Monday, August 08, 2022

That Pastel Hour...

That Pastel Hour...

Sky as soft as baby's breath,
Water color gold,
Lapis lazuli,
Breeze comes to dry,
Brush-stroked Temecula evening,
I'm walking in a dream.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/08/2022

Sunday, October 10, 2021

A Necessary Environment For Poetry...

I find that I need alone time with my own thoughts to be able to write poetry - or much of anything else original for that matter.

It's no small wonder to me that I wrote my first poem in nearly a year while walking a little more than two miles alone on a pleasant Autumn afternoon.

The vast majority of my poetry was written while I was on third shift for nearly 20 years. Those quiet times in the wee hours when nothing was broken or planned were perfect for it.

First shift in a riled up pandemic era is just way too much noise for an artistic soul to see the precious things in life through a time of inner reflection that has no time to exist.

That and this little chatterbox in its hip holster is both a blessing and a curse. I wish we were still only using laptops and desktops sometimes.

How is everyone?


Saturday, October 09, 2021

The Walk...

The Walk... 

A little more than two miles,
Sunny cool Autumn afternoon,
The sidewalk is quiet,
Tires on the street are not.

The occasional foot wanderer passes by,
One young couple holding hands,
We nod like members of a sunshine club,
Soles for our souls instead of tires.

I snap a fallen leaf on the sidewalk,
Perfectly in Autumn's spotlight,
Half- listening to a podcast,
Trying to hear over the tire noise,
And over my own walking thoughts.

Crossing intersections,
My shield of painted lines,
Red green orange white lights,
I wave at the observational kindnes of strangers,
Remnant of polite society.

It strikes me how much better the world could be,
If only we could commute on our feet,
The amazing investment we'd make in public health,
The connection to nature and seasons,
Something our society doesn't seem to see.

I think of how it is we view people on their feet,
We who ride on magic carpets of glass and plastic and steel,
Our lives so rooted in seats.

It was just yesterday I overheard,
"He was walking down rhe street like he was homeless,"
I know we need to change that frame,
In search of,

I remember the clear and clean skies,
Spring of 2020,
I could see the distant hills,
A reminder of my childhood,
I know how clear we could see and breathe.

All I know,
It doesn't matter who thinks what,
Given the choice,
I'll take the walk.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/09/2021

Monday, July 05, 2021

In The Path Of Moving Air...

In The Path Of Moving Air...


It's all about heat,
From fireworks to haze,
A shimmer over pavement,
Who needs a microwave oven?

The Sun shines practically at night,
Everywhere in it feels like the depths of the Sahara.

Much as I love,
Come nightfall,
I'm putting bare skin in the path of moving air.


© 07/05/2021

Wednesday, December 23, 2020

First Breath Of Chicago Winter...


First Breath Of Chicago Winter...

I saw flurries last night,
Walked the charcoal- dark crush of silent Chicago night,
It wasn't the city lights that dazzled in those quiet hours;
The vast emptiness of glass and steel,
It breathes and exhales people,
Near to numerous as air molecules,
Yet in the night there's only my now-visible breath,
Cabs prowl the streets in search of migrating oxygen;
Capital thrives on the back of this magnificent strange.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/13/2014

Saturday, December 12, 2020

The Un-Loved Christmas Ornament..

The Un-Loved Christmas Ornament..

Akin to the ugly duckling,

You don't have to fall in love,

You don't have to take it home.

It just sits there on your desk,

Keeping you company at work,

Reminding you of a kinder season.

Someday when this door closes,

It will still be there in a drawer,

A little something holiday warm,

To keep a working person company,

A little touch of grace,


Of all that hustle-bustle.

Merry Christmas,


Happy New Year!


By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 12/12/2020