A Poor Day To Die...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 3, 2005 at 8:42am

A Poor Day To Die...

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

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/03/2005

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

The Simplest Evil...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 7, 2005 at 7:54am

The Simplest Evil...

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

Perhaps they won't even exist.

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

In twenty feet of water.

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

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

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

Maybe the 'gators and most of all the snakes.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/07/2005

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

What Came After...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 13, 2005 at 8:10am

What Came After...

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

How many everyday heroes don't we know of?

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

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

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

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

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

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

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/13/2005

Divination's Dance...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 20, 2005 at 7:58am

Divination's Dance...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will a star fall to the left or right?

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

Under grace in perfect ways the answer now comes clear.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/20/2005

Hawkbelly Grace...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 27, 2005 at 8:37am

Hawkbelly Grace...

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

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/26/2005

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.
---------------------------------------
All of my published poetry is at:
www.lulu.com/spotlight/coloringbookforallages

Unintentional Solar Art...

Post by AquarianM on May 28, 2005 at 10:14pm

Unintentional Solar Art...

Go to the corner of Wacker and Washington,
Turn East and go half a block,
Puffing on a big cigar with a mug of coffee in hand,
Be sure to be on the South side of the street.

Between seven a.m. and seven forty in April,
On a clear sunny morning,
The sun will shine on you there,
Warming you from one side despite wind.

People walk by in their hundreds,
Always looking forward as if to see their destination,
Barely a glance at the world around them,
Unless sirens are screaming lurid alert.

Standing in your sacred spot smoking,
You adjust your sunglasses and look North,
Seeing the buildings across the empty lot,
Where they tore down the old Commodities Exchange.

How long the lot will remain open is a question,
This view didn't exist two years ago,
May not in another year or two,
Yet for now the way is clear to see.

Look North and find the low brick,
The building with the arched entry,
There with the yellow banner,
Spanning the top of the arch.

Look up over the roof line and higher still,
Over the top of the parking ramp behind,
To the glass building standing on the bend over the river,
Leaning out a foot towards the current.

On the side of the building you will see,
Squiggles and curlicues and strange symbols,
For all the world like some alien language,
Written in the warping of the glass and sunlight.

Glowing like white-hot neon in the morning sun,
I wonder what language they speak,
If their strange and transient message,
Somehow is meant to awaken those who see.

"Look, look at the wonders around you, for miracles are always free."

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/27/2005

Back On The Train...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 5:57am

Back On The Train...

 

Hot magenta sun rising into orange indigo,
Fade to burning yellow and soft cool blue,
People stand at the station darting glances,
A word maybe here or there between coffee sips,
News paper rustles and we shuffle on board.

After the clanging blinking stop,
Blue suit man the Conductor taking tickets,
Swingin' swayin' roll past houses or stores,
Parks and factories and churches,
Phone poles stand guard like whispering sentinels,
Watching the baseball diamond tennis court swing sets,
WHUFF an outbound train whips past,
The world reappears and the buildings rise.

Downtown and into the Underworld,
Hoping for a second of window-reflcted second hand sun.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/04/2005

Soft Pink Morning...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 19, 2005 at 8:04pm

Soft Pink Morning...

Hot magenta balloon rising softly,
Only to brighten crawling across sky,
Fire-lined clouds in crimson and gold,
Birdsong greets the coffee yawns,
There at the edge of the rails.

Young old and middle all huddle in bunches,
Together but alone to await the lights,
Clanging blinking train downtown,
Only to disperse to myriad places dark,
Hidden away from sunlight for our toil.

Young Miss in the pink blazer,
Not even twenty riding with Mom,
Does she even notice I held the door,
Yawning into the seat to nap the ride,
Just another face to fade into the world?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/19/2005

Just A Different Shirt...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 20, 2005 at 8:34pm

Just A Different Shirt... 

 

A different colorful color every day,
A very fine deal on the sale rack,
Ten new crisp work shirts,
Sure to fit my mood - or not.

It's a new day every day,
Not much has changed at all,
Just another shirt gets me along,
I love clean colors and sharp lines.

Cotton blue checks or orange or yellow,
Fire engine red or maybe green,
I pull ten stick pins a day,
Stick them through the size sticker.

Toss them away with the plastic necks,
It's a new color - a new day,
Is it just another shirt?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/20/2005

Morning Birds...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 18, 2005 at 7:59pm

Morning Birds...

Train ride together with all the world,
Outside the circle a touch of suspicion,
Dark Indian hair and smooth coffee complexion,
Soft spoken accents maybe of Bombay.

She disappears into homework notebooks,
MP3 player rocking on his ear,
Napping to the beat as rails sing softly,
Train sways his dreams and my pen.

Trees spring blooming drift by,
The morning sun rises pretty and bright,
Pull the hat down over your eyes Sir,
The day is long and bright ahead.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/15/2004

Between Sunbeams...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 18, 2005 at 8:00pm

Between Sunbeams...

 

Cigars are peculiar things,
Most people love the scent and sense of relaxation,
Smokers - the texture in your fingers is warm,
They need air and hate wind,
Burning sideways in a strong breeze.

I lit mine in the underground rail yard,
Climbed up the steps and walked East,
Across the drawbridge over the river,
Straight into the rising sun.

The breeze was slow and gentle today,
Gulls swooping and gliding gracefully,
My sunglasses awash in morning sunlight,
The world fading at the edges.

Entire buildings appear and disappear,
Washed out in golden glare,
People caught faintly at your eye corners,
You wonder if angels travel somewhere there,
Dancing between sunbeams.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/15/2004

Lime-Eyed Man...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 19, 2005 at 8:02pm

Lime-Eyed Man...

 

You see him on the brick wall,
From the passing trains.

Some graffiti master's awful dream,
Eyes of green lime slices huge and round,
One half slice makes a graffiti wink.

He's got a pale moon head,
Ultra-rounded face of silver paste,
Sharp white collar tuxedo in black,
A gold ball-capped walking stick gleams in hand.

Living on a brick wall and passing dreams,
The scowl of lime-green disapproval,
Ready to guide you through darkness,
To face all that lies under your mind,
With a martini in hand and aloof.

A green-eyed monster of a dream.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/19/2005

Shores Of Naked Sand:

Post by AquarianM on Jan 25, 2004 at 1:12am

Shores Of Naked Sand:

I leaned upon the rail and peered into the night,
Cygnus the swan twinkled back down on me,
There in the deep darkness amongst the stars in their thousands,
It was the eye of the Bird the Hunter followed that chilled my bones,
Amongst all the Heavens you can no longer see ashore.

The Albatross glided slowly into the night.

I looked to the bow in the morning,
Sure to find leaping dolphins and cheer them on,
Yet seeing only blue water breaking,
My eyes wandered off to the distant cloudless sky,
Chastised like a disappointed child I walked away.

The Albatross was a distant speck out of sight.

We saw a fishing vessel every other day,
Our grim-faced Captain gritted his teeth and turned his face aside,
I often wondered at that moment what iceberg struck his heart,
Yet at dinner that night he held a plastic smile,
Roast pig was at the table yet the only fish was an ice sculpture cornered.

An olive branch floated past but no bird circled above.

We passed the island at calm sunset,
Not stopping for a moment and I had to ask why,
The Mate just said a plague was there,
And I saw not a canoe under swaying palms,
Nothing darted through the bare blue sky.

True North was gone mystic for I'd never see a guiding bird.

It happened in the night everything flew across the stateroom,
We were going down yet not a shark was circling,
Perhaps some comfort in bare waves breaking upon one lonely uncharted rock,
My eyes fell below the blue and I sank like a stone,
Noting the palm trees underwater just before the stone.

I dreamed of the Albatross as my body glided down to bare sand.

Going into the light I realized,
I still have never tasted fish, Old Man.

The Albatross stared at me cold without a tear in his great red eye.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/25/2004

Author's Comments:
Wandering albatrosses are huge, solitary, near-mythical birds who mate for life. With wingspans of up to four meters (12 feet), they're the largest flying creatures on Earth and can spend months far beyond land, seeming to revel in the fierce winds of the Roaring Forties. They are Southern Hemisphere, circumpolar birds, as are most of the other 23 albatross species. They also were a prominent feature in a most famous poem, Old Man Of The sea. To see the inspiration for this piece, go here: www.enn.com/news/2003-01-23/s_12292.asp

Chorizzo Con Huevos Y Queso En La Tortilla...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 5:58am

Chorizzo Con Huevos Y Queso En La Tortilla...

 

Caught the early ride out express,
Track swayin' my newspaper 'n coffee,
Sunrise not yet sunny side up.

Shuffled off down the ramp,
Be a good sardine and no pushing,
Up the upscalator staring at a thousand backs.

Step in line at the counter,
Order my hot steaming breakfast burrito,
Chorizzo and egg with cheese no salsa.

Watch the cook flippin' the spatula,
Stuff it in a paper sack and off I go,
Grab a little table and hot goodness...

Una poesia para ustèd.

Good morning, Buenos dìas!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/08/2005

Monday Dusk...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 5:59am

Monday Dusk...

 

Hustle shuffle feet if you want to make it,
The six seventeen just rolled up clanging,
Blinking and squealing I'm stuffing the pay box,
Two bucks for slot 610 at 6:10,
Sun glow barely warming East.

Sit on the first car behind the hooded sweatshirt,
Dark navy with the electric bluebird on the back,
Hood drops and young,
Pretty straight black hair,
Turn of ear with small black earring,
Hoop and nape and the sweats go up,
Pillow on the window soft pink shoulder,
Red tank strap sleepy.

Train sway shakes my hand slow letters,
Back yard flower trees springing by green.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. stafford
© 04/11/2005

Grounded In Grey...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 6:00am

Grounded In Grey...

 

The roof of the world is grey today,
Chilly and dripping wet drops,
Tote-a-roof people rushing with bent splines,
A floppy umbrella edge suggests a painful cause,
I duck for cover at the building edges.

Sea gulls squawk from ledges of concrete,
Grounded in the chill wet winds,
Only a few brave birds glide over river water,
The distant myriad window lights,
All the warmth a soggy psyche can find.

Across the gently bouncing rattling drawbridge,
Millions of stamping wet feet dodge cabs,
That scourge of the streets never trusted,
How fast can you spin that final revolving door?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/12/2005

By Your Calculation...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 28, 2005 at 4:14am

By Your Calculation...

The silence of beautiful voices haunts me like a cold winter night,
The stars above call without speaking,
And the faery ring around the Moon is at a quarter this sky,
Just a few hours from the rise of a brilliant Winter Sun.

Still you are swearing black-hearted and frigid,
So busy counting every snowflake in the pile,
Certain your wretched gold must lie beneath the bank.
And the glare of your Antarctic indifference may just kill us all.

Put a good woman away out of work in a dark night,
Silence the warmth of clever-jeweled voices,
For the pennies that lie upon that now bare floor shine to your fingers,
And the despairing silence is the easier course in this blizzard...

By your calculation.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/28/2005

Author's comments:
Barnes & Noble corporate has eliminated their Events Coordinator position,
and canceled all events at specific stores that were not meeting an un-specified
revenue volume. Of course it doesn't matter that the store where Plainfield Live Poetry
reads is in a subdivision that is currently building five thousand new homes within three miles of it,
or that they had a wonderful person in the position. I just got the news the day after one of
the best readings we've had, with things poised to begin growing. I'm choosing to look at it
as an opportunity to find a better venue, but it does chafe a bit, and I am holding hopes
that the gal that was handling events there gets a new gig soon.

Don't Buy No Rotation Babble...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:44am

Don't Buy No Rotation Babble...

The doctors are out there,
Spinning the whole Universe from the inside,
Total rotation of creation,
A bad day in Everyland with electromagnetic complications.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

Fricasseed little brothers and sisters,
Like flies without wings or even legs and the camera is too shy,
All because of the great green voice that's speakin' broken,
A bad day in Everyland with electromagnetic complications.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

You think you can pick but you really just shovel,
All unknowing and smelling roses upon command,
Never get your real demand like you're thinking,
But when everything's frying on the sidewalk you'll still be blind.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

Brother have you got a dime for some really cheap minds,
It's just a simple button-pushed modem white-wash,
Viscously flowing down blackness underneath uncountable lies,
And when everything's frying on the sidewalks they'll still be God-waving high.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

I went to the garden store some more plant food,
It made with rotation-babble pie,
Was gonna throw it right on the other side of the yard,
But the long-faced donkey tree wilted like globally warmed salad.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

It's why I won't buy plant food.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/03/2005

Flying Fish...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 9, 2005 at 12:43pm

Flying Fish...

I saw the sky in gun metal grey,
There were dots over the horizon.

Lost on the floating scales I was dreaming,
Soaring over water like spirits in the morning mist,
Silent-eyed souls like flying fish.

I sat at the table by warm candle light,
Red wine with a halo refraction on the tablecloth,
The glare of silver was not as bright as my soul in that moment,
There was a lifetime smile across from me speaking in silence.

It wasn't so much the what as the when,
All the silent ghosts hovering,
Taking this or bringing that for their evening,
I wondered at being their servant in my turn but was un-trained,
Thinking my wishes for how to someday thank their flight.

I never look down my nose,
I might miss the flight of fish,
Those who make our life so much more graced,
Little reward in terms of respect in many cases,
I speak my "thank you" at every possible passing,
Because I recognize it takes every kind of fish to make my ocean live.

The flight of fish to my table is all the evidence I need.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/09/2005

Author's Comments:
This poem is dedicated to waiters, to busboys, to maids and shoe-shiners. To every one of those whose time and effort makes our time and efforts possible. if we had to handle everything they do ourselves, we'd never be able to do much of what we do. At every chance i make sure to thank them, and make them know I appreciate what they do. We were out for my birthday dinner tonight and this point was once again brought home to me very clearly. I wrote about the celebration here: www.whizzyrds.com/020805_Birthday.html - so I though I'd write about those who helped make it wonderful up there, where the poem is.

This Crazy Battle of Love and War...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 12, 2005 at 2:03am

This Crazy Battle of Love and War...

Singin' songs and a carryin' signs,
It's a day of blood and tears in how many places?
Ranting on this group and rolling over that,
Like some football fanatics in star-spangled hats ya want to go dyin'.

The big screen is advertising rolling green and the flag is waving for it.

How many moniker markers can you concoct,
False labels for a cruel imitation of Godly devotion in motion,
You walk right past the stone tablets without a glance,
Taking unreported prisoners and acting like Jezebel because,

Because, because, because the might of your wrongs makes anything right?

There was a crown of thorns and scourges that were supposed to be the last,
Borne so that no one else need endure and the plain of blood awaits irrigation,
Because of your actions reality might mirror predictions of flames and bones,
But from a God of Love who'd rather He could leave us alone.

So you seem to say it's all been laid out and said.

I wish you could read,
Because the book said "follow now the path of love,"
And according to your purported hero it's the ones who won't...

That will truly be dead.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/12/2005