The She-Devil Of Hanover Pit...

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

In The Burning Shadow Of Fallen Leaves:

 

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

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

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

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

AquarianM

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

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

Under The Turning Light Of The Moon:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 2, 2004 at 7:30am

Under The Turning Light Of The Moon:

 

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

AquarianM

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

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

Better Ways...

Better Ways...

I hear a ticking drumbeat that calls me in the night,

To an other-world,

A place of soft blue light.

All the world places shallow dreams there,

Jokes and screaming and the great salty mind of Humanity,

Raw and yet guarded,

A cesspool full of kittens,

Dreams of the stars spun around dreams of Armageddon.

Then there is this soft place,

An old green garden,

A place where dreams are pinned to the walls,

And our ghosts speak plainly to us,

Everything they ever said at our fingertips.

If I am so driven to pour pieces of my soul into the aether,

I feel that this is a better way.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 10/06/2016

--
Compassion is the greatest sign of Humanity.

Birds Diving Off Wires:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 12:27pm

Birds Diving Off Wires:

 

Must have been a flock of fifty,
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.

Those Heady Days Haunt Me...

Those Heady Days Haunt Me...

I remember the hustle and bustle,

The words were a tornado,

Where now there is a chill breeze of Autumn.

The back-and-forth was grand,

The ship of poetry like a yankee clipper at twenty-two knots,

Full sail under the bright stars of a deep oceanic night,

Our Muse the Lady on the bow.

There were so many of us alive then,

Our ghosts that we miss haunt us,

Yet if we look back in the logs,

Their voices are with us,

So long as these stars stay up in Heaven.

I fly like a silver albatross to the drumbeat,

Driven to sail these seas,

Perhaps all my days,

To cherish all the eddies and currents and wave crests,

Breaking upon the black seas.

Samhain is more than a dream of poets,

A pool of universal depth,

Steered with keyboard and pen.

All hail!

All hail!

Another Star burned down out of the deep dark night!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 10/04/2016

Author's note:

For Maggie / Cusick - whom Cherri's post on Christine's memorial now tells me is a star up above. You can see a beautiful - and awarded - example of Maggie's poetry HERE.

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.

Early Morning At The No Name Cafe:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 10:10am

Early Morning At The No Name Cafe:

 

Life is something ticking in the city,
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.

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

Cigar Chair Secrets:

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

The Long Shadow of Time:

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...

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

She Speaks Yinglish, He Speaks Yanglish...

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

So My Oldest Blog Has A New Look...

...and that in and of itself is kind of mejical.

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)

I want to give them remembrance here, because they deserve it. Each were kind. I collaborated with all of them. Most of all, I miss their unique voices in the world. I think that is all we really have in this world, living or dead. Our voice.

Use yours well, my readers. Thank you for stopping by and reading.

Voices Among The Stars...

As we orbited each other,

Exchanging waves of gravity,

The Earth spun on.

I don't know if we're oblivious,

Or face oblivion.

I know you shined,

Still burn brightly in my mind.

Thank you new stars,

For the light you all gave my world.

You're missed,

Each and all.

AquarianM

(C) 09/27/2016

By: Daniel A. Stafford

Blog Updates And Wow It's Been Six Years Since I Posted Here...

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

Path Of Jubilation...

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
AquarianM	Shadow Throne... **Awarded**	Lead	[-]
Constellation's Family Posts: 961 (10/01/10 03:03 AM) Reply Quote Edit More My Recent Posts	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.

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 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

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.

---

From: "Stafford, Daniel" <Daniel.Stafford@globalcrossing.com>

Date: Fri, 25 Dec 2009 02:58:23 -0500

To: undisclosed-recipients:;<Invalid address>

Subject: 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.

 

 

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.