we love. It goes down....we frown. It goes down....it's dark. It goes down....the stars. It goes down....see Mars. It goes down....lights on. It goes down....another day gone. It goes around....and comes around. Twinkle in the twilight.....start, finish, return. Our world changes in a flash.....forever. AquarianM By: Daniel A. Stafford (C) 05/06/2000 Author's Comments Sunrise and sunset are two times a day that fascinate me. We are between moments then. Our world changes in a flash.....forever. Noted 06/14/2001: This poem is pending publication over the winter in the International Library of Poetry's next anthology. ISBN number will be added here later. Author Date Entered/Modified Views Daniel A. Stafford 5/6/2000 10:19:39 PM 10/19/2020 1:22:09 AM 954 Author Email Web Daniel A. Stafford aqmstaffo@mailbag.com www.mailbag.com/users/aqmstaffo/index.html Total Comments: 3 Comments Larry O. Stafford lostaffo@inwave.com 5/8/2000 7:04:07 PM I like it. Both times are good times of the day. Myself I think that sunset is the best time of the day. It's like the lord is painting a beautiful picture each and every day to lighten our lives. Janine Daniel spinnys@hotmail.com www.spinnys.com 10/1/2000 4:41:34 AM A very artisiticly written poem Dan. Well done. Sue Allie bttfly9@yahoo.com www.geocities.com/bttfly9/ 12/8/2000 2:18:31 PM I notice the beauty of the sunrise on my way to the bus stop. Filled with reds, purples, oranges, etc. On the way home I notice the the clouds catching the rays of the last sun. Beautiful poem to remind me of these images!

The Word Tornado:

 

Author Date Entered/Modified Views Daniel A. Stafford 1/30/2002 2:11:38 PM 10/6/2020 10:22:42 AM 534 The Word Tornado: I spun a poem, You spun a poem, They spun a poem, That spun a new poem outta me, That spun a new poem outta you, That they spun a new poem from, And the ideas all bunch up, Waiting to drop into the funnel, That the Muses hold over, Each poets head, Laughing, At the pretty word tornado, As it whirls through the idea garden, Throwing up all those leaves and branches. AquarianM By: Daniel A. Stafford (C) 01/30/2002 Author's Comments Inspired by my friend Art's poem, That was inspired by mine, That was inspired by another poet's.... Author Date Entered/Modified Views Daniel A. Stafford 1/30/2002 2:11:38 PM 10/6/2020 10:22:42 AM 534 Author Email Web Daniel A. Stafford aqmstaffo@mailbag.com www.mailbag.com/users/aqmstaffo/index.html Total Comments: 2 Comments Debbie Hunt hu6nt@yahoo.com.au 1/30/2002 11:08:46 PM Oh WOW, Dan! Just fantastic!! Ahhhh, the Word Tornado...kinda' like an inspirational merry-go-round!!! *smile* As it whirls through the idea garden, Throwing up all those leaves and branches. Well put, Dan!!! Debbie ART PAUL SCHLOSSER artpaul@mailcity.com http://www.geocities.com/artpaulhomepage/1 1/31/2002 7:55:20 PM I just had to comment on this that not only this is kind of funny but I suppose your right that everything is coming from everything else

Sanctuary...

Sanctuary... 

The old poetry boards,

Deep in the Old Country of the web,

Small cybertowns I have known for decades,

A few residents still left,

The ghost towns of the mind,

These places where only we web poets go,

Smell the flowers,

Coffee with the neighbors,

Share soul and heart,

Leave the dogged citadels of social media,

I can breathe here.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/18/2020

The Daydream Deficit..

The Daydream Deficit..

We were told,

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 deficit,

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?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 08/29/2010

Poetry In The Dark...

Poetry In The Dark...

I may never win a Nobel prize,

Yet I write.

In the moments just before sleep,

The clock being shaved,

The morning with it's green paper chains,

Art is a "quaint notion","

Here is this goal-oriented gilded cage,

Yet I write.

Torn between technology and artistry,

One fuels my intellect and wallet,

Yet poetry keeps the soul alive,

Like rice and ramen in a famine,

Perhaps some days red beans and rice,

I write.

The Ferenghi would fear our engines of profit,

The warp in our drive,

This haven of capital,

Bastion of corporate motivation,

The place that craves every click,

Yet I write.

With love,

I bid we automatons,

Good night.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/16/2020

A Sky When Ash Meets Snow...

A Sky When Ash Meets Snow... 

If clouds are portents,

The sky is quite full...

It wasn't so long ago,

Chicago,

When snownados roamed the skies,

The cold falling hard,

Downdrafting blizzard,

A thousand cars,

Trapped on Lakshore drive,

It took three days to find them all.

I was there.

Now I live in the land of the firenados,

Updrafting smoke and ash,

The billows circle the globe,

Nowhere you can go to breathe,

Living in the world's largest camp fire,

As always,

An army of pawns on the move.

Lower lows,

Higher highs,

Harder and harder,

The wind truly blows,

It's more and more energy,

That's all you need to know.

I dream of the holidays,

Lady Winter as host,

Yet her palace now floats,

A thin raft of ice,

Melting under Aurora's pretty light,

A great chess game,

Stars circle overhead,

Dancing in the disco,

Borealis color changing shimmer,

Lady Summer has a devilish game,

Her new pawn taking them all,

Queen and Rook,

Bishop and Knight,

This pawn has a name;

Humanity.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/14/2020

Calling General Quarters...

Calling General Quarters... 

North,

East,

South,

West,

A prayer,

A request,

To be blessed.

The time is here,

The call,

The test,

The burning winds,

The howling,

The frost of breath,

Prelude.

Foothills to a mountain,

Only Spirit knows,

Will we climb,

Will we stand,

A matter of heart.

The smallest Autumn leaf,

The tawny brown grasses,

The colors of hunting,

Lions and coyotes,

The hawk soaring above.

Moon is full,

Mars baleful backwards red,

Mercury in reverse,

Stars spin silent,

Watching,

Observing.

An era,

A season,

The harvest of the past.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/11/2020

My Take On Strongroom Blagazine

 https://www.strongroom.com.ng/

Strongroom is a mix of eclectic voices from multiple nations, primarily African, but they include a few like me from around the world. 

A lot of the content is poetry, which I of course love. Poetry is the open font of Humanity's heart, and is classless, raceless, and nationless. Under the surface we all have deep wells of emotion that flow from the same river of soul.

Additional content includes short stories, quotes, and occasionally informative pieces.

The nations of Africa often are seen here in the Western world as dangerous or naive or both. I would say of late, perhaps we should look in the mirror - and then maybe listen with an open heart and mind.

It's refreshing to me to hear voices from a part of the world so far away, and see the common thread of humanity we all share. I think maybe this is the point of the site.

Maybe go see and read for yourself.

Dan

Don't Waste Autumn Leaves...

Don't Waste Autumn Leaves... 

A leaf wafts down spinning,

Slowly winding about,

Twisting color ,

Weaving through,

Waltzing the breath-misted Autumn air,

One among many,

Myriad,

No one can see them all,

In all appearance endless,

Timeless,

Paintbrush stroke in a masterpiece of infinity.

The leaf's time may be done,

Yet you are the one,

Knower of the nature of clocks.

Leaves fell before you,

They dance wind-swept past your feet,

A fractal bit of inconsequence,

As will more long after Winter has let you go.

I would whisper this to homeless kings,

But they already know.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/10/2020

Remnants Of Gold...

Remnants Of Gold...

 

Late afternoon in low sun like a dying year,

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

Autumn Quill...

Autumn Quill...

This season is my inkwell,

I dance in the delight of color,

A festival of falling,

Wafting beauty that rustles,

Endlessly wending on road and path. 

I know peace in the tawny waving blades of Midwestern grasses,

Their seed like a billion faeries on the wind,

For I know they will green again in Spring,

Up from the root buried in leaf-nourished ground.

The soft gold of low-angled sun is my wine,

Sweet and sour as it tastes wonderful,

Yet heralds the dark and cold to come soon.

I look to the Sun crawling slowly down the sky,

 Every color from gold and red to orange and purple,

I dream of heady days near the Lakes,

The myriad poets I once knew,

And like an acorn falling or a spinning maple seed,

I must write,

It's my nature,

And this is our time,

This season of poets.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/06/2020

James Brown Left Town...

James Brown Left Town...

Good gawd, Y'all,
It's the Fall,
Again,
Another year over the event horizon,
Haunting voices remind me of the past,
Shattered and broken glass,
The explosion-debris left just after the highest note,
Youth has come and gone,
All the young gods are creaking and gaining weight,
Aches and wrinkles and past glory caught on Youtube,
I thank the Universe for this new quantum entanglement with the past,
Something we can point to as the leaves fall,
As the wrinkled bark of our skin crawls,
While we stare at the cold hard headstones of forgotten idols,
Slow-dying white dwarfs cooling in faded space,
I listen to the ghosts across the electronic spectrum,
Thinking,
"See how glorious we were..."

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/14/2011

https://youtu.be/yW8qxUitG-Q

The Raven-Whisperer's Daughter...

 The Raven-Whisperer's Daughter...

In the dark ghost of twilight,

Silken fog with promise of frost,

She weeps shards of icicle tears,

For a father who speaks softly to harbingers of death,

Tall is he like a bare Winter Oak of five-hundred years,

With limbs like crooked branches and twisted twigs,

Her home is a stump-hollow pool,

Her bed a hummock of cobwebs' steel-silk,

And she dances under a moon-ring,

Full-moon bright shines on the empty longing of her heart.

In the innocence of her fragile mind

She remembers

Gentle whispers of shared moments

Wise advice spoken from her father’s soul

Only meant to protect her

Safe from the folly of man

"Listen my child

Carefully as I speak

Be careful of those who come

Professing great portents

For they speak of greed

Disguised as guidance

But that is not their way"

Serenata is her name,

"Night Song,"

Sweet she sings as Muse of Lullabyes,

Knowing the Ravens whisper secrets of the dead in her father's ear,

His word she believes,

She sees them perched on his shoulder,

"Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha!" they cry as they fly off,

Secrets delivered,

She shudders in the dim starlight,

Her lullaby turned sour and blue,

Yet still beautiful,

For she knows his dark words are true.

Caught unawares even within the walls of nature's protection

The love of a human reaches out to her,

Careful he is in his approach,

Time is on his side,

For what he desires is worth the effort,

But she remembers,

Torn between what she knows,

And the newness of desire,

She must decide.

A brace of ravens swoops down,

Circling above her head,

"Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha caw!" they cry,

She hears whispers but cannot understand,

Burning with a new ache,

She wends her way through wood and glen,

To the secret place she first saw him,

A lone raven following,

Branch to bramble,

She is wary of bear or lion or wolf,

Yet driven in a way she doesn't understand,

Her sweet song a burning whisper,

Pulling a shadow of night in her wake,

Her foot reaches a damp stone,

Burbling creek between her and the sheltered glen she seeks.

A final warning

From the raven who refused to leave her

“Remember, who you are

Your legacy

The future lies in you. . . .”

And then she saw him

With a bow and arrow in hand

Aimed at . . .

...Her father's heart,

And she froze,

A firestorm of raging emotions new,

His words then pierced her surely and deadly,

"Whisper me Ravener, did my dead wife love me true?"

Serenata broke then,

Hearing her father's simple answer - "Yes."

The hunter's bow dropped,

His tears echoed on her face,

She knew her love defeated by a ghost,

Raging and grieving was her lullabye,

As she sang it hunter climbed a tree and found a bough on which to sleep,

As Serenata reached the lines,

"If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,"

Down came sleeping hunter to break on earth,

Raven flew to steal his dying breath,

"Kutcha! He loved you too..." first whisper she understood,

She turned and ran far to the cold North,

Ravens following,

And young mothers remember the song of her heartbreak,

Still gentle with horror today.

AquarianM ( aquarianm.u.yuku.com/ ) & Dracula's Woman ( draculaswoman.u.yuku.com/ )

(C) 10/09/2011 (Poetry only)

By Daniel A. Stafford and Alexis Williams

Footnotes:

(1) "Serenata" is Italian for "serenade," but the literal translation is "night song."

(2) "Kutcha" is the healing raven spirit of Siberian Koryak shamans.

The Pearl Of Sorrow...

The Pearl Of Sorrow...

…is a wound that never fully heals, 

 For even if Odin's Raven were to tear it from your beating heart like a bug and fly away with it, 

There is still the empty gap in your breast that fills in with the scar tissue of a love gone missing from your life. 

 The Universe is filled with galaxies of love and light fleeing a void. 

 Dark energy, indeed. 

 AquarianM 

 By: Daniel A. Stafford 

 (C) 01/12/2014

Motorcycle Journey to Coffee Collective

Motorcycle Journey to Coffee Collective

collab by John and Dan

Going There by John:

The windblown scent of agave
reminds me of the half-drunk tequila bottle.
As the stars gather in the New Mexican sky, I say,
"Dan, Pegasus is high in the bowl of night.
This bodes well for a fortunate venture.
What do you say we skip town
and head south of the border?"
Our Harleys have gathered dust
for many a moon
but with some tuning are ready
for our bat out of hell ride
under the black hat night.
Mexico turns into a golden cloud
from desert to jungle
where pyramid power emanates
from Palenque ruins in the epicenters
of a dream within a dream.
But Dan points south
where Costa Rican cloud forests
are mystic mists.
There, monkeys howl in boughs born of legend.
And our wheels roll under the Panamanian moon
to cross the Puente Centenario.
We are bound for the Incan holy land
where a Puma Punku ley line
deepens harmonic convergence
to my cry, "This is it!"

Coffee Harvest Dance by John:

We gather native wisdom like lucky beans.
We put our hands to the harvest
just like our workers
whose pay is equal to ours.
And the aroma of the bean sacks
marks the end of the day
when we collect ourselves
to find romance with earthen maidens.
With a new footstep stomp
we honor the women
of the Peruvian revolution
while giving our old hearts a workout.
The senorita magic is as black
as the ace of spades
but as inviting as love in the Andes.
When time stands as still as midnight
we partake of the crop
whose organic fusion
is sun-ripened Arabica
brewed into a love potion
for ladies and gents.
We float in the spirit of the Urubamba River
that lies in the sacred valley,
in the Andean highlands
whose celestial counterpart
is known in Quechua as the Willka Mayu
or heavenly river
that gives life in the lean season.

The Ride Home by Dan:

We are always riding with the stars,
The scent of coffee fills our nostrils by morning,
The sounds of senoritas dancing by night,
Even as trail dust covers our bandanas by day.

The rumble of the engines has carried us on,
Past the Coffee Triangle and white arabica flowers of Clumbia,
Around the pyramids of the ancients,
High into the Andes and on to Puma Punkhu,
Ruins older than the fall of Atlantis greet us,
And there are so many stars out that I believe we can see old poets,
Dancing in the sky and whispering lost verses,
I could not have made this ride alone.

Now is the time for a campfire,
Because in the cold light of dawn,
We must both begin the long journey home.

The Amazon makes the Rubicon look tiny,
And we must treasure each friend found along the way,
To places we once knew,
Yet never remain the same.

I have old episodes of Art Bell replaying in my mind,
For out here we could find any mystery in the universe,
This place is wild and untamed.

If anything strange were to cross this night sky so dark,
We would never miss it,
I've seen at least three falling stars and four floating satellites,
Up where the Milky Way is bright.

Tomorrow we'll rattle the old percolator,
Right before the engines rumble,
Coffee made from the waters of the highest lake of the South.

Goldenmyst and AquarianM

By: John Hindle and Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/03/2020