Welcom To

Welcom To
By AquarianM

Monday, August 21, 2017

My Little Park...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 14, 2009 at 3:12pm

My Little Park...

Over in the old town today,
Doctors and physical therapy.

Finally realeased,
It's like recess,
Cloudless 85 degrees,
The Summer that almost wasn't.

The soybeans in the field are a third golden,
Like God swashed a streak of yellow amid the green paint.

The edges of stately old trees are orange or yellow,
Faint yet unmistakeable signs of Autumn's advent.

Birds lazily chirp in time to cicada melodies,
Not quite ready to flock.

A white egret drifts across blue sky,
Somewhere between fishing ponds.

I've played Bello's golden notes to the lowering Sun,
Laid him to rest and lit my Cameroon cigar.

Butterflies and bees float by,
And if I couldn't see the cars and telephone wires,
I could be a hundred years younger.

I went by the old house today,
The grasses I planted lush and flowering seven feet tall,
Untouched by the mortgage buzzsaw's relentless insanity that cut us out of Paradise.

I sit at my little park on 135th street,
Mentally removing pavement from my picture.

I missed the dandelions so.


By: Daniel A.Stafford
(C) 09/14/2009

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Perfect Afternoon...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 21, 2009 at 2:27pm

Perfect Afternoon...

Seventy degrees,
Top-of-the-line cameroon cigar,
An even burn from light to finish,
Not even a lighter-flick between,
One mile per hour breeze.

The songs of birds and insects washing over fields mostly golden,
Weeping willows draped over a small creek,
Sunshine just peeking through a ceiling of grey the last fifteen minutes,
Golden fire that eases up to your feet,
Drifts by like an old friend coming home.

Sipping coffee slowly,
As first leaves of Fall drift down from huge old trees,
They swirl across a country road in circles,
Tickled by Summer's playful good-bye breath.

The Equinox celebrated by life's song,
I am in quiet reverence,
The air of home I breath in,
Last-of-the-season dandelions speckle still-green grass,
Watching clouds kiss the top of an ancient domeless grain silo,
Witnessed by the old barn with a mossy roof.

There is something sacred in moments like this,
Something in my blood and bones knows these lands intimately.

I am feeling close to my ghosts as the season passes,
Another year drifting towards the snows of closure,
I am in this current of time,
Fishing for the best moments,
Another landed in my poetry's net,
Set to live long and glorious,
Resplendant in the color of serenity,
Tinted by a hint of angst,
Poignant in forever's unending universe.

The prairie flowers are my silent witnesses.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/21/2009

(135th Street, Eaton Preserve, Plainfield, Illinois, USA)

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Uniform Corn...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 25, 2009 at 4:55am

Uniform Corn...

Row-upon-row of identical gold,
In products wherever they're sold,
Corn oil and plastic,
Corn paper and corn sheets,
I wonder will it someday be corn false teeth?

The whole world over we depend on corn,
Drive it fly it eat it grind it boil it butter it,
Pop it and salt it,
But can you believe it?

Uniform corn with so much uniform DNA,
So few varieties - but when the GM comes into play,
Doomsday seeds and BT,
All the better to kill off the bees,
Floating away on a pollen-filled wind,
The GM genes will do us in.

Will climate change the corn,
Or can our corny world survive?

Uniform corn,
I scorn the uniform corn,
Boil it all and feed it to pigs,
Bring back the indian variety and sweet,
Colors and flavors and fun,
It's all a corn maize we have to run.

Corn rows of blackbirds all in flight,
It's uniform corn that we must fight!


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/25/2009

Friday, August 18, 2017

Cold And Howling...

Post by AquarianM on Oct 7, 2009 at 1:26am

Cold And Howling...

It goes right through you,
Like chill fingers tattering your jacket,
Reminds you to get that broken sweat-jacket zipper fixed in a hurry,
Forces your gloves out of pockets,
Whirls litter thirty stories high and more,
Announces Autumn and screams of Winter coming,
Bringing the first full-blown shiver of the season full upon you,
Merciless and fearsome.

A 45-mile-an-hour wind whipping through downtown Chicago,
Forty-nine degrees static,
Pitch dark,
Cold and howling.

I'm begging for a warm fire and hot chocolate,
Wondering at the "Summer" we had this year,
A weak thing barely here and quickly passed.

I've never seen a dark early-October night be so obviously blue.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/07/2009

Thursday, August 17, 2017

A Day At The Beach...

Post by AquarianM on Oct 10, 2009 at 7:39am

A Day At The Beach...

Sand - soft and giving usually,
Today packed and damp and hard,
Breakers rumbling tumbling rippling rolling,
Ceaseless as the wind in your hair ears eyes face,
Sea gulls climb it screeching swooping gliding turning,
Sky of grey steel blue charcoal ash in constant motion,
Sun faded washed scrubbed over-dubbed clouds,
Grasses waving blowing swaying rustling browning,
Trees whipping bending tapping turning browning,
Leaves flying drifting swirling falling sliding,
Red ones orange ones yellow ones brown ones crinkle and blow and rustle,
Lake Michigan powerful at your feet moving spraying churning.

The only still things driftwood sitting on the dark yellow sand and old footprints.

Autumn is here and it's another day at the beach.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/10/2009

Wednesday, August 16, 2017




THIS again?

Go wash your sheets,
Show your face like a man,
Which you wouldn't recognize,
If his any-color-but-hate whupped your chicken ass.

There's a dark band,
Way out at the edges of the light a prism casts,
But y'all eclipse worse than the Sun in August of 2017.

You shadows on the wall of Humanity,
Living in fear and hate.

Find some other planet to darken.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2017

Welcome To The Land Of The Ice And Snow...

Post by AquarianM on Dec 20, 2008 at 1:20am

Welcome To The Land Of The Ice And Snow...

The cold winds of fate grabbed the handle of my shovel,
Adding extra drag to every stroke on ice-caked pavement,
Outlawing the snow thrower in an arbitrary attitude against motorization,
And forced the five pound maul into my hand,
All the better to crack ice off the stoop with,
At least now I can walk.

At night though,
With all the Christmas lights glowing,
Carols on the radio,
All the sore muscle blues fades away into the eggnog glass,
A soothing rhetoric of soft glowing color on pure reflective white.

Dreams come easy then.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/20/2008

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Church Of The Rustling Breezes...

Post by AquarianM on Nov 8, 2008 at 4:02pm

Church Of The Rustling Breezes...

In the morning I waited,
Quietly watching faces,
Gentled and humbling,
The sky and skyscrapers limned with a golden glow,
A cloud of sea gulls and pigeons bustled,
Fluttering like jubilant leaves over the river,
The smiles were small but persistent,
Heart-singing in a fresh-minted world.

In the early afternoon we walked,
In the Church of the Rustling Breezes,
Indian Summer long and gorgeous,
Soaking up moments upon the trail,
No stone edifice could touch this,
The life energy of the trees enfolds you,
Fearless squirrels dance past your feet,
As the leaves in multicolored glory rain and fly and rustle.

A Nation spoke - and they chose decency.

Nothing can take that away now.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2008