Monday, August 10, 2020

Farcebook Junkie...

Farcebook Junkie... 


Do I have another like?

Time for school,
Read a book,
Dinner date,
Darling mine,
Do I have another like?

Doctor,
Doctor,
Give me the news,
Do I have another like?

Oldest friend's in town,
Off to the beach,
Stoplight red,
Annoying,
Do I have another like?

Birthday bash,
Waiting for the cake,
Trying to earn cash,
Boss turns their back,
Do I have another like?

You know where everybody reads,
Totally appropriate it seems,
Just dropped your jeans,
If only we could flush,
"Do I have another like?"

AquarianM

By: Daniel A, Stafford
© 08/10/2020

Tales Of The Pandemonium...

Tales Of The Pandemonium... 

Don't get me wrong,
I love a day at the beach,
But these waves crashing,
They're no warm salty water,
Nor cold surf on a Great Lake,
Not even a pond.

There is no placid,
And complacency,
That will maybe get you eaten,
Not in a good way.

The national parks are trashed,
Or sold off to a salt mine,
Or gutted for frack sand,
Merrily tossed away.

The stars are streaking,
Oceans peaking,
Maybe we'll someday,
Boil plastic soup from the seas,
Fishing from the crown of Lady Liberty.

Today it's the fad,
Outlaws are unmasked riders,
Hawgs enmeshed in Sturgis,
A sea of meat for the bugs.

It's all sold from the top,
A Barker's carnivale,
Full of more baffle than a used car seller,
Cliche flim-flam in a suit.

The carpets are all filthy on the bottom,
Our only hope,
The relentless tick of the clock,
Perhaps served up with a cup of karma,
We are the clown posse now,
And our emperor,
Well,
We've even seen a pumpkin,
Wearing imaginary clothes.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/10/2020

#Political #Poetic Memoir

Sunday, August 09, 2020

Fast Forward...

Fast Forward...

Heard calls for redux,
Not for me just fast forward,
Twenty twenty gone.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/09/2020

Poetry Was Never About The Money...

Poetry Was Never About The Money... 

So now that you're done laughing,
Wait,
You are,
Aren't you?

Word play is a mission,
So secret only readers know,
We play at being secret agents,
An agency of the subconscious,
Muses our handlers.

Words might build pyramids,
But not those of poets,
We whisper to Father Time,
Who laughs at our ego,
If we're lucky our jokes.

I play with these words in twilight,
Somewhere between insomnia & pillow,
A sparkling word vampire,
I'll bite you for ink,
My only progeny pretty word baubles,
But it suits me to fill the time,
And I am in good company.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/08/2020

Saturday, August 08, 2020

In The Church Of No Time...

In The Church Of No Time... 

The bully pulpit ticks,
Sacramental sand flowing,
Down a narrow waist,
Water filling a balance,
Wick burning,
Mark-by-mark through tallow,
Too dark for a sun dial,
Evil red numbers change in cadence,
A lock on perception,
An artificial rush,
Even rhe Sun and Moon,
Leading stars and planets,
Dancing to an endless river,
Of these ticks and tocks,
We're born into bondage,
No mercy and no respite,
The closest freedom is sand and surf,
A seemingly endless cadence its own,
In the end it must run out,
We all run screaming out,
The fire of our agony is even finite,
Here in the Church of No Time.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/08/2020

#Poetic Philosophy #Political

Friday, August 07, 2020

Blogger Finally Getting Development Work From Google!

I have been using Blogger-dot-com blogs since around 2002. Google bought it circa 2004, if I recall correctly.

I have been doing several updates on the style of my *Spell Book* poetry blog ( http://www.Whizzyrds.com ) on Blogger.

I don't think Google had put any development effort into Blogger in a decade or more. All of a sudden in the past couple of weeks, I am noticing some definite modernization of the layout and post editing interfaces. This is good news, because it makes it more likely that Blogger will be maintained.

Now if they just upgrade the mobile version design...

Dan

What Is Poetry?

What Is Poetry?

Can I even begin to answer?

Let me try...

It's the subconscious spilling out through a conscious filter,

With a touch of beauty and heart,

A deep connection at the unconscious level,

Between all of us who are built this way, 

Looking through a word kaleidoscope,

At the fractal undermind. 


Maybe.


AquarianM


By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/07/2020

#Poetic Philosophy #Poets Poems

Immersion...

Immersion... 

It's a grind,
Far older than I,
I'm the spinning wheel,
The engine that could,
The rumble,
I crave the scent,
For the murk of morning,
My cup I will fill,
Yet at the moment I breathe deep,
Best-scented garage in town,
I savor the immersion.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/06/2020

Thursday, August 06, 2020

The Quiet Dark...

The Quiet Dark... 

Cool night air lies still,
Crickets the only ear-fall,
Mystery above.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/05/2020

#Lifestyle

Wednesday, August 05, 2020

Standing...

Standing...

My feet planted,
Close my eyes,
Pull light of white from the Everywhere,
Mind dancing I do not move,
Winds of news sway nothing,
My duty is to stand,
Monolith,
Aware of the flow,
Wind and water,
Roll off my back and brow,
The sky might be gray,
Perhaps blue,
Even starlit,
The calm of Eternity comforts me,
Water in the river flows by,
Just as dust blows,
Always renewed,
I am standing,
This too will pass.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/04/2020

#Lifestyle #Poetic Philosophy #Political

Sunday, July 05, 2020

Silent Space...

Silent Space...

Fly me to the Moon,
At least somewhere full of stars.
Maybe the dusty red fields of Mars,
The silent night of galaxies,
Too distant to believe,
Too big for the Human race,
The utter quiet,
Pretty lights of outer space.

Maybe this could heal a soul,
The noiseless depths of total cold,
Far away from the battlefield,
These perceived wounds that should've healed.

Sad to see the children we've become,
Maybe growing up is never done,
No end in ragged sight,
Forever twisted between dark and light,
So they say lest we assume,
That in the end might Heaven bloom,
Sprung from constant dreams of doom and gloom.

They say it's fated in our stars,
Even driving Mars in electric cars,
To endlessly battle for control,
No respite in depths of the soul,
Dreams of rapture seal the wait,
Held in hope at Heaven's gate.

Maybe this could heal a soul,
The noiseless depths of total cold,
Far away from the battlefield,
These perceived wounds that should've healed.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 07/05/2020

#Sci-Fi #Political #Poetic Philosophy