Welcom To

Welcom To
By AquarianM

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Bye Bye Black Cloud...



Enough grey skies and rain,
Lightning strikes and pain,
Bring on the wind today,
Blow this low down black cloud away.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Let it dissipate into a blue sky now,
Sweet sunshine come on down,
Softly warm my up-turned face,
A breezy smile I wear in new-found grace.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Like a hawk on the breeze I'm soaring far,
Flying up to touch my lucky star,
A happy song springing from my lips,
Double rainbows at my fingertips.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Love and peace all within my view,
I walk in grace and glory complete and true,
Fortune is my companion at every step,
Harmony wraps my every relationship.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/07/2005

Author's Comments:
A daily prayer. Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Monday, November 21, 2005

The Last Of Monowi...

The prairie grass returns,
Covering over fallen homes,
Places only ghosts now roam,
Empty houses and broken streets,
The hopes of generations fallen to ruin,
All at the stroke of the globalization pen,
Farms and factories silent and deserted,
Gone back to what it was before we came,
A white-haired stubborn old lady,
The lone inhabitant of a place that's gone,
No future apocalypse,
Nothing you have to wait until 2100 for,
They say we've never abandoned an American city,
That lie is apparent all over the countryside,
The last lady of Monowi can show it to you today.


http://www.whizzyrds.com/Ghostville.html

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/21/2005

What Exactly IS In A Word?

A word is a discussion all by itself,
It holds an image of what it tells,
It's a picture agreed upon by you and me,
It's a contract unspoken we speak every day,
Origins that trace back to the first "what is it,"
"Let's call it this - what do you say?"

In order to understand the nature of this treasure,
We must realize that the universe is built of foundational blocks,
Within or without words shape it because they are the basis,
Given to us by divinity and no other creature we do not teach,
We speak to our God with them whatever name we use,
We often fail to understand that we do not have to address God,
Every word is heard and may result in action from Divinity,
As poets we choose words with care,
Missing the proper understanding perhaps,
Although not necessarily entirely.

Forgive me if it seems presumptuous,
For I know of no other creature,
That speaks to and in front of God,
With every breath or stroke of pen,
As such we poets are more than we know,
We stand closest to this particular gate.

Step through the gate into the parlor,
Read the writing on the walls,
Come back out with an understanding whereof you speak,
Turn - the gate is here:

www.concentric.net/~conure/shinn.shtml

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/20/2005

Saturday, November 19, 2005

An Angel In China...

Wing beats dust bamboo,
Halo shines on rice paper,
Bearing love's soft dreams.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Snowflake Whispers...



Falling in silence,
White on winds accumulate,
Swirling pearl dreamscape.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Cherry Blossom Steps...



Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.

Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.

Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.

Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.

Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005

:gold

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Nursery...

They call him Orion and he hunts the night skies,
Appearing above just as Winter wakes from Summer's heat,
You can see a sword hanging at his belt in the cool nights,
Yet not so many know what it guards,
What drives the hunter to the drawn bow.

A mystery it took Galileo and at least a century to resolve.

Right there,
Tucked away in that sword sheath,
Orion's nursery - a nebula where new stars are forming,
The fires of creation lend their soft glow to our nights,
Gracing Fall nights with a harvest of new light,
I've always wanted to go there.

The first thing I ever pointed a university telescope at.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Under Charcoal Skies...



The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.

Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.

The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.

Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.

All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Just A Dustin'



Eighteen degrees on a silent night,
Minus eight if Centigrade is your right,
A few fat flakes dancing all about in a swirling breeze,
Two coats with a scarf and ear muffs,
Don't forget the gloves or your fingers will freeze.

It's that time again,
Wishing for Summer a fruitless test,
Yet lest we forget - it's Lady winter who lets life rest,
A cycle we all really need,
Endangered seasons all to meet the need for speed.

When you glide down a slippery road,
Try it with snow shoes all wrapped up in the hush of the night,
Remember all the miracles of icicles and frost,
Adulthood left your Winter magic in ruins you say,
Still it's up to you if your inner child is really that lost.

So even just a dustin' -
It's far better than nothin' -
Let Mother Earth heal a bit before balmy days,
Time enough before Spring showers or harvest to reap,
Gaia is tired and weary - we must let her sleep.

For myself and piece of mind,
I'll throw you a snowball and put a sled under my behind.




By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

The Bluest Angel...



Tiny Angel, wings so blue-white,
Watch over me as I pray goodnight,
Let Mommy be safe and happy please,
You in your robes so blue, me on my knees.

I watch you fly in God's grace.

Tiny angel, flit down upon my cupped palms,
Smile up at me, singing, with no qualms.
A voice so ethereal and uplifting,
Carry my heart through a life that's shifting.

Thank you for carrying my prayers to heaven so well.

Bluer than the skies,
Angel with the bluest eyes,
Singing and free,
Thank you for loving me.

Fly always in beautiful childhood dreams.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000

Author's Comments:
A dream, from very early childhood in Madison, WI.
This took place when I was three, in the time of the Dinosaur Safari.
I think it may have been inspired by watching a show on
TV about the Navy flying team, the Blue Angels.
You see, to me as a child, airplanes were the grandest
vision in the whole world. We lived off an Air Force base.
I lived in a world of fast jets, heard sonic booms before they
stopped supersonic flight over the continental USA.
I woke up crying because the dream was gone.

*One thing I should note but never have before posting this at Flowing Quills: the entire dream was very vivid, but I dreampt it as if it were a Saturday morning cartoon that I was living in, like I was in the world of comic art. I never really had that piece stand out to me until now. Perhaps that's telling me something I should do...* (I just had a thought - the Fire Angel - I think she is my Bluest Angel from childhood) This was also my first paper-published work.

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

A Day of Peace...

It whispers under the skin like a silent need,
An itch that needs to be scratched,
We all pray we'll find it somewhere,
Under the next law where they snuck in this or that.

"Not a single drop of blood shed today."

Some of us can live and let live,
Maybe that's an excuse not to pay attention,
We think our struggle is too important for all of that,
Pooh-pooh on it all my ostrich friends.

"Peace agreements today were signed in the last conflicts on the globe."

We come home looking for dinner and the TV,
Bathing in a make-believe life instead of our own,
Wandering away from everyday miracles non-chalant,
Dulled by incessant friction like a bug in the ear.

"Poverty finally averted as the last drop of oil was burned."

It's a slick predicament filled with glassy-eyed stares,
The tired Earth is weeping of loneliness,
Her children having fallen to electronic dreams,
Too lazy to even enjoy the beach.

Just once in this life I'd love to read the headlines of a true day of peace...

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Under Charcoal Skies...



The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.

Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.

The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.

Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.

All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Cherry Blossom Steps...



Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.

Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.

Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.

Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.

Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005

:nom

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.



All of my currently available poetry Chapbooks are for sale at:
www.lulu.com/Daniel-Stafford


Fire Angel...

Walk upon the still waters,
Pouring down in silent sunshine,
The waves of blue that touch a poet's soul,
This vision of peace a gift,
Bow your head in silent prayer,
Nevertheless,
God hears you as clear,
As the color of your heart,
In that cool blue moment.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/04/2003


Note:

This is also the cover photo for my chapbook, "On God's Doorstep" at www.lulu.com. This image was taken with a 35mm camera - a $3.00 child's toy plastic camera, which was all I had at the time. It was scanned on a flatbed scanner, no digital re-touching was used - this is exactly how the image came out as developed by the film lab. It was taken early on a Saturday morning facing East towards Lake Michigan at the doorstep of the Madonna Della Strada Chapel, also known as "The Poem In Stone" at Loyola University's Lakeshore Campus. The chapbook features poems written on Saturday mornings at the chapel terrace, which is the place I call "God''s Doorstep." Each poem describes what it was like to be there on that given Saturday morning, what I was thinking and feeling, how it looked, etc, and is accompanied by a photo of one aspect of that part of the campus grounds. Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
The Word Whizzyrd's Castle...

An airy place full of holes in the walls,
Gaping and black from spell blasts,
The stones are slowly uncrumbling and crawling back into place,
Even around the courtyard where the young whizzyrd played,
A healing spell on stones whipped up from sparkly grey dust,
Fossilized dragon scales and bones ground up.

The banks of the moat are jagged and cruel,
But the secret mejik spell is something like rocket fuel,
The whizzyrd begins chanting with arms raised to stormy skies,
Like a majestic balloon the entire castle begins to rise.


The guests are all unknowing as they party in the grand ballroom,
Sipping on zephyr honey and star twinkle wine,
Eating moonbeam soup from griffyn bone bowls with phoenix feather spoons,
*Puff* they go and the soup is glowing and hot,
The spoon rises from it's ashes for the next sip,
Moonbeam elf waiters bring kraken claw knives,
To cut the sunshine noodles from the blue sky.

Flying up to the edge of space,
The Word Whizzyrd castle begins to race,
Off to Saturn in a bubble of air and light,
Soon to chase ring baubles for an orbit in the endless night.


Won't they all be surprised the whizzyrd thinks to himself,
I'll give the whole party the grandest show,
Of shepherd moons made of fire and ice,
Huge dented rocks of mountainous size,
The coffee cream swirl of saturnine clouds,
And whiz-bang asteroid showers with basket ball sized diamonds,
Maybe mountains of pure gold.

Inviting the crowd for a roof-top dessert,
Cosmic ray candy with aurora borealis sauce lights,
Up the stairs they walk until gravity reverts,
Wide open eyes on a fanciful night flight.




AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/01/2005


:nom

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Nursery...

They call him Orion and he hunts the night skies,
Appearing above just as Winter wakes from Summer's heat,
You can see a sword hanging at his belt in the cool nights,
Yet not so many know what it guards,
What drives the hunter to the drawn bow.

A mystery it took Galileo and at least a century to resolve.

Right there,
Tucked away in that sword sheath,
Orion's nursery - a nebula where new stars are forming,
The fires of creation lend their soft glow to our nights,
Gracing Fall nights with a harvest of new light,
I've always wanted to go there.

The first thing I ever pointed a university telescope at.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Exposure...

The lies that are told are no longer on hold,
The ice is all melting to reveal what it kept,
Every corner is filled with light,
Angels are circling and guiding moonbeams through the cobwebs,
The covers are all thrown back,
Pulled wool now faces Spring's sharp shears,
The scales will creep back into balance,
All the creeps will find dark corners,
Standing behind iron-barred shadows,
Sunlight streams into the cell they painted themselves into,
Meanwhile the mystic walks with a wooden staff,
Mumbling sunshine spells for poets to spill,
An afterthought of the Green Man dancing beneath Autumn trees.



AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/10/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

The Word Whizzyrd's Castle...

An airy place full of holes in the walls,
Gaping and black from spell blasts,
The stones are slowly uncrumbling and crawling back into place,
Even around the courtyard where the young whizzyrd played,
A healing spell on stones whipped up from sparkly grey dust,
Fossilized dragon scales and bones ground up.

The banks of the moat are jagged and cruel,
But the secret mejik spell is something like rocket fuel,
The whizzyrd begins chanting with arms raised to stormy skies,
Like a majestic balloon the entire castle begins to rise.


The guests are all unknowing as they party in the grand ballroom,
Sipping on zephyr honey and star twinkle wine,
Eating moonbeam soup from griffyn bone bowls with phoenix feather spoons,
*Puff* they go and the soup is glowing and hot,
The spoon rises from it's ashes for the next sip,
Moonbeam elf waiters bring kraken claw knives,
To cut the sunshine noodles from the blue sky.

Flying up to the edge of space,
The Word Whizzyrd castle begins to race,
Off to Saturn in a bubble of air and light,
Soon to chase ring baubles for an orbit in the endless night.


Won't they all be surprised the whizzyrd thinks to himself,
I'll give the whole party the grandest show,
Of shepherd moons made of fire and ice,
Huge dented rocks of mountainous size,
The coffee cream swirl of saturnine clouds,
And whiz-bang asteroid showers with basket ball sized diamonds,
Maybe mountains of pure gold.

Inviting the crowd for a roof-top dessert,
Cosmic ray candy with aurora borealis sauce lights,
Up the stairs the walk until gravity reverts,
Wide open eyes on a fanciful night flight.




AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/01/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Friday, October 28, 2005

There Go The Tomatoes...



Jack Frost paints silver,
Tomato leaves turn Fall brown,
His fog breath floats low.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/28/2005 Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
The Mars Effect...



It last came so close in A.D. 2003,
And a nation of law turned to its first un-provoked war,
The Red Planet was burning in the sky,
God of anger was rending spirits from their bones,
Looking for what wasn't there while Baghdad burned.

Marching along in the sky he raged far and wide,
The anguish and misery festering like a boil under the skin,
Maimings and flag-draped heroes falling home,
Angry faces in the desert exploding with rage,
Giving a "go home Yankee" bang on every street corner.

October first 2005 saw the warrior planet start walking backwards,
Mars retrograde at his closest approach in 60,000 years this Halloween night,
Right next to the severed head of the Medusa,
A malignant star called Caput Algol whose baleful glow has darkened history,
A time for leaders to lose their heads or their way,
Time for a very cautious step as the stars are serving dangerous beauty.

When you see the sky on Saturday night,
Look for his baleful bright red eye in the East,
And wonder which way the knives of fate will dart,
It's a whole new era rough and tumble starting in,
Yet when the Red God finally wanders away,
Will we recover from the Mars effect?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/28/2005

Author's Comments:
For more insight on this particular Mars retrograde, see the below two linked sites.
Mars retrograde occurs when the planet appears from our perspective to be moving
backward across the sky. It's strongest effects are at the "station" points, where the planet
appears stopped in the sky, and it lasts until the planet passes back over the point where it
first stationed and starts gaining ground in it's proper direction again.

www.astrologycom.com/marsret.html

www.astrologycom.com/marsred05-1.html

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Godfingers Touch...



With quiet silence reaching down through the wind,
He touches you like a saint full of kindness,
Brilliance stabs your eyes like a whispering ghost,
Barely inside existence yet your powerlessness shines in your face,
Where destiny will take you is woven in a cloth,
Like the small traces of a mystery you await it,
What comes down off the sky.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/26/2005
Mile Markers...



Another mile whispered by,
A season on the road behind,
As daylight fades into starry night,
Where do we seem to fly?

Every leaf of memory fallen away and passed,
Another piece of existence and I wonder,
Is there a great book somewhere,
Something it will take an eternity to read,
Speaking volumes about love and lies,
What would it say of me and mine?

Another year now passing by,
Tires on pavement moaning hum,
Who sits in the passenger seat,
Are they filled with happy love,
The radio is a small thing - just part of the road,
Blaring out things out of sight of pavement.

It's nice to know of pot holes and rain clouds,
When to roll the windows down,
But kissing in the back seat under red Autumn trees,
That's what seals the gold of summer to my heart,
The foundations of you and me,
A leaf in a vast pile rather than one swirling in the breeze.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/25/2005
"For Saren."
Grieving Elephants...

I heard it this morning on the BBC,
Elephants grieve.

They walk up to a skull and bones,
Stroke it gently where it fell alone,
Try to bury it if they can,
They bring no flowers and have no hands.

They can walk away for weeks and miles,
When they return to this place quiet rules,
Walking directly to the spot they stop in silence,
There is no hiding grief at death.

We're not alone on this Earth,
Something to remember,
We have a hand in all creatures' greatest treasures,
A place to live and a reason to go on.

If you can't love Earth for our sake,
Love her for theirs.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/26/2005

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Falling Leaves...

Leaf falls slowly down,
Orange Autumn sign of God,
Beautiful cool rain.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/25/2005

[image]

Friday, October 21, 2005

Seasonal Detail...



The beauty in the small things is priceless,
An eye close to the world so seldom reviewed,
What falls to the ground un-noticed is of short duration,
A day or two too late and everything changes,
Too early and it's not at your feet,
A world all around you singing a song in color and whistling wind,
Look and listen closely now and again,
In the still small places so few choose to go a universe awaits,
Poems can fall to the ground and become of the Earth,
Leaves upon the human tree and the ground that nourishes,
All around you just waiting for a moment of intention,
Or lost in the lack of attention,
You choose the colors of your own Fall,
Twisting and turning in the breezes of life,
What do you whisper into the winds?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/21/2005

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Fields of The Tawny Days...



Flowing like gold across the field,
Lost in an endless sea of breeze and waving amber,
Life floats upon the sky that seems boundless,
To walk here is to be healed,
To live here is to understand the cycle of life with intricacy,
A season and a season's passing,
Promises of renewal too priceless to forget,
In this vast place called the Heartland,
Here the Mother whispers in her childrens' ears,
Awaiting the embrace both so desperately need.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/19/2005

Monday, October 17, 2005

For The Love Of Life...

I will whisper incessantly of the beautiful things I find,
The alive things and the necessary things and all that holds us up,
I will never remain silent as fools' errands are run,
I will show the glory of Mother Earth in all it's forms,
Be it God or any superior notion that created this,
It was never ours to destroy,
For the love of life I will walk through dreams and nightmares,
I will point my finger to the Moon's tides at night,
I will wash the shores of souls like a rolling wave that never sleeps,
For the greatest gift of life is love,
The Universe would share none without the other,
For the love of life I can never leave you alone,
Until you understand the sacredness of every seed,
Man - raise your intellect to walk hand in hand with that from whence you came,
In walking roughshod over your Mother's unconditional love you spell doom,
In working with in the stead of domination you find Grace,
And only Grace will suffer you to live,
Or have you learned nothing of true efficiency in the struggle to heights,
For the love of life...feel love.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/17/2005

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Dance Of The Prairie Winds...



Even as the Milkweed faeries dance down the breeze in whistling sunlight,
The Thistle sisters sway their crowns like a trance waiting to happen,
A seed falls here or gets stuck on pant leg there,
A little brash maybe but no secrets to hide,
Dressed in Prairie gold they play with Zephyr princes,
Baiting foxes, stags, even wolves for a ride,
Far past their honey bee pink blush and no longer green with envy,
Fall is their amber season of reward and delight,
Even in Winter's frigid arms they show but little restraint,
They will lonely-peek over pure white blankets,
Always ready for their turn at the ball,
Pretty as gilded lilies in a simpler fashion,
Queens of the prairie waving and fluttering,
They'll always gift you a back -home feeling if you look long and slow,
Sort of child sisters of Mesmer.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/16/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Mister Scott's Final Miracle...

He's going back up,
High up into the black silent void,
Where the stars never blink in myriad colors,
Riding a quaint old rocket's roaring flame,
No impulse nor warp nor ion drive,
Although he'd "miracled" them all at some place or time,
Now his ashes will orbit the Earth as is only fitting,
A little something he engineered while still alive,
The inspiration of thousands of engineers,
Aye Cap'n and a star to steer a teary eye,
They twinkle and sparkle don't ye know,
Mister Scott's final miracle utterly fitting and right,
God bless you James Doohan as you ride the endless ebony night,
For this time, you've gone where every man has had to go before.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/15/2005

Author's Comments:
James Doohan's ashes will ride a rocket into space on December 6th, 2005, to orbit the Earth until atmospheric friction causes them to spiral in and burn up. His vaporized remains will eventually become utterly a part of all the Earth thanks to mortality, the one ship he couldn't fix. He inspired so many young people to go into engineering he was awarded an honorary engineering degree. He sails the night with the hearts and hopes of many millions, exploring the final frontier even in spirit.

www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/...index.html

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Benny The Bug's Fall Diner...



Heh-Heh,
Step it slow and cautious down my block kid,
You never know who'll punch yer lunch ticket,
Better fly high right on by,
It's a hungry day and I've got a thousand babies to feed,
I've climbed the ladder and I'm all set,
It's the Halloween hustle if you come too close,
I've got a sticky spell better than most,
A cold and calculated contract to fulfill,
I'm a bug-eyed bandit out for a thrill,
I'll sit at a witch's door full of poison brew,
Bite a black cat or a Druid what's more or even you,
Come see the pretty silvery shadows that shine,
I'm Benny the Bug and your carcass is all mine!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/14/2005

Milkweed Magic...




Soft silk bursting to float on chill Fall air,
Milkweed pods like cotton puffs release their aviators,
When the winds kick up and a hawk circles amid swirling white motes,
The sun breaks through the grey cloud fluff and mist,
A single beam onto the amber and straw prairie below,
Lancing through the center of a flotilla of Canada geese,
Lazing down a little Midwestern river,
Their follow-on mallard groupies quack and dive,
The world is slow and at peace.


Coffee mug in one hand and slow cigar in the other,
I smoke signal the sky along the walking path,
Watching toast-gold thistle crowns swaying in the breeze,
Ruling over rustling gentle bleached yellow grasses,
Yellow tiny butterflies flutter around the occasional regal monarch,
Tiny denizens daring the silvery spin of spiders' web,
Giant oak and walnut trees tower over the maple,
Red or yellow or orange or rust with sugar maples for company,
The thickets and the canopy full of bird chatter,
Flocking blackbird pit stop full of brown sparrow gossip,
The robins too good and cheery to participate,
My steps are slow and soaring easy over the path.

Feeling connected to the Earth I walk this path of peace.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/13/2005

Monday, October 10, 2005

Ghosts Of The Fall
This picture was taken at Eaton Preserve in Plainfield in the Fall of 2004. This house was the original farmhouse of the farm that became the preserve. This house was torn down this past week, only a hole in the broken ground remains.

Dan






It is the small things in their billions from which we derive life,
In the shades of every leaf of the Fall and every blade of grass,
It is in the unknown stories of abandoned houses that the past haunts us,
And we see ghosts in the colors of the Fall.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/10/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Monday, October 03, 2005

When Comes The Fall...

Sun low and slow across the sky,
Each ray slightly tilted,
As cloud fish fish swim the sky in earnest,
A different tint of azure comes above,
Ancient trees give leaf prayers to the cooling winds,
The amber fields are drawn up and cleaned as we pray thanks,
Birds swirling swarms alight on wires by the mile,
Gold of grasses past their season,
Candles and back yard fires glow as sun falls,
Stars come out and the Hunter rises again,
Hearts turn inward in reflection,
Seeing the season and seasons past,
Wondering at the spectacle of rest before renewal,
All things come in their time,
We remember such grace and grandeur anew,
When comes the Fall.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/02/2005

Saturday, October 01, 2005

A moment to point out my new chapbook of poetry, "Battle For New Orleans."

You can find a link in the column to the right where a copy may be purchased. All royalties earned will be donated to Oprah's Angel Network for Katrina survivors. (Oprah pays the administrative costs, so anything I raise will go directly into relief for the victims of the hurricane.)

This book includes 14 poems that I feel sum up the timeline of the hurricane emotionally and spiritually. For $0.69 you can download a copy and $0.50 will go to the Angel Network. (After I recoup the $34.95 fee for the ISBN number) If you prefer hard copy, you can order the print version for a little over $5.50 and $0.50 will still go to the Angel Network.

Even if you decide not to purchase "Battle For New Orleans" please consider donating to the charities supporting Katrinas' victims as often as you possibly can for the next two or three years. They have suffered terribly and will need all the help they can get to get back on their feet.

You can purchase the book here:


Battle For New Orleans
Battle For New Orleans Cover
Royalties go to Katrina charity.

Sincerely and with thanks,

Dan
Magic Mirror...

She looks in the misty silvered glass with a deep sigh,
Black candle burning with bright purple fire,
Black cat with burning purple eyes curled up in her lap,
Such tedium as she puts on the basic green,
Glues on warts and a crooked nose,
"Mirror, mirror, tell me no lie,
Am I finally ugly enough to fly?"

Silly silly rules to fly by an amber gibbous Moon on Halloween,
After all, if you had crystal balls and love potions by the numbers,
Wouldn't you snap your wand and look like Clarke Gable or Marilyn Monroe?

A gal's gotta keep up her image, you know!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/31/2005

Friday, September 30, 2005

Serious Review...

She pushes the spectacles down her nose at another Soul left to Ponder,
Closes the window to falling leaves and beautiful colors,
Her couch is lost in the Deep Dark Woods of the Soul where we lie tied,
Seeing scene after scene of questions as a quilt of potential guilt wraps us,
Stifling and hard as the coffee grows cold like our bones,
She walks out the door leaving us to untangle the wounds and woes,
Eyes locked on the channel we are helpless to change,
She has fulfilled her mission in droves,
Thin cords will bind us beneath sight or logic,
Maybe we'll discover her sister sweeter,
A certain archetypal type called simply Resolution.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/30/2005

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

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

As The Ages Speak...

I was staring a 19th century Navaho poet in the words this afternoon,
Then surfing Neruda's private seas en ingles y espanol,
Hearing the call to love the Earth with the bonds of stewardship,
A duty simply laid upon man and forgotten in conveniently complex fashion,
The albatross of sanity was flying jigs as I looked beneath a carpet of customs.

Legends and Genesis from three continents cry as the butterflies pass by,
Multicolored threads woven through a fabric of life once lush and rich,
Lunatic shears born in five fingered hands sever such yarn as they may find,
Convinced of dominion yet holding no understanding of the shape of that mountain,
Blindly following the blind searching for a candle already laid at their feet out of sight.

No host need come down nor Almighty lift a finger,
Walking the highway to Hell is all down hill from here,
Girded by entrenched walls of silence and fear,
We were given a job and our fears have hands in the small of our backs,

As we lie down and the clocks tick by a Revelation nears our door and it is Us,
Stagnated in the walls of tradition and habit and who do you know deals,
Speaking of ideals in nonchalant splendor and failing to live His word or our own,
What we speak and live is what defines us and our fate.

The time of Tribulations is rooted in a simple failure of vision, social compact, and too-glued traditions -
All God has to do is sit back and watch; all we have to do is Steward the Earth and each other,
As the ages speak of Tribulations come and gone only now we can do it bigger and bolder,
Such is the nature of duopoly consisting of duty and free will.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/25/2005
Rattlebones Review...

Amber Moon perched on the hilltop,
Down at the end of Red Eye road,
Walk the chill spines rattling all along,
A marching band of bone flutes whistling an ancient song,
Jolly Jones and Roger too in rotted tatters they stroll,
Risen for one night - All Hallows Eve.

The band has singing notes from cutlasses,
Swishing in bare knuckled hands,
A drumming upon stretched skins,
Stolen from the Witches' lair,
They dance and they rattle their symphony,
Beyond any mortal care.

Symbols bang upon reality that bends,
Following the black flag down,
Unearthly lights in ghost town windows,
Bats shriek high over skeleton heads,
To meet the bride of Dracula 'pon the peak of Dead Man's Knoll,
Furious sticks of wormwood beat like heads the drums do roll.

Eerie honks and whistles blare,
Calling spirits of the night,
A sight few mortals shall see yet live to speak by day,
The coven is cackling harshly high upon straw brooms,
Black clouds swirling fast over every star,
The rats and worms dance quickly into the medicine jar.

Howl now - howl me buckos the ship that sank,
She's rotting upon the bottom rocks,
This stony shore we tonight must walk,
The seas are tossed and lightness black,
The waves cadence to our soulless song,
Raise what hackles you might have left -

We'll play it all night long!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/28/2005
Gossamer Soul...

If there is a font of kindness you have drawn it's draught surely,
In the well of imagination you have bathed by Moonlight,
Dancing upon clouds you rain smiles upon the Earth,
Even filled with tears to bursting you are a light among shadows,
Knowing that to be human is to feel pain you still exude joy,
Worry not that your empathy is leaden.

If you impart laughlight into darkness then you have sung your brightest song.

Whirl upon your pedestal amidst the soulflowers,
Itself merely the earthen hill where the sunrise is your backlight,
Innocent wisdom becomes you,
As we are all graced to know your name,
When you light upon your castle's ramparts,
Rainbow wings folded shut and having done what you must...

Be filled with knowing that this is enough.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/28/2005

Author's Comments:
For Spinny.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Re: "Last Gas":

I know this is a tremendously difficult subject in this poem. Somehow, some way, we must heal the wounds of our division and search our souls to find the kindness, compassion, and ethics that had been the hallmark of our nation. In the end, this is what all people of honor in our country truly long for. It is critical to the future of the entire world that we find a way to do so. We will never be able to accomplish this within the bounds of silence that seem walled between us. Even in anger this is what drives me to speak. In our heart of hearts, we all know this need. How will we ever satisfy it?

Dan

Thursday, September 22, 2005

I really wish I didn't have to say this, but it needs to be said...

The Reason The Hurricanes Will Intensify The Anti-War Effort:


They say Katrina & Rita are going to detract attention from the effort to end the war. I say Bullshit. They are going to cost so damn much money that they are going to force the Bushwackers to BRING THEM HOME to deal with it financially and physically. There are too many links between the subjects.

1. The war in iraq is about oil. Even Bushwack himself said so not long ago.
2. The hurricanes are messing with the oil supply worse than you'll ever want to know - although you WILL...
3. The hurricanes are being made worse by Global Warming as the higher water temperatures in the Gulf of Mexico add energy to these storms. They may have to create a category 6.
4. We need the troops home and the money home to deal with the messes.
5. Even the densest SUV drivers are going to feel extreme pain filling up if this thing hits the Galveston refineries and it suddenly costs ** $80.00 + ** to fill up a regular car, let alone the $100.00 + to fill up a big PIG like a Hummer or Suburban.
6. If we had done our homework over the past 20 years like we should have, (Get that idea, will you cheaters and "only money matters" people) we wouldn't need nearly so much oil, Iraq wouldn't have been worth the bother to the Oil Mob that the computers elected, and Global Warming wouldn't be adding nearly so much steamroller "oomph" to these Gulf hurricanes.
7. We AREN'T GOING TO LET THEM FORGET THAT THE TWO SUBJECTS ARE INEXTRICABLY LINKED FOR ONE NANOPICOFEMTOMILLIMICROSECOND! Raise that flag in DC this weekend. Frame the whole thing continuously and inextricably in WHAT IT IS ALL REALLY ABOUT. *ENERGY GREED, EVIL, AND STUPIDITY*
--
"Loyalty to the country always. Loyalty to the
government when it deserves it."
----------------------------------
One person, One vote, It Counts! Do it, America!
http://www.illinoisprogressives.org/pdi/

----------------------------------------------------------

Last Gas...

"And they said her name was Rita..."

She came ripping up the gulf like a bad Godzilla swarm,
Mother Nature's take on B-flick horror,
Headed straight for the refineries like a tight-wound white steamroller,
Storm surges higher than twenty feet.

Those silvery Moonlight beaches of Galveston I remember will never be the same.

The pundits were screaming five bucks plus and lines at the pumps,
The stocks were at the bottom and digging for China,
Guess they had a bamboo handle on the shovel,
And all the heat in the Gulf these days must go somewhere.

Straight for the source of the tailpipe emissions.

Houston to the station - mayday, mayday, mayday,
We're on an evacuation route doing ninety North and dodging busses,
Not sure how long the cell phone will hold out,
Give our regards to Moscow and tell 'em we're sorry but runnin'.

Texas may be big but it's about to be flat.

The white clouds are swirling and underneath it's black as night,
Another three million gallons a day capacity under Mother Nature's heel and squished,
The Earth herself is nuking the source of the sickness better than Commies on steroids,
She's not whispering at all anymore folks - close the moon roofs on your SUV's.

How many more oil company CEO's you wanna elect now?

Guess we here in the North are going to be doing tent cities and soup line set up,
The refugees are on the roll again poor souls - their erstwhile hosts are joining the caravan,
So now the shoe is on both feet tight and hurting bad to blistering,
And half of us plus the computer glitch didn't want to buy the pair.

Shoulda listened to those environmental folks 'cause today is the Last Gas.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/22/2005


Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

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

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Of Whispers And Secrets...

In the calm place that should be my mind the words are winding up to pitch,
I lay on the cotton thick and darling - unprepared to sort wheat from which,
Internal ear muffs and denial like ambrosia for the blind,
I see too much and hear too much and live in interesting times.

The muse comes and lays down tracks like a rock star in high fidelity.

There is no ignoring the pace of the race that no one seems to be winning,
Insipid whispers howling and faces all around scowling,
Tied up like rats in the maze when we only need to let the words go soft,
Find the strength it takes to abandon fears of weakness and bear the character of kindness.

It's written in ancient books and modern songs what salve to the wounds we must find.

The answer my friend is blowing in the winds of change and potential is charging,
Spiritually the way to love can not be forced or coerced or feared into being,
Only one path leads to salvation founded in mortal coil or spirit,
As He said love thy neigbor as thyself - stop treating yourself so badly.

Love is a slow and undefined path where fear is a greased toboggan run to doom.

When you open your eyes and ears fully what voice are you choosing to hear,
Faith or fear and love or lies - in this space there are no shades of grey,
There are two kinds of angels and I prefer those that fly rather than crawl,
The ones who simply state and never whisper.

Honestly - Love needs no secrets.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/17/2005

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

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

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.

In The Silent Streets...

...heavy silence like a lead curtain.

Live oaks wading nameless into the Fall,
Scent of the reaper in the dead air where the rage blew through.

Home of the jazzblues has lost its neon nights,
As the ghostwalkers reap the harvest in solemn earnest.

Tropical heat heavy with hearts' burden thundered down deafening,
It's the time for tears now as the stars shine down,
Sheets of hand-written music with famous signatures...

Fade away into the stench of forever,
ragged angry shades in the silent streets.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/10/2005

Author's Comments

I was thinking of what it must be like walking in New Orleans doing the clean up. The task they are faced with now. The other thing that struggles in my mind is the lost music - New Orleans' musical history is extremely rich. I've heard that Jelly Roll Morton, for instance, wrote all of his music by hand with pencil and paper - and those precious sheets of our history may well be lost forever. The live oaks are all named and chronicled in New Orleans. Look up the Live Oak Society - many will die having their roots submerged for so long. What a wicked harvest this Fall has reaped.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

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

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

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.

Monday, September 05, 2005

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.

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Dancing For The Tribe...

My people.
Your people.
Our people.

Varied like daily sunsets.

Changing rules and lies and fears that fade like dust.

It blows down the hill at sunset just before the stars howl.

It was a child's eyes that always saw them moving,
Fleet across the skies like night birds aglow in Heaven,
Satellites are like dreams come true in a way.

If you vanish into the New Mexico desert,
You'll see more Heaven than a lonely campfire could possibly create.

It's in the dark of night that you see the most distant lights.

It has to be dark or you're blind.

Don't stare at the campfire - keep your night vision clear,
Until you're able to see ghosts and whisper to our ancestors.

Stand upon the high rock naked of all but cotton.

Feel what we've been missing, listen to the wind on the rocks -
Maybe you'll hear the treasure of raindrops melting against your skin.

It's the music of falling rain and desert wind,
The merger of camp fire and starlight,
The howl of lonely stars in the sky.

Maybe it's so dark even lies glow an evil red.

It's time to start dancing a prayer of hope and wisdom - maybe deliverance.

Start dancing for the tribe.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/03/2005

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Blessed Rain...

The tawny edges of death color the drought,
The worst in a hundred years they say,
Trees of Fall in mid-July .

The endless heat drains you like a carotid cut.

In the struggle of bucket brigades and hoses,
The falling pond where moss sweeps clear the water,
Even the mud is gone yellow and cracked.

The grey skies have come and gone simply spitting upon us.

The tease of dry dark clouds eats at the spirit,
Not a mosquito whines at an ear - not even one,
The herons stare starkly at receding ripples of brackish muck.

The scientists can battle with politicians until the cows come home.

I just thank God that today came the blessed rain.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 07/26/2005

Monday, July 25, 2005

Le Aqua Na Sand Castles...

Dreams -

Sunlight and flowing gold -

Childhood cameos built on sand -

Golden ripples on lake water -

Hours building sand castles, a green leaf flag perched atop -

Parent and child on forever's shore -

When the green trees rustle,
When the black water ripples,
When the sunlight dapples gentle waves -

The clock will stop -

I will remember childhood dreams.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 07/25/2005

Thursday, March 03, 2005

River Fest...

I was born in a little town in the Midwest,
In the heart of Winter when it was the harshest cold,
In a small industrial town with a mighty river run through it's heart,
The length of the city it flows,
From far North in Wisconsin down to the big Mississippi,
Seeming to freeze over in this time,
Never believe moving water is more than passingly solid,
Stay far from the dam,
The water is green with a strong scent as such rivers like to be,
People have been drowned in it from time to time,
And such is the nature of rivers...



In the summertime when the leaves are green,
It's hot by the river and there is a long park along it's Eastern bank,
Maybe two miles and a bit more,
The trees are large and towering mostly,
The lagoon where the pedal boats play has a warming house,
They plow it for skating in colder winters,
But in the joyous Summer the leaves and water are green,
And everyone from here goes out that weekend,
In boats packed like a school,
In flowing human rivers of feet,
Strolling up and down the sidewalk there are carnival rides,
Bright colored lights and popcorn and hot dogs and cotton candy,
Children darting forever around the trees and laughing on the rides,
And all along the park stages and music -
Country bands - blues bands - rock bands - polka bands,
Time crosses over in a small town and the river flows seemingly slow,
Cheap Trick is on the big stage again tonight,
Way down by Portland Ave - local boys from twenty minutes away,
This river runs through their town too,
For all of us it's banks are stuck in our definition of home.


In child days I walked hand-holding along these banks and sidewalks,
Seeing all the rides and dreaming of being frightened out of my wits,
Sugar cookie in the hand not in Noni's and it was Summer,
Bright lights and lightning bugs were filling my eyes,
The cotton candy puffs were like giant balls of wished-for Heaven,
And I learned to stay a good bit back from the river,
Because I might fall in and drown,
And there would be pasta with meatballs on the table tonight,
When the teenagers and twentylings owned this place,
These lights by the river and the endless flowing sounds.


In first love days I walked hand-holding along these banks,
She had bright blue eyes the color of pale ice like when I was born,
Raven hair and part Native American only neither of us used those words for it,
I almost missed the carnival lights by the river completely,
Every ten minutes we ran into friends somewhere in the flow down the sidewalk,
All going to see Cheap trick play for the first time here,
River fest was growing and my dreams were growing,
Dangerously I swam the currents,
Never knowing her ice blue eyes were the river,
I reveled in my strength swimming,
In joy in that season before the ice came,
I had flashbacks of cotton candy and lights,
She had another man's ring and children later that Winter,
And I swam in the green scented waters freezing and thawing for ten years,
Drifting with whatever flotsam would keep me breathing,
While Summer became half over.


In what I thought were growing up days I walked hands-free along these banks,
Seeing children care-free and lovers and old friends missed since last year,
Or was it the Riverfest five years ago,
Or maybe two but they were here again,
Where the carnival rides played their music and I wondered,
Wishing I were hand-holding here along these banks,
Standing alone as the rock and roll washed over me,
Drinking and walking because I could and it's what we did,
Dancing now and then and pretty eyes reflected the carnival ride lights,
Passing me by like the green water of the river twenty feet away,
But I cared less about cotton candy,
And the hot dogs with chili were all right,
Don't hold the blues on the halfway stage,
Twentyling swimming the riverfest,
Still caught in last year's ice.


In one short summer I walked hand-holding along these banks,
Seeing an occasional old friend and saying hello,
How many years has it been now,
Proud and beaming like the lights on the joyrides,
Awash in the rock and roll she had auburn hair and cinnamon apple eyes,
And I was swimming in the water as I walked,
Understanding it could drag you down dogged my heels,
Worrying like a child wanting to be on the rides,
Hoping the cotton candy was going to be sweet,
Unconscious and vividly awake at the same time,
Cheap Trick was playing the big stage,
And I ate the hot dogs and chili gratefully,
Glad to give whatever I had and in love like a doormat,
Begging for even the touch of cold feet,
I learned after that Summer was gone like the carnival lights,
That no one can respect someone swimming in a river of obsession,
No matter how beautiful the pretty lights and cotton candy,
Too sweet is too sweet is the wisdom,
Yet the ride on the other side of the sidewalk was it was a great summer,
That I'll love likely all my life,
And the green water still flows along and the dregs of that summer,
Long flowed down the Mississippi and out to sea,
Like an old tramp steamer you miss her and all the dancing but she can't keep you,
The stage is empty and they turned out the rock and roll lights.


In another time I walked hand-holding down these banks,
Not seeing a single soul I knew,
Styx was warming up for Cheap trick on the big stage,
It was hot in the Summer night,
Children were darting and crowds were flowing up and down,
Circling the sidewalk circle under the stars and big trees,
Red and green and white boat lights and the occasional firefly,
Glow stick necklaces and the music blaring from the rides,
And I felt solid ground beneath my feet,
A warm hand in mine as the bands played,
Noni and Nono were on the other side of town,
Years in the ground but right here along this river of green water,
Mom was fading to ashes but I didn't know it yet,
Honey was unimpressed with this little town.


But I was born on this river and the music was good,
There was real gold on my finger and I was far from drowning,
The bratwurst and coke were tasting great,
Funny thing it still feels like home,
I've left and come back so many times,
I could feel these banks under my feet and never mistake it,
Maybe next summer I won't be on the pager,
The carnival will set up and the moon will shine on the river,
The bands will play all up and down the heart of the city,
After all this is Rock River we're speaking of,
And I will walk the banks searching for long-forgotten faces,
Yes my brother's out there on his boat,
Got two little boys just like him now,
I'm not sure if Dad or Sis came down this year,
Yeah they're still around here,
No my other Sis is up in Madison,
My other brother's living in the area still,
Step brother's out in Michigan and got married,
How's your mother and your brother,
Yeah Beloit doesn't change that much does it,
By the way how long has it been,
Since I last saw you at Riverfest, here along the Rock?


I was born in a little town in the Midwest,
In the heart of Winter when it was the harshest cold,
In a small industrial town with a mighty river run through it's heart,
The length of the city it flows,
From far North in Wisconsin down to the big Mississippi,
Seeming to freeze over in this time,
Never believe moving water is more than passingly solid,
Stay far from the dam,
The water is green with a strong scent as such rivers like to be,
People have been drowned in it from time to time,
And such is the nature of rivers...

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/26/2004


By: Daniel A. Stafford

Author's Comments

I just woke up a few minutes ago, I'd been dreaming of old friends and back home.
Amid Cattails Slowly....

White and sharp and ghostly,
The slightest breath of sound brings wings to loft,
A sign of spring as sure as the sun returns,
Regal and mystical amid the mirrored waters,
The flight above from the Everglades to Illinois and beyond,
I see the White Heron stalking frog princes and fish,
The sunset on white feathers is a glow upon my pond,
And I feel the call of the Druids to love the land,
Still in the gaze of that baleful and piercing eye,
Dancing amid that cattails slowly step by step,
I know there is more beneath the surface,
Awaiting discovery in the coming summer.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/03/2005
Embers...

Some might wonder why there's a chamber in my heart that beats for gone,
But I have to wonder why it even gets called that,
I still remember the fallen hair haloed in flaming tresses,
Caressing her shoulders like a cloud aglow.

When I look back I leave the flames and warm my hands upon the embers,
All those places and moments where a spark of tenderness burned in,
Fighting for a football in summer grass that turned into a helpless kiss,
Or wading through tannin water burbling over limestone.

Just a few treasures that I can't speak of much now,
But I lived my dream for a brief summer,
And that warm season doesn't need to be forgotten,
Unconditional is a word that makes it like that.

Let the silent embers glow.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/03/2005

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.


Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Cosmic Shower Three...

The seven part harmony of grace is a reflection,
All the world is a vast vibration divisible by the louder number of God,
For the Cosmic speaks in the harmony of sevens' effects on three.

It's a song of sorts and one that neither ends nor has limits,
Or a vast intelligence that quietly emphasizes grace,
All around us and yet we believe we can't see.

Perhaps it's too obvious right under our noses,
Because we're only seventy percent the eye of God,
Blended with all the other colors written by Infinite Intelligence.

Love speaks best in a harmonic chord with two parts gratitude,
A simple truth that rests between sunlight and silvery moonglow,
One part oxygen to two parts hydrogen and the most fluid part of everything alive.

Can you feel the spirit each time you walk along the beach,
Feel a cool mist on your face or dance in warm summer rains,
Lick a snowflake from a whirling grey sky near the burble of ice-jeweled creeksong?

Each molecule of vapor in the air can hold a universe,
Each reflection of all there is flowing everywhere upon this world,
Within and all about us and connected to everything upon this Earth.

You know it every time you see it or taste it or scent it or breathe it in,
Water is a sacred thing of utter beauty and now they say the very eye of God,
Perhaps and seeing that all of what we call reality is God's endless song.

Say a prayer of thanks for every snowflake and raindrop,
Love every bit of pristine and clean sparkling brook and lake,
Sing praise for the gift of oceans and rivers and clouds.

The frequency of a human being is over five billion yet divisible by seven,
Seventy percent water which is the only substance able to resonate to every frequency,
In such a beautiful blue world how can you claim never to see miracles?

May God grant you the gift of fresh mountain snow.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/02/2005

Author's Comments:
Two must-see sites:
www.bariumblues.com/consc...ystals.htm
www.wellnessgoods.com/messages.asp

Love & Gratitude:

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Friday, February 18, 2005

Sangiovese Wine:

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http://www.lightverse.com/LightVerseDocLibrary/frmViewDocByID.asp?ID=7880

It's Raining Sangioviese:

Puff Daddy on a fat cigar,
Big red cherry and the scent of fresh smoke,
Left field on the glow in the dark wood arch,
Twist the knob just right it's all very fine,
Old lost legends from time out of mind,
Piano trinkets dance on cello and violin carpet,
Spring is on and long, long ball gowns are out,
Apple blossom left and cherry blossom right,
Finally got over it all and closed our eyes,
The darkness was quiet once more,
Forty Six was still way too close,
But after the party was over,
There was so much to grieve,
So much to be thankful for,
People were torn to shreds between,
Heaven and Hell both pulling like Clydesdales,
Until the vines were picked clean by a tornado,
And everyone put out pots and pans,
Instead of filling them with tears,
It was raining Sangioviese,
Blood red deep and delicious,
Tilt your glass and dance,
And get a lid on the rain barrel quick,
If it it ever stops,
Or so the legend went...

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 05/28/2003

Author's Comments
Just watched The Pianist on DVD. How incredibly much the survivors had to mourn and celebrate at the same time. All of them, everywhere. Sangioviese is a very full flavored Italian wine that is a knockout with pork or barbecue. It is also mixed with Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon to make Chianti. Americans consume one in three bottles of all sangioviese produced, and it is primarily a wine of Tuscany, which is where my grandfather Gino (Nono) was from.
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http://huntingsociety.org/Sangiovese.html

Thank you for visiting SanGioviese Wines. We try to provide you with the most complete information we can about how to use wine with food. If you have recipes to contribute, please do and we will give you credit if you wish. We update our sources constantly. Please click on the names below for information..

Food to Eat with a Sangiovese

The Sangiovese is the grape of Chianti, the great red wine from Tuscanny. It had a rich, deep flavor with medium acidity that goes well with almost any red meat game. It is not a great wine like a Hermitage or a Chateau Lafite but this medium bodied, very drinkable wine will enhance the flavor oa any game.

History and Characteristics

Montalcino is Tuscany's premier wine-producing town and the Sangiovese has been grown here for over 700 years, almost since time immemorial. It makes a perfect drinking wine suitable with game and particularly the rich ripe flavors of Italian food. Americans love the pure Sangioveses from Montalcino, buying about one of every three bottles produced in recent vintages. (Annual production of Brunello is about 6 million bottles.) And we pounce on great vintages, making the 1999s especially attractive.

Sangiovese is the workhorse grape of Chianti and Italy's leading variety. It is medium bodied with a firm, dry texture and a tannic backbone that allows for moderate aging, a dozen years or more with full-bodied styles, though five to eight years is usually the optimum. Sangiovese has a floral bouquet, which many describe as that of violets, something I've never noticed myself. Cherry aromas and flavors may evolve into leather and tobacco with age. Throughout there is a touch of earth and always that zing of acidity.

Transported to California, it has a wonderful harmony of fruit, tannins and acidity that make a great Sangiovese so striking. Most are very close to drinking well when they are released. They are aged a minimum of two years in cask or barrel, then another two years in bottle before they are shipped from the cellars. This long maturation helps refine the wine to a degree greater than what is achieved with, say, California Cabernet or Bordeaux, which in general spend no more than two years in barrel and another six months in bottle before they are released.

"Today's Brunellos have a lovely freshness and beautiful fruit that give you great pleasure right away," says Guerrini of Fuligni. "That's our strong point. The wines have slightly lower acidity and the tannins are much better now. The wines are really good from the beginning."

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http://www.newcastle-wine.co.uk/redwines/productssimple0.html


Inycon Sangiovese, 2002, Italy 6 Sicily is becoming a major player in exporting to the UK now. First we had the excellent Planeta wines now we have a new barrage of wines including this one, with a stolen grape variety from Chianti! Ripe blackcurrant and chocolate with some soft tannins, very good. £4.99 (WR)
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http://forums.egullet.org/index.php?showtopic=48643


We opened a bottle of the 2000 on Saturday. It was closed and had a very strange nose for about a half hour after decanting. Then it opend up into the beautiful wine I expected, very forward with plummy sangioviese fruit. perfectly balanced with a very nice finish. More sangioviese then cabernet in the mouth and on the nose.

I compare it to the Segerretta Belguardo 2001 because in our market the prices are comparable. Very much nicer (the Campaccio) for immediate drinking.

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http://www.newcastle-wine.co.uk/about.html

Generalising, Old world countries produce classic wines stemming from the country’s indigenous individuality and the classic grape varieties. For example, Italy’s Tuscan flagship wine is Chianti, made from Sangioviese or Bordeaux classics are blended from the noble grapes Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Cabernet Franc.

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http://www.wineguy.org/ItalianWinesatOliveGarden.html


Wineguy's Notes
Italy produces more wine and has a greater diversity of grapes varieties than any wine making country in the world.
Italy is as diverse in its wine making as it is in its culture. Today we are reviewing Italian Wines at the Olive Garden.
Spumante (Sparkling)


7)Chianti Classico, Riserva Rocca delle Macie Rocca delle Macie just means fortress of littles stones and their
winery is literally a fortress of little stones. This Chianti Classico is a blend of Sangiovese, Cabernet Sauvignon and
Merlot. Chianti Classico means that it comes from the oldest and the best district in the Chianti Region.
Lambrusco, Riunite
Rosso, Principato

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http://www.asc-wines.com/en/winery_it.html

Tenuta Col D'orcia / Tuscany

Founded in the 18th century, this highly acclaimed estate in the Montalcino Commune, south of Siena, Saint Angelo, Colle, produces Tuscany's finest wines from Sangioviese and Cabernet Sauvignon grapes.

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http://www.grazianosgourmet.com/sp/list.php?page=4&prodtype=17

616 Tinto Don Miguel Gascón Don Miguel Gascon Sangioviese $ 14.00
2000
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My absolute favorite Sangioviese:

http://www.danzantewines.com/sangiovese.html


Wednesday, February 09, 2005

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
(C) 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.

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.