Stuffed...
An eerie glow fills the room,
Flick of the switch.
My own thoughts remain unborn,
My head filled to bursting,
With the carefully-crafted thoughts of others,
People I don't even know.
Stuffed.
AquarianM
By Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06-30-2017
Rembrandt Sleeping - Poem # 20
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Friday, June 30, 2017
Prodigal Poet...
Prodigal Poet...
Pages have lain bare,
Wanting for ink,
Thirsty for soul dreams,
Lonely for mind-candy's hallowed release.
More than six years pass by,
Finally my pen is back to hand,
In the wee hours,
Absent the glow of electrons and keys.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06-29-2017
Rembrandt Sleeping, Poem # 19.
Pages have lain bare,
Wanting for ink,
Thirsty for soul dreams,
Lonely for mind-candy's hallowed release.
More than six years pass by,
Finally my pen is back to hand,
In the wee hours,
Absent the glow of electrons and keys.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06-29-2017
Rembrandt Sleeping, Poem # 19.
Dream Riding With Night Spirits...
Post by AquarianM on Dec 29, 2007 at 12:02am
Dream Riding With Night Spirits...A child again I ride,
Pedaling furiously in the twilight,
The ancient oak by the rail yard,
Silent and majestic in the starshine,
Growling wolf stops me cold,
"Wrap in the white light first."
Howling he runs beside me,
In my white light suit I race the tree,
Branches laden with ideas growing all about,
A bough breaks and falls away,
I ignite the rockets to either side,
Bolted to my bicycle,
I scream up the rough bark into the sky,
Arching high over the moon,
Wolf on the back seat singing.
I admire a passing star,
She beats tiny gossamer wings,
A streak of stardust to kiss my cheek,
I see the world floating below,
Having climbed the tree of life,
I ride the winter skies in joy.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/29/2007
Thursday, June 29, 2017
A Perfect Night For Magic...
Post by AquarianM on Dec 30, 2007 at 10:32pm
A Perfect Night For Magic...Silence holds me close,
Something Winter is singing,
Utter absence of sound profoundly deep,
Enclosing a glistening world of pure magic.
Each step completely a new thing,
Tracks laid in a fresh-fallen thick carpet of diamond dust,
White with a billion glitter points anywhere in eye-fall,
Streets of cloud filled with tiny gems.
Light fog lends the open field mystery,
Light-dust falling through the mist from streetlights,
Others surrounded in faded white globular nebulae,
Charcoal clouds ragged about the edge of the world.
Directly above the open sky rains constellations,
Dancing within and without the invisible clouds,
Feast and famine of light brilliant and fading and gone,
All around - trees crested in white flocked snow and frost wigs.
My breath joins the show as I set the last recycling to the curb,
An extra trip on a perfect night for magic,
The remainder of faded Christmas' lights an eerie burst of color,
The last night of the year else-wise bathed in black and white and starlight.
Happy New Year indeed.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/31/2007
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Drumbeat Feet…
Post by AquarianM on Jan 3, 2008 at 12:19am
Drumbeat Feet…I’m walking the track at the Y,
Fast paced and tired,
A thousand kids haven’t made it back to school yet,
New Year free on the basketball courts,
Dribble and shoot,
Dribble and shoot.
It’s the middle of the day my night,
And I hear the basketballs drumming,
Drumming like spirit-callers,
My eyes half close as I step to the erratic ecstatic,
Beat trance dancing I pretend it’s the savannah,
Wildebeast herds off in the distance,
Hoof-rocked and pounding stampede.
A dingo dog appears and walks with me,
Dusty trail not withstanding,
I see no lions or tigers,
Until an Aborigine man steps alongside,
Walking walking walking,
Footfall pounding the dirt with me,
Another dreamwalker.
I conjure up a snow globe,
Full of tiny wet flecks,
A nose-tickler and breath froster,
A toy so he can know snow,
He hands me a globe of hottest summer,
Full of croc breath and burning dry air,
Endless hotfooting across the burning Outback.
We smash the two together to create a balanced world,
The clock tells me to stop walking and go home.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/03/2008
Nothing Roasted, Nothing Drained...
Nothing Roasted, Nothing Drained...
I reach for the long blue handle of the antique English coffee mill,
Only to spin it again and again,
Lovely roasted brown flows into a paper sack,
Awaking the aroma that makes this the best-scented garage in the world,
If only for a day.
I've tried electric grinding,
It simply hasn't the soul,
Yet better than nothing.
Put your arm in it,
Along with some heart.
It's like the difference between a sea foam green Hermes and paper,
Vs. the light of a glowing screen,
You can't feel the pages,
Never hear the bell,
Don't feel the "thunk" in your wrist of the hard return,
It hasn't the grace.
Stainless steel is the basket in my percolator,
The better not to strain out the flavor you know,
The scent and steam and bubbling rattle of morning,
It's gratifying and more addictive than stopping time,
The heat of the stainless steel and the winding of the cord,
Or the bakelite handle and fuzzy aluminum with a bubble on top,
Stowed in my camping gear.
Does the scent filling the house awaken you?
Can you hear the rattling siren call?
I drift back to a younger time,
Transported,
Adrift in sweet dreams of my grandparents,
In the days before Hemingway drowned in a bottle,
When pages were real and could yellow with age,
When you could hold spirits in your hands and work flowed from flesh and bone,
Time was slow and daylight languid on a Summer weekend.
The world has gone wide and shallow and fast like rapids,
I miss the deep still lakes and the slowness of actual books,
Things that might never be really known again.
I am a deeper puddle in the muddle of splash,
Staring into the empty coffee cup of the old life and times,
Thinking slowly,
Lavishly,
"Nothing roasted,
Nothing drained..."
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2017
I reach for the long blue handle of the antique English coffee mill,
Only to spin it again and again,
Lovely roasted brown flows into a paper sack,
Awaking the aroma that makes this the best-scented garage in the world,
If only for a day.
I've tried electric grinding,
It simply hasn't the soul,
Yet better than nothing.
Put your arm in it,
Along with some heart.
It's like the difference between a sea foam green Hermes and paper,
Vs. the light of a glowing screen,
You can't feel the pages,
Never hear the bell,
Don't feel the "thunk" in your wrist of the hard return,
It hasn't the grace.
Stainless steel is the basket in my percolator,
The better not to strain out the flavor you know,
The scent and steam and bubbling rattle of morning,
It's gratifying and more addictive than stopping time,
The heat of the stainless steel and the winding of the cord,
Or the bakelite handle and fuzzy aluminum with a bubble on top,
Stowed in my camping gear.
Does the scent filling the house awaken you?
Can you hear the rattling siren call?
I drift back to a younger time,
Transported,
Adrift in sweet dreams of my grandparents,
In the days before Hemingway drowned in a bottle,
When pages were real and could yellow with age,
When you could hold spirits in your hands and work flowed from flesh and bone,
Time was slow and daylight languid on a Summer weekend.
The world has gone wide and shallow and fast like rapids,
I miss the deep still lakes and the slowness of actual books,
Things that might never be really known again.
I am a deeper puddle in the muddle of splash,
Staring into the empty coffee cup of the old life and times,
Thinking slowly,
Lavishly,
"Nothing roasted,
Nothing drained..."
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2017
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Appraisal...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 4, 2008 at 1:46am
Appraisal...Shhh…don’t let the secret out.
It’s a horrible dollar amount,
Dead plastic dreams in the dust,
A breach of your own trust.
Squeak and squirm and fidget,
Find a way to sell a new widget,
Before the flood comes.
Eating on credit cards,
The gas to move the car,
A pretty house not too large,
But wages are flat,
Paid by rats.
How much is it really worth?
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/04/2008
Monday, June 26, 2017
Lost In The Mist…
Post by AquarianM on Jan 9, 2008 at 2:04am
Lost In The Mist……of time,
So little to be found,
Like grains of sand passing one by one,
A rainstorm in January,
Thunder and lightning,
Tornado roaring,
Green grass in February,
Floods and drought,
What wins out?
Picture postcards in a lost museum,
Snow as high as your house,
Children in snowsuits sledding,
Night riding in a sleigh,
Melted away.
Who will remember Winter?
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/09/2008
Sunday, June 25, 2017
Eggnog Latte...
Post by AquarianM on Jan 15, 2008 at 1:07am
Eggnog Latte...In the falling afternoon sunlight,
Lazy Fall Sunday afternoon,
A steaming cup of holiday,
Whirls about my mind,
Stirred and lidded hand-warmer,
From which I spill poetry.
As I sip from that cup of memories
Of holidays long gone by
I savor the fragrance of their joy
Amid the velvet echoes
Of loves' sweet caress
Creamy and dreamy,
blackness and fluff
sweetness lingers
covering the bitter bite
Last minute shopping,
frantic wrapping,
hiding all the whimsical surprises,
at last a reward of frothy delight,
time being held still with a sip of holiday enjoyment,
a sense of satisfaction of new memories
being created and old ones passed on.
By: Green Leaf Coffee House Poetry Circle
© 11/24/2007
Contributing Authors: (In order of verse written)
Daniel A. Stafford
Russ Pergram
Shannon Prahl
Mary Andersen
Saturday, June 24, 2017
The Question…
Post by AquarianM on Jan 15, 2008 at 11:56pm
The Question…I have to ask it of you,
I must know the score,
Who is to be President,
Who will get the chore?
I’ll make you rack your brains,
The answer to guess and hack,
But what comes out of the machines,
Is what got put in the back.
If you think you have a crystal ball,
I’ve got silicon crystals to beat them all,
I’ll type at buttons and laugh,
You just voted for a blue giraffe.
An army of hackers red and blue,
A dog and pony show that’s now true blue,
Super Country killed by pieces of Nerdite,
Computer-scanned ballots black-inked on lilly-white.
Pay no attention to the electrons behind the curtain…
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/16/2008
Friday, June 23, 2017
Thursday, June 22, 2017
The Pear Tree Circle Mural Project...
The following mural was painted on the wall & ceiling of our 2nd floor at our townhouse in very early 2003 by me:
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The mural was painted over about three weeks ago as we are in the process of selling the town house. The upstairs area is now a stark, sterile, neutral white. The wall to the right of the mural had been painted a warm, tomatoey red and had black and white Elvis portraits and album covers in frames hung on it. The lamp in the stairwell is an imported Italian light fixture of an angel flying with a staff of wheat in one hand and a yellow-green lamp in the other. Like most Italian art, it is a touch risque'. The ceiling had the sunset fading to a deep indigo and then to black with stars and a comet on the ceiling. All the painting was done on a scaffold made of six two-by-six boards laid on the top stair and a ladder rung, and tied together.
Dan
(C) 10/27/2005 By Daniel A. Stafford
||||||||||||The mural was painted over about three weeks ago as we are in the process of selling the town house. The upstairs area is now a stark, sterile, neutral white. The wall to the right of the mural had been painted a warm, tomatoey red and had black and white Elvis portraits and album covers in frames hung on it. The lamp in the stairwell is an imported Italian light fixture of an angel flying with a staff of wheat in one hand and a yellow-green lamp in the other. Like most Italian art, it is a touch risque'. The ceiling had the sunset fading to a deep indigo and then to black with stars and a comet on the ceiling. All the painting was done on a scaffold made of six two-by-six boards laid on the top stair and a ladder rung, and tied together.
Dan
(C) 10/27/2005 By Daniel A. Stafford
I Was Born On A River…
Post by AquarianM on Jan 31, 2008 at 4:16am
I Was Born On A River…I was born in the midst of frost and snow,
Ice jagged on the riverbanks,
Stars chilled almost still on a cold night,
Some small town I still see magic in.
The old lagoon used to freeze over,
Ice skaters in the warming house,
Now the paddleboats reign,
A fresh coat of paint on the doors.
The people that imbued that place with magic,
It seems many have fled to someplace higher,
Or flowed down the stream of life,
Salmon run out to sea.
Springtime comes and the fish jump,
Life awakens all about,
Green water and green hills,
Trees budding in the scent of river water.
New dandelions flower,
Tadpoles turn to frogs,
Cottonwood seed floats in the sunlight,
Yet the limestone blocks of the water tower stand.
I was born on a river,
Where the current never stops.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/31/2008
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
Sleeping Under Misti...
Post by AquarianM on Feb 21, 2008 at 2:21am
Sleeping Under Misti...The Three Sisters of Arequipa,
Nearby the sea,
Saucy and hot,
Eruptive,
Chaotic.
They sleep for a time,
How long no one knows,
Your guess as good as mine,
Yet day or night,
They can roar with fire,
Smokingly explosive.
Ampato the tall one,
Chachani the middle sister,
Beautiful and dangerous little Misti,
Daughters of Peru,
What will you do,
On an Arequipa night?
Senoritas calientes…
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/21/2008
www.andeantrails.co.uk/misti2.htm
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Rembrandt Sleeping...
Post by AquarianM on Feb 18, 2011 at 10:30pm
Rembrandt Sleeping...Painting a night's impression in soft and vivid dreams,
Imagery jumbles life like a learning curve,
Pillow-lust in linseed oil tints,
A renaissance of nightly mind evolves slowly,
Whispering like momentary centuries of colored dust,
Mutable and yet credible,
Inspiration ripe to pluck,
On the finished canvas of drowsy morning.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/11/2011
"Rembrandt...Sleeping" poem # 5.
Torrone...
Post by AquarianM on Feb 25, 2008 at 6:34pm
Torrone...A little yellow box,
Pictures of the old places,
Famous names and faces gone,
Sweet Arancio,
Vaniglia gentle on the tongue,
Lemon gentle,
La Florentine,
From the red white and green,
I grew up with them,
In each box I taste childhood,
A mystery of long ago,
And all the magic people inhabiting it,
A wonder that suits my taste.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/25/2008
Monday, June 19, 2017
For Want Of An Olive...
Post by AquarianM on Feb 28, 2008 at 12:17am
For Want Of An Olive...I stalk down memory lane – hiding,
Lest a breath blow away my ghosts,
Hearing whispers of happy times,
A place where dreams were infinite.
You can’t lose here as long as you don’t disturb anything.
The filters that bring me to this place are diverse,
Songs or dishes or old antiques,
Some wisp of yesteryear on the internet,
A picture haunting a magazine page.
I can never get enough – how about you?
I tread with utmost caution,
Trying to glimpse anything I’ve forgotten,
Put it in my treasure box,
Filled with the ultimate of ultimates – memories.
My hunger growls from my gut - unquenchable.
For want of an olive my shadows hear me,
Running off to Heaven on rainbow wings,
Discovery thwarted by distraction,
A lack of hypnosis and focus.
I awaken starving for more sleep.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/28/2008
A Matter Of Focus...
A Matter Of Focus...
What I say,
What I see,
Large-looming things I water in the garden of my life.
It maters little if I despise them,
Not a whit if I wish to uproot,
Nor love and cherish,
The flowers or weeds I speak to will grow.
All the World should pay attention,
Give that payment to the flowers,
For the weeds grow so easily.
It's really all a matter of focus.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/19/2017
What I say,
What I see,
Large-looming things I water in the garden of my life.
It maters little if I despise them,
Not a whit if I wish to uproot,
Nor love and cherish,
The flowers or weeds I speak to will grow.
All the World should pay attention,
Give that payment to the flowers,
For the weeds grow so easily.
It's really all a matter of focus.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/19/2017
Sunday, June 18, 2017
When Sunset Falls...
Post by AquarianM on Oct 4, 2007 at 12:04am
When Sunset Falls...I used to love the soft fiery orange of you,
The feel of your wheel under my hands,
Responsive and agile and powerful,
We raced rainbows and hawks,
Toured the countryside and highways,
Listened to soft jazz and hard rock,
But tonight I hear the blues.
In the silvery haze of falling rain,
You danced free of my hands,
Like a wild thing I’d found myself riding,
Throwing us both into hard concrete,
Smashing and abrading at forty five miles an hour,
In the darkness of a washed-out night.
It’s not the pain in my chest pulled,
Nor the bruises on my arm,
Nor the missed night of work,
But the hard-earned payment freedom,
The feel of something that finally fit me perfectly,
Torn and ruined and twisted,
A forlorn broken child,
Huddled in the driveway.
Instant replay keeps me near steaming,
Boiling and furious and lost,
I never thought the Sunset Truck,
Would try to water ski down I-55.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/04/2007
Saturday, June 17, 2017
A Breath Of Chill...
Post by AquarianM on Nov 6, 2007 at 3:12am
A Breath Of Chill...In the clouded dark of November night,
Autumn whispers softly fall,
Starless grey-yellow glow of city lights,
Flurries come to call,
Luscious sisters to Jack Frost,
He’s been painting a delicate web,
Listening nights of summer lost,
Longing for warm covers abed,
Leaves, leaves, leaf and twig,
Dancing all about the air,
Just a falling mercury jig,
A hat upon my grey-speckled hair,
Goodnight is not yet - it’s early eve,
Treasure the light and candle’s warmth shining in the air.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/6/2007
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