The Quiet "Why?"

Post by AquarianM on Jan 13, 2005 at 1:18am

The Quiet "Why?"

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

Celebratory Lights...

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

A Majority of Angels...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 13, 2005 at 1:53am

A Majority of Angels...

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

Stars and Stones...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 14, 2005 at 2:37am

Stars and Stones...

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...

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.

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

To Be A Child of Muses...

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

January's Sign...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 27, 2005 at 11:52am

January's Sign...

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

You Are NOT Alone...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:43am

You Are NOT Alone...

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

A Short Bio...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:42am

A Short Bio...

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

The Ghost Bird Of Plainfield...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 2, 2004 at 12:10pm

The Ghost Bird Of Plainfield...

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

AquarianM

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

Author's Comments:
Instant replay via poetry.

Labor Day Rain:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 6, 2004 at 10:50am

Labor Day Rain:

 

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

AquarianM

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

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

Broom Rider:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:13pm

Broom Rider:

 

I've often wondered if it was a cackle of glee,
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...

Even The Tiniest Place Needs The Sun...

Ah, the gifts of muses,

To hear their call is to see life with a poet's eyes,

That permanent magnifying glass,

The very air in front of your sight,

It bends time and space,

Makes them pull on your heart in such a way,

Such a way indeed.

You who read me often know it;

A flower never moves,

Nor the blade of grass worshiping at its root,

Unlike the dog,

Or the butterfly,

The world is a small place for a tree or flower,

Not much less for the spider who weaves,

A web for just one season amidst its leaves.

This world has almost lost its flowers,

Might never notice a blade of grass,

But for the sight of poets,

Like fairies and elves,

The small world would be lost.

This then is the true gift of the Muses,

To bring sunlight to the existence of every little thing,

To bring depth and meaning to each moment,

So that all of life receives just enough hurrah,

For attention and love fuel this universe.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/12/2016

Plight Of The New World Witch:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:14pm

Plight Of The New World Witch:

 

One has to wonder at the stereotypes,
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...

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

Fish Doctah Blues:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 17, 2004 at 8:31am

Fish Doctah Blues:

 

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

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

AquarianM

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

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

State Of Crisis:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 7, 2004 at 6:57pm

State Of Crisis:

 

It's a sad sickness these days,
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.

Remnants Of Gold:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 5, 2004 at 8:50am

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

Author's Comments:
We have duties and we have treasures.

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