Sunday, December 28, 2003

Limestone Under Sunset Siege:

I walked the path today,
Saw the crumbling limestone,
Foundations a shadow of when,
Simpler has gone or so we'd say,
Blacktop paved prairie paths,
Between tame milkweed ponds,
Canada geese sail a spring fed gravel pit,
And the only signs of amber waves,
Are crumbling limestone squares,
Planters for shrubs and trees,
Reminders of where children dreamt,
And people lived close to the land.

The sunset swore soft pastels,
It was late December and warm,
Barely ice on the water,
No speck of snow to see,
Just Canada geese and crumbling limestone,
In almost hidden shrub covered squares,
Buried under Prairie grasses seemingly freed,
I wonder how long the herons will be gone,
In this only place they still make little herons.

The ghosts are trembling amidst the crumbling limestone,
Under the barely chill sunset rays,
Looking at the sunfire on water,
Tied to disappearing haunts,
Even Winter holds their trembling ethereal hands,
Walking with them into faded memory,
Like the sun at the end of a beautiful day.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/27/2003

Author's Comments:
It all seemed to come together, the fading sun, the crumbling ruins you barely knew were there, the lateness of Winter. The world changes and it only seems slow.

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

Last Breath:

The Oil Demons breathed their last breath,
It was thunderous rejoicing,
Children need not die in the sands,
In the streets or in the far countryside,
Winter could someday come back home to stay,
Poison could leave the land and lakes and seas,
In the silence of golden sunlight,
In the peace wrought of whirling white blades,
In the bountiful cascade of rolling waters,
In the field of golden harvests,
The treasures of gold and heart,
Home again to stay, to stay,
And once the people finally believed,
That was when the monsters were no longer needed,
And we could all walk closer to what God gave us,
Even though it took so much horror and filth to understand,
Cleanliness IS next to Godliness,
Just expand the concept,
Because the entire world is your home.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/24/2003

Author's Comments:
My biggest Christmas wish is that people will truly see what oil is doing
to us and add their voices to the clamor for a clean life and world. It's
worth it!

Thursday, December 18, 2003

"In the six kinds of fantasy I inhabit, in the lands where my mind must go,
I will picture resolution's face in a blur, and yet it shall come to be what I see."

Belief is a powerful thing. Many practice this mejik without understanding it in the least. So many have been told of the doom of fire for so long that their beliefs demand it to appear - and so it does. Yet in the understanding that beliefs can change is where the answer lies. There is a solution to the rising heat of the *Monotnussverse*, and it will be found by those who believe it will be found.
When China Comes Calling:

The dust bowls that are a quarter the size of the USA,
Blow hard on the minds of the prescient,
The rise of the Yangtze River screams the death knell of temples,
As the peasants climb away from home,
The grain stocks are almost gone and crops are failing,
Oceans rise and push inland slowly,
Squeezed between hungry blowing Earth and drowning swamps,
The deserts, oceans, and river are coming,
But who's going to feed that nearly a billion,
When China comes calling?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/18/2003

By: Daniel A. Stafford
Author's Comments

The Earth Policy Institute's analysts believe that China's grain storage will be completely depleted by 2004 - and that the huge country will for the first time in history turn to grain exporters such as the USA for food imports - In such quantities that US citizens will be competing with Chinese import companies for food. At the same time, crop yields worldwide are declining due to the advance of global warming. See the report at the link at the end of the poem.

Saturday, December 13, 2003

THe structure was somewhat unusual. It was entirelty crafted of some yellow metal. I couldn't for the life of me tell where the seams or joints were, it looked like it was all one piece.

Also, the ice was on the verge of turning to slush, so I had to stop my descent and set up a shield bubble spell. The shield bubble would stop any physical matter from getting through by diverting anything that touched it into a random mejiverse on the entry side and returning it to it's original mejiverse on the exact opposite side of the bubble. This could present problems for living beings, considering that their trip through the random mejiverse could take them through either a mejiverse with hostile phylaws that didn't allow life to exist, otr through an environment that was hard on living tissues, such as rock or hard vacuum. For this reason, the shield bubble spell also had a component that caused a blood red glow on the outer edge of the shield. This didn't serve as an effective warning to every life form, but at least 85% of known life forms are carbon based, and most of those in oxygen rich environments and using an iron-based liquid oxygen carrier for blood. Perhaps it's a superversal, but for some reason nearly all creatures stop when they see red. There could possibly be a psychic component to itas well. That would also qualify as superversal, but mejikal research was still in progress on the question and had been for a few millennia without a concrete answer.

Once the shield bubble was glowing, I advanced through the remaining ice between the yellow metal structure and myself until I was within three meters or so. At that point, I conjured a rubber ball out of the superverse and hit it with a slight impetus spell. The ball shot through the ice and hit the side of the structure. No reaction. I even set up a sensate spell and listened in for vibrations on the physical plane of the deep rumbling sort that usually proclaim danger in adventure stories. Nothing. It appeared that at least this portion of the structure was deserted. Perhaps it was too cold for watery life forms at this level. At any rate, I started up an Oxyjen spell to keep the air in the shield bubble within my phylaw tolerances for gas composition and temperature, and headed downward looking for an entry point.

Thursday, December 04, 2003

I was flying quietly around a planet in the Snowbelt - basically just a little ice ball that you couldn't see through. It appeared to be wobbling in it's orbit, but I wasn't quite sure. I took a six sided divination spell out and popped the mejik on it. Sure enough, the little tyke was wobbly.

Now, in this particular mejiverse, planets do not get wobbly, especially ice ball ones, unless they have some sort of life force field around them. You see, the laws of physics in various mejiverses vary, so I had to check the rule star in this one. (A rule star is basically an old black hole with three white dwarfs circling it's LaGrange points.) I checked the distances and orbital speed of the marker stars orbiting the rule star and got a rough read on the set of phy-law in this mejiverse. It was relatively close to my home mejiverse, but not identical. Of particular note was a rune marker left on the log asteroid in L-5. It noted specifically that life could be detected in this mejiverse by orbital wobble of planetary bodies due to a fairly strong interaction between gravity waves and life force emanations in this mejiverse.

Another interesting note was that the upper speed limit for physical travel in this mejiverse was four times the speed of light, provided the travel was including living entities. It seems that the life force in this universe also had a tendency to weaken inertia by twenty five percent or so once the life forms got clear of deep gravity wells such as planets, etc.

Now, it was already known that semi-intelligent humanoid creatures were evolving on the second rock from the parent star in this particular little planetary system. The parent star was of interest, as well. It had a high content of violet in it's light spectrum, giving everything a distinctly lavender tint, and looking similar to a blacklight bulb from any appreciable distance. An interesting side effect was the luminescence of anything white in the vincinity of this star. Hence the little ice ball not only was wobbly, but the ice had a slight chalk content to it, making it glow like some kind of pagan tree ornament.

I took stock of my current spell catalogue and found what I was looking for. It was a McKintosh Ice Borer spell. With it, I could travel through ice as if it were air, because my body and belongings would vibrate at a specific frequency that caused my atoms to miss the atoms of ice. I did what any third year novice mejishun would do, and verified it by landing on the surface and ice boring a marble through an ice chip on the surface after first using an Emerald Stare And Compare spell on the marble. (The Emerald version is compatible with 99.99999999999999999 percent of mejiverse phylaws.) The marble checked out perfectly after being bored. It's a good thing to be careful not to lose your marbles, you never know what they might be useful for.

On that note, I used the McKintosh to get bored. I floated in at about twenty knots for starters, and sure enough I came upon a layer of liquid water at a depth of fourty five fathoms. At that point I pulled out a Nucleustide Submarinating Particle accelerator spell and began diving in earnest. I was careful to use a Visifilter spell to utilize the ultraviolet penetration in order to see. That allowed me to blend into the natural setting here on Iceball. (I like the name, kind of catchy.)

I neared a hundred sevent fathoms and suddenly a clearly artificial structure loomed out of the darkness. I stopped the Nucleustide and pulled out a majorscrying spell to investigate.

Sunday, November 30, 2003

Heaven's Bells:

If our picture is our world,
Does the sum of our minds' eyes weigh on the scales of fate,
Does the sound of tears and wailing ring true in your heart,
Or is it the sound of laughter,
Maybe still the sound of the small sigh you can not hold in,
When one you love reaches your arms?

Can you see whales and hear their song,
Trying to understand what is said in the eons,
Beneath rolling waves of grey white blue,
Will you remember the connection,
That souls of different shapes must share,
When the Bells of Heaven ring,
Is it above the sky or beneath the sea?

When angels stand before you,
Will you picture cold lonely places,
The thousand thousand sad poems that seem to reach you,
Or the one kind word that seems so small and foolish,
Until you look it in the eye and it calls your name,
What responsibility do you bear,
For the things your imagination chooses to see?

When you are the Albatross floating in the sky of dreams,
Do you float over beaches filled with visions of Normandy,
Or lovers lost between sand and blue and palm fronds,
Cold ice at the top of the world,
Or silent dead boiling seas.

Skies of black or blue,
Warm hand or cold point of spear,
Shackles or joyous choices,
Raucous creatures or barren sands,
Red of Mars and Venus,
Or Earth so blue and green,
Guard your visions well.

They are the key to Heaven's Bells.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/30/2003

Author's Comments:
How we collectively see the world has great weight
upon how the world is in our lives. Think upon that deeply.[/b]
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.

Saturday, November 29, 2003

Legend of the Crystal Tree:

They say it existed bfore the time of men,
Some pre-dawn era when magic was the only cognition,
Before reason crossed the threshold of belief,
And before wonder could fall to "sense".

It was a thing of unimaginable beauty,
And the creatures that saw it lived with shining eyes,
All the days they were numbered in the Weave,
The Glow never left their eyes...

Druids once danced under it's light,
On the night of Winter Solstice,
When days were short and they sought warmth,
Fires that burn from the heart out are still hard to find.

The primitive barrows begged the Stars and Gods for food,
Seeking any power to help them survive,
Their small numbers braved the dark North in the night,
And only by it's light could they grow.

Kristallklarbaum - The crystal-clear tree,
Made of magic and light and pure water,
Clear as carved ice and gloriously alive,
Hidden deep down in the last baugrundhaus of the Anchients.

Lovers would disappear into the snow,
Winds howling like mad spirits desperately alone,
Only to return with glowing eyes and bear the Kinderstark,
Children of ferocious strength and heart and ability.

They would sing a soft melodic tinkling song in their dreams,
And speak in whispers of a glowing tree of light,
Deep in a sheltered cave surrounded by mighty stones,
Through which ran a frigid clear mountain stream.

They would say how the wind sang through it's branches,
Ringing like Yule bells in the night to guide them to shelter,
And whisper of the soft warmth under it's branches,
And the fierce desire that overtook them uncontrollably.

Such couples always married and never separated,
Their love lasting a lifetime and seeming chosen by forces beyond men,
Their children performing heroic deeds and near miracles,
And this is how those few survived and grew strong - even mighty.

If you wander in the far North hand in hand,
If you hear the winds howling like mad spirits amidst blinding snow,
And you suddenly hear the song of Kristallklarbaum on the wind,
Playing to the Universe on Winter Solstice eve

...may you come home with stars in your eyes.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/27/2003

Author's Comments:
Happy holidays - with love.

Thursday, November 20, 2003

The Flying Mejishuns are really whooping up a big shew!

In a Cape Canaveral hangar, a rocket of monstrous proportions and power is
taking shape. It will be unveiled next month, rolling to the launch pad to
prepare for a demonstration flight that will test its knack for lofting
hefty cargos into orbit and potentially one day ferrying humans to the
space station.
It's about time I got back to the castle! Too much mejikal buffetting around the Hallooween this year. The eklipz of the moon and all that bloody red in the sky, what wild petrterbations and gyrations and suchlike!

At any rate, the dragon's snoozing in the moat, and life is good. I've got my saxophone all repaired up by the Brass 'n Leather gnomes, and it spouts offf beautifully. Take a look-see:

Simple Brass:

The feel of it smooth in my hands,
The taste of reed in my mouth,
Some piece of life I abandoned far too long,
Battered and old,
Touches of green on gold I'll spend days,
Stressing to find the natural flow,
Remembering infancy and desperation to speak,
It's right as rain and hard as hell,
Wavering cracking squeaking,
Like a teenager trying to sing,
But none of that matters,
Not if I can strike a true note at will,
Someday I'll have different words,
The kind that don't push pictures,
But will break your heart and leave you loving it,
Simple brass but it gleams in spots,
One more bit of polish,
In every hard-earned breath.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/16/2003

Author's Comments:
A touch on picking back up a saxophone after 29 years. *Grin* The sax in the pic is mine - webcam shot. I decided to call it Bello - Italian for handsome and a good play on what that word would mean if it were spelled differently (add a "w") and in English. *LOL* It also takes a bit of "brass" to play it in front of others...

Friday, November 14, 2003

What Is The Wind?

The wind is jubilant,
Like flags whipping furiously,
Like a saxophone played so sweet,
It blows your heart out your back,
Just like Junior Walker and the all stars,
Super blue sound howling in the night,
Fountain spray bent at an angle,
As you lean into it feeling elemental,
Moved and barely anchored to the Earth,
Part of the chill blowing night,
Like maybe you really could fly any second,
But that's not all the wind is,
The wind is hard to see,
It touches everything with an invisible hand,
Breath of God or wanton gift of the Universe,
It chased half of Illinois down the street last night,
Blew the siding off my house,
Too bad I couldn't have caught it,
But I can't hold lightning either.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/14/2003

Author's Comments:
We had winds from 30 - 50 knots yesterday -
for about 12 hours. Man, you should have seen the flags
Arista Decca:

She was born into a molten pot of brass,
Stainless steel hair falling in tune like silvery wires,
Blue diode irises in her shining golden face,
A voice like an angel from a jukebox,
Always on pitch,
Sleek brass breasts and stainless blouse,
From the silvered crease of her brass britches,
Down to the chromed wing tip high heels,
She was a metallic siren,
Born to inspire dreams she was innocent of,
Creation of a modern-day Geppetto with a jazz man's soul,
She would take flight to the stage,
A vacuum tube glowing through thin brass,
Right there where every gal has a heart,
You'd see it glow when someone she loved lit her up,
Man oh man could she sing,
Sweet and everything like the best piano rolled sax you ever had,
But all she wanted for Christmas was to be loved,
Ever since they fired her up she'd been used,
Some piece of conversation some thought,
Or play my request Baby,
But look out she wasn't taking any fingerprints,
In rude places hard to polish,
And if you knew her long you could tell,
Her copper-gold alloy lips had heating elements built in,
But her Blues Angel flew off in a blush,
After Daddy Geppetto welded her up,
A stainless gilded Iron Man,
And she got to flip his switch,
On her twenty fifth Christmas morning,
And if you never saw sparks fly,
You should have seen that tube glowing in her chest,
'Cause man it was like a blast furnace gone nova,
Dang near made Iron Man melt,
When she sang "Merry Christmas, Baby" -
With a five tenor sax accompaniment,
And two harmonicas on wings.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/14/2003

Author's Comments:
Inspired by the famous Elvis gold lame' suit - and an
imagined sighting of a gold lame' boot at the mall.

Monday, October 13, 2003

They Whispered Cold Stone:

I saw the eyes darling,
They were bright and full and gibbous,
The leaves danced 'round my ankles,
Cold and restless to go to forever.

Jackfrost past the creaking gates,
One hung rusted and askew,
It was twilight dreading the equinox,
And they whispered cold stone.

Her name was there,
I saw it twixt these rheumy old tears,
The flowers of every year I spent in my cups,
Dead heaps of nothing once beautiful.

Spring is such a short time,
Yet it felt like endless,
You get to know in time,
Even memory isn't that.

Whisper cold stone when the flowers turn,
When ashen and stars rule what was blue,
Soon enough the snows come to bury,
And only the whispers of stone still stand.

Even stone knows Spring and Winter.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

Author's Comments:
Sorry for the maudlin, it's just that I'm a child of Summer,
and I hear the leaves ticking.
Fingers of the Witch:

Isn't it strange,
Once a year,
The morrors all crack,
A green fog comes along,
A great bright glowing amber orange moon,
The light turns pale and ghostly,
All the beauty sinks in,
All the ghastly creeps out,
Realease the inner demons,
Rattle bones and commune with the dead,
Steel hard red fingernails,
Exclaim the gnarled green fingers of the Witch,
The black kettle grumbles burbling on the hook,
Swung hard over the fire,
In the purple burning center,
Of the cold white bricks,
Up the chimney with soot and cinders streaming trails,
Her broom screams cackling into the night,
Black familiar screaming like a woman,
Claws sunk to the utmost in ancient wood,
A trail of smoke straight up the sky spiraled,
As she spells ballistic without letters,
Parting a cloud of vampire bats,
Misted fog drifting with purpose,
Glowing-eyed sheets and such like twirling,
A cackling vile gesture,
Flung in the face of Luna,
She knows the time draws nigh,
Every gnarly gourd and gristly bone,
Floating in her cauldron,
Screaming spirits dance in the pentacle,
Soon the black candle will burn red and green flames,
Leaves are fire on the trees,
Children shuddering cowered abed,
No one sees the flying pain,
As the tears of missing forever,
What has died another season,
Wiped instantly away to vanish,
Upon the one trembling tip,
Of the only ungnarled spot left,
Upon the fingers of the witch.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2003 in the hour past midnight.

Author's Comments:
The season of the new is passed again,
The season of the harvest,
Of reaping and death before rebirth,
Is at the heart of every witch this time of year.
She remembers her time of Spring and Summer.

Friday, September 26, 2003

The Family Muse:

It's an interesting thing,
When you click "search".

Never knowing what you'll find,
Gifts throughout space and time,
Mysteries and revelations.

The greatest of them,
William the Giant,
He lived with her close day by day,
She leaned on his shoulder with tender golden whispers.

Kim the Giant's Heir,
Walking around his father's incredible ghost,
She brushes kisses on his ear in timely fashion,
And Princess Kit dances sweet moving the world,
Listening to Daddy's Love in timeless abandon and rhythm's power.

The Giant's brood are nuclear,
And the rest of us in the family quiet old TNT,
Lady Judith wanders with her hand in hand,
As they laugh a verse and lay down polished words,
And Dave Sinclair with our family in the midst gets some time,
Whiling away poor dear Norma catches whispers while doing time.

Paul Michael dances with her a jig or two,
Some day I'll see the sweet nothings she left him,
And Patrick P. remembers Lady Di under the gift of whispers,
Immortalizing the beautiful lost candle light in the hurricane,
And there she she danced a well deserved turn,
Yet Clay lies at her feet hearing bits in his dreams,
And David recorded WWII under the force of her gently driven breath.

Jorge is the Crossword Prince twisting out answers under her wing,
And Claire Ann has a subtle spirit of youth which colors her gift,
While Mr. Chris has a turn coming for a whisper soon we'll read,
James speaks to our souls and the twisted path we must walk straight,
As we never forget Simon be it fall upon the lake,
While Jana records the readings yet I bet she'll have her whisper day,
And Donna dash Skar translates January Rainbows and other rare golden delights,
And Barbara lends us pictures of the visions with the poetic way she illustrates.

Georgia Lynn brought us joy and sorrow,
Poor dear couldn't live even with the words,
But she took the time to speak with us before her leaving day,
And so the clan distant and scattered though we be,
She travels light at the speed of light,
A touch here and whisper there,
Busy busy busy but ever a tenacious delight,
The family muse lives on touching the quiet gentle hearts,
All these Staffords in literature and poetry.

What of me did you say,
I think she comes to me missing William,
Because she is often but I've yet to reach Fusion,
She is loving Earth and Sky and heart and cloud,
She led me to start watching over the family,
"Daniel A. please whisper prayers for them upon electric clouds."
My ear is always open to her,
Beautiful Lady Inspiration,
Dancing in papyrus piles and loads of feather quills,
Our dear sweet family Muse.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/26/2003

Author's Comments:
Thank you to, for what they had to say about "Poetry Stafford."

Wednesday, August 27, 2003


I need 60 poets to read at Harvest Fest:

We need 30 poets each day over two days to read for six minutes each.

This will be a large outdoor family oriented function, part of Plainfield's annual Harvest Festival,

on Saturday September 20th 2003 & Sunday September 21st 2003.

Please, keep in mind there will be children and families in attendance when choosing material for this reading,

and choose appropriately. Please have at least one poem on fall or the harvest.

This event is entitled the “Gourmet Junction Harvest of Words” and is being sponsored by and hosted at Gourmet Junction,

( at 505 West Lockport Street, Plainfield, IL.

The readings will take place under a tent on the street in front of Gourmet Junction.

Local high school and college poets will be reading between 1:00 pm to 2:30 pm,

and adult poets between 2:30 pm to 4:00 pm each day.

There will be a single table available for chapbook displays for shared use by all poets.

If fully booked, this event will feauture a total of sixty poets, thirty adult and thirty young poets over two days.

Interested poets please contact:

Daniel A. Stafford


Please provide your name, city or neighborhood, phone number, e-mail if available,

and the best times to reach you, and age group, school or adult.

This event could well kick off monthly readings in Plainfield, so we need to really show ‘em what we can do!

This event will be free to the public.

I’ll be taking names until 4pm Tuesday, September 9th or all 60 slots are booked, whichever comes first.

Thursday, August 21, 2003

In Search Of Light:

In the deep dark mejik I fell under tonight,
There were ghosts and miseries,
Plans I could never see.

The windows all were closed,
But a draft fell on my candle flame,
Tears were never far,
Angels on the window sill.

Funny how the night is so deep in between my ears,
But it's just a bit south and left where the hole lies,
And nothing can ever quite fill it right again.

No, I can't give you the crystal ball answers,
No I can't open the blinds on life,
All I can do is stand here looking for the lighthouse,
Wondering where you are.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/21/2003

Author's Comments:
Missing those who've passed beyond my world.

Saturday, August 16, 2003

A little childhood mejik for you to ponder on:

Woolgatherers Rule:

You feel the chills running down your spine,
Wave after wave and hackles risen,
Dread and despair so close they could cut you,
Any moment the claws will rend,
You feel the teeth crawling over your skin just shy of breaking,
Roaring in your ears like the end of time,
The silver screen's ghosts come to life,
Right there in the torture cell,
Where they make you go at night,
And the only thing that saves you,
Is the wool you pull over your little eyes,
Ah, shiver little Ostrich,
How long can you hide behind the Woolgathers' Rule?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003

Author's Comments:
Ever pull the blankets over your head after a night
of scary movies and banishment to a pitch-dark room?
Make up the rule that monsters can't get you under the covers?
I sure remember those nights!
Just a playful little thing I posted for some friends in the Gothicverse, the kind with white fangs and long black capes with red silk linings...

Black Leather - Red Lei:

He walked in the shadows,
Under the pale Hawaiian moonlight,
It was cast full and searching over the palms and waves,
He remembered a time long ago,
He'd called this place blue...

She walked unaware following faint notes on the wind,
Hearing a beautiful voice that was forever,
A lei of red flowers draped from nape to breast,
The only light was the silver moon,
She could hear the soft strains of Loving You,
Climbing the wooden stairs away from the beach,
She felt lonely and forgotten,
Barely noticing the midnight black 1957 Caddilac,
At least at first,
But then she realized where the song was coming from,
A pale slender figure in black leather,
Leaning against the front fender,
Slicked back jet black hair,
Sharp features and prominent sideburns,
Laser blue eyes that pierced her soul,
And man he could sing,
So easy about it while the hair on her neck rose,
Half in fear half in fire,
Damn he was good looking too,
She couldn't help walking close,
And he smiled that half-lip way she remembered,
Like in the movies and on the Ed Sullivan show when she was little,
He had that magic and he looked un-Godly like the real thing,
But hell it was August 16th 2003 on a beach in Hawaii,
And that king was dead,
But she looked in his eyes and she swore,
Swore that they were all somehow wrong,
She walked close just listening,
Her eyes glazing and her breath coming in shallow gasps,
Just his voice was melting her there,
Like when she was home alone in the bath,
Listening to those records and fantasizing over the calendar,
The one of him on the wall that made her fall,
She'd spent years loving a voice and dream too old for her,
But this she couldn't resist,
Not a word she let him take her hand and pull her close,
She looked up and burned in his gaze listening,
She never remembered for certain but she'd later believe,
There was music in the air to back him up,
And he reached out with a toss of his head on a soft note,
Grabbed the gold door handle on the black as night Caddy,
And opened the door like that kind of gentleman,
The kind you barely found these days,
And seated her in the plush blood red interior,
All the trim was gold and the red of the velour was LOUD,
Like he used to be when he decorated his place,
And he had that certainty to him,
Like he knew he couldn't lose,
And as the door closed the smoky tinted windows engulfed her,
Just like his embrace,
How could he still sing while his lips,
Were raising gooseflesh on her throat,
And the song changed to hard and fast,
Hound Dog hard she clung to his black leather and fell from grace,

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003

Author's Comments:
A little taste for the King on his anniversary...mmmm.

Thursday, August 07, 2003

The darkness of Mercurial Retrograde affects the casting of spells, leaving the Blogverse in the darkness of a mejikless night. No Whizzyrd, no matter how great, may post in a fog of Plenetary Mejik, unless the Godforce smiles down upon them.

Friday, July 25, 2003

An interesting *spell* cast by a true Star Whizzyrd in the *Monotnussverse*. See how a cheap scrying glass can take you to the far reaches of the heavens: Backyard Paparazzi to the Stars

Tuesday, July 08, 2003

Explosive Sand:

Well over one hundred miles long,
And you can see at least five without too much trouble,
All this sand along the water's dividing line,
It was hot,
Goldfire Sun,
Flaming across the waves,
Crisp and rolling,
Waves about two to three footers,
White caps peeking up now and then,
But the Sun started falling,
All the blue above and below the horizon line,
Faded down to inky black and merged,
Just boat lights in the distance,
An endless line of green before white trolling slow,
The big dipper appeared,
At about eleven forty o'clock and eighty degrees azimuth,
Yeah, and eighty degrees Fahrenheit too,
The moon shot up at nine by seventy,
Ducking in and out of heavy isolated cumulus darknesses,
The last gold rays of sunfire fading fast into pink,
And the sand lit up,
Bangs and howls and screamers and sizzlers and popcorn poppers,
Red white blue green gold orange firefall,
They were shooting right into the pan on the dipper,
As far as eye could see,
Over the city lights on both ends of Sand World's curves,
The Lake Michigan shoreline was a multi-hued strobe light,
The gulls were off in hiding,
And all you could hear was boom bam sizzle pop ohh ahh,
For nearly three hours the firefall dance said one message loud and clear,
"Happy birthday, home."


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/06/2003

Author's Comments:
Fourth of July night, Indiana Dunes.

Saturday, June 28, 2003

The Sixth Canticle:

Long hours in betwixt braziers and glowing skulls,
The stars lie in their appointed hour,
As a comet falls furious into the ocean,
The Moon gives sight to the racing wave,
In the tower of open night sky,
The Canticler drones in *mejik* rhythm,
And the Jewels of the Firestar light in brilliant purple and green,
Twin beacons of power at precise points of the Runegard,
The circle of silver characters which surround the star,
The Pentagram of Unicorn hair and Dragon blood,
And the purple-green braid of light races around the circle,
Black flames leaping from the pentagram,
The gateway opens into a distant sky,
And a howling wind screams into the void,
The Canticler sounds the Six Bells of Devonbane,
And the blood-red light erupts from the tower,
Leaping straight into the sky six Light Dragons,
Creatures of *mejikal* energy,
Awaiting the sight of the Canticler's wish upon their minds,
For they are bound him as Earthe to Sun in the Heavens,
Six points of the Canticler's soul given form in the night,
Eating the energies of starlight and Earthefire,
The Kingdom will soon be riven of the Usurper's minions,
And the Darklords scream as their crystals shatter,
And fire pierces their skulls like lightning from Heaven,
Two only, left standing to face the Canticler,
They are unholy Demons cloaked in robes as black as their hearts,
And yet he shows no fear,
For the Sixth Canticle he has bespoken,
And upon the dawn the Seventh shall fall from his quill.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003

Author's Comments:
What the mind sees, the page brings crystal clear.
Firefly & Sulfur Mejik:

Lights that sparkle in the night,
Time is slow and easy,
Cottonwood seed drifts across skies,
Barbecue flames and sizzles,
Sunglow falls to stars rising,
Fire flies dance and that's when they start,
Big boomers across the water,
All the lights are out tonight,
And the country's not alone,
We're all celebrating our Independence,
'Cause when the sun comes up we'll still be dreamin',
No alarm, no hurry, no coffee clutch,
We've got sunshine, gliding birds and water,
Calling all our names,
Shuuuush, shuuuush, shuuuush,
Dance the dance of sand and blue.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003

Author's Comments:
Vacation over the 4th RULES!
Happy Birthday To The Wordsmith

Life is a page,
Yet to be written,
It's all in what you see,
Claim the letters of happiness,
For your own on this,
Your shining day,
And fill all your future pages,
With the divine light and right,
Of a life well-lived.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/26/2003

Author's Comments:
Written as a birthday wish for our friend,
The Enchantress Roberta - who loves to *journal*.
We gave her a new *spell book* to do her *journalling*
in, and a birthday scroll with this spell in it.

* A note for any Whizzyrds from the Grand Control of the Blogverse Council *:

I used a
*CHANGE TEMPLATE*spell to correct the *Scramblization* curse affecting my corner of the *Blogverse* since I sent you the scroll begging for your whizzyrdly assistance. Please dis-regard the scroll, I managed to fend off the *Eevil Grimlins* on my own. Thank you for following through...

Friday, June 27, 2003

A place out there in the eythre I need to *Spelleport* to: Kessler's Whizzyrd Spell Recording House For the retention of *greenspells* produced through new *mejik* works. I have a few good ideas about how to craft some new *mejikal* devices and spell components...

Thursday, June 19, 2003

Becoming Druid:

You walk under the stars and changing skies,
The scent of the Mother slowly invades your heart,
Reaching in with tears and whispers and dreams,
Aspirations for cleaner lives flash burn in the heat of intuition,
And in that moment of inner light you feel her cry,
Saviors operating in bits and pieces,
Like ants we are many dispersed,
Like leaves we feel the wind and sun and they are good,
Working always to bury the detritus that beetles dig up,
This amazing awe in each place untouched,
Poetry is life and life has verses of it's own,
Hearing the whispers in a rainbow will tell you,
But when your un-trained inevitable vision quest comes on you,
There are no other choices because it's your nature,
Our nature but only so many achieve it,
Once the light shines down on you,
Learning to live it in some form of harmony,
Only on that path will the spells and whispers and words,
Add to the bones being shaken,
Bring the wave to crescendo and harmonic force,
Plant a bare foot upon the Earth and you are caressed,
Child and clan open your ears,
The green and the blue and the sky are in your eyes,
Crisp and clean is the common goal,
And the Mother is giving warning the undermind slowly hears,
The trees of her lungs are huffing loud,
Heat on the nape of every neck,
And the few first to notice are a named clan,
The Mother is calling them back home,
Under the stars the children with ancient souls,
Fast are becoming Druid,
And the stars in their eyes best we pray,
May save us all.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/19/2003

Author's Comments:
More and more I find that I want to learn how I can help
heal the Earth - and every day that I read about others
who sense the same urgent beat of time I do,
I realize that this is what my idea of Druid is. Were we
called to these births in this time by God? I hope the sum
adds up in time.
Good to be back here in my mejikal little corner of the *Blogverse*. I've been working hard at becoming a Drued. A Healer of the Eyrthe. I'm learning much about *Windspells* still, and also much of the underlying Blech Mejik that is causing the Eyrthe to slowly catch fire. It has a lot to do with Evile Mejishuns and Politico Eevil Bollweevils that are casting all sorts of eevil blech mejik that seems *pretty* and fun to monotnussians all over the Eyrthe. I must apologise for not spending a lot of time here in the keep. My Drued Duties keep me quite busy in other regions of the *Blogverse* and poring over Envirotomes in the vast mejikal library of the *Spellweb*. My assigned region appears to be the Great Lakes area of the *Monotnussverse*. Somehow the Fayte Spirits seem to have woven me into it's local *spellweb* and so you have it.

I'll be very busy in the *Monotnuss* moon of Augustus as well. I have two Spell Readings scheduled on the ninth and twenty third days of Augustus.

At any rate, I'm just dropping off a few drams of treasure for Admantium, the Silver Dragon. He may wake up one of these days and need a bit of gold and such to chew on. Meanwhile, my *Spell Book* has been missing my quill as I study the ways the *Multiverse* needs me to do Drueding. On that note, dear readers, I shall *Spelleport* back to the *Monotnussverse* and carry on and such. Faretheewell!.

Thursday, June 05, 2003

Through The Door:

I walked through the door,
There were cotton candy clouds,
Lost in a blast furnace orange sky,
Stick figure birds glided over,
Ice slush waves I couldn't walk on,
The salt water sea monster awaited with whirlpools,
At the slightest toe touch I'd be drawn to the bottom,
All I could do was stare into the sunset,
No words could be cried loud enough,
Someone already spoke the magic,
Some sixties song in between purple hazes,
About Plasticene Porters and Marmelade skies,
Me, I was stuck in the boat on the river,
Man, it was a hell of a ride.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/05/2003

Author's Comments:
I painted a sunrise at the beach mural on our upstairs wall.
It's still a work in progress, but fun nonetheless. Our bedroom
door is in the mural, literally. It's quite surreal when the door is

Monday, June 02, 2003

For now, please use the LEFT archive link...thank you.
Interesting mess I seem to have going on in the past scroll library...the *Archive* spell has gotten a bit twisted out of alignment.
I just crafted a new spell for a friend of mine, the Green Witch...not only was it her *Nativity Day* very recently, she also sent me a special set of spells for my own *Nativity Day* just recently, and though belated, we all know such spells arrive in our *IMAGINATUS* collections at the time that the *Multiverse* ~*Ruling Soul Force*~ is ready to allow it in the Master Plan. Without any further *Adiue*....

The Green Witch:

The Earthe turns to butter at her hands,
Fingers flying,
Spells in delicate collision,
Anything imagination can find,
She conjures easily to combine sights before your eyes,
Famous names and fantastic places,
Mejik hours in a glass tower,
Components in every closet waiting,
The perfect arcayne hour always found,
One never knowes with whom they'll speak,
When the Green Witch lights the brazier,
And burns certified Midnight Oils,
Voices, voices, letters and all that,
The Green Witch eye-twinkles with a kind clear laugh,
"Who could be prepared?"


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/02/2003

Author's Comments:
A very big THANK YOU to my friend Mary,
Otherwise known as The Green Witch.
And a belated but much-deserved Happy Birthday, Mary!!!

Sunday, June 01, 2003

I've been busy over in the *Monotnussverse* again casting local *WIND* spells upon the electronic breeze. So far the effects are small, but growing, as various Monotnussians begin locating my scrollpad there and dropping by. That's the thing about *Visual* spells, they require a special class of Whizzyrds or similar creatures in any *VERSE* called *READERS* in order to gain energy and power. That takes time as they drift in off the *Spell Web*.

Saturday, May 24, 2003

Psychodelica Ballisticus:

Burn the golden motes of dreams under my eyelids,
Washed in pressure lights from the flaming dark void,
Clocks scour my peacefulness with tickbombs,
I just ignore the screaming ritual at the late altar,
The priest of prompt runs screaming at my approach,
Forlorn that I have beach eyes and surf vision,
Under the swaying palms of my whiskey breath,
Cigar smoke paints art deco illusions on an old hotel,
Sea side birds are geniuses in astrophysical freedom,
Camp fire fuel by starlit sand is a benediction from nature,
Left the stomach acid in a bell jar on my vacant desk,
Turned up the sunshine to an artistic roar,
And left burning rubber in the freedom,
Of an empty downtown parking stall,
Road-rocket to requirement-razing relief,
Trapped in the sanctified mysteries of vacation magic,
My spells will paint sunset at the beach on the walls of life,
And a burnt orange balloon is my cloud demon turned angel,
In the glorious prayers of timeless life I'm touching tonight.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 05/24/2003

Author's Comments:
Freedom rings!

Friday, May 23, 2003

I just spent a few minutes communing with my ancestors, at least the recent ones. It's hard to talk to ghosts, sometimes if they're your ghosts, it can cause *mist* spells in the eye region. I guess that is because we all have *Heart Magic* that get's touched very strongly by their presence. Shhhh...don't let the dragon know. Admantium would tease me no end.

The wind spells are rweally going well, early on in the crafting, but already some slight vibrations in the *Eythre* at the veil between the *BLogverse* and the *Monotnussverse*. I can already start to hear the slight *Whup, whup, whup* of turning blades in the recesses of my *underconscious* as I review the spell energy. Too bad I don't have a huge hoard of *greenspells* to throw at the problem, but what I do have will have to work on more subtle and long course levels of the *mejik* web.

Wednesday, May 21, 2003


Ahhh...made it back. The castle is just a bit dusty, but Admantium is sleeping soundly. Good dragon habit, that.

I've been convening with the wind spirits, and they've blown me over with new spells. We have a new scroll going in the *Monotnussverse* called The Great Lakes Zephyr - Wind Energy & Hydrogen Journal. In it we will be dealing with instances of Monotnussites attempts to create lightning from the power of the wind spirits, and possibly use it to break water apart into itty bitty bits too small to see, but that burn like a *Firespell* on Dragon steroids.

Monday, May 19, 2003

I've been casting so many *ecology* spells and *wind* spells I haven't had much time to update the scroll. someday I'll have to invent a *FREE TIME* spell to get some leisure minutes out of jail to hang around with a whirlin' dervish whizzyrd.

On your back floating,
Up and down and down and up,
Mist on your eyes-closed face,
Even if you open them all the world is tones of blue,
Where the water carries you is a simple guess,
Lose the clock and close the eyes just free,
In the quiet you hear with ears submerged,
Splashes tickling your face are the only lightning,
Have care this cradle could rock you endless.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 05/18/2003

Standing on the razor's edge between sand and surf,
The sun shines down and slows me,
Sea gull glides and flares at my feet,
Hoping I'm carrying but I'm not,
I pick up stone after stone flat and skimming,
Froth on one foot fire on the other,
Five seconds from a cool splash and body surfing Michigan,
A parasol flutters and my hair flies back,
I close my eyes and hear life sigh,
Just breezin'.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 05/18/2003

Friday, April 18, 2003

USA Wind:

I watched the tall grasses swaying, whipping, hanging on,

The sun was bright in the hot fast spring air,

Kites were flying high, high overhead,

Leaning into the wind I walked along the prarie path,

Where hawks circled and soared far above,

On my way to the place of sunshine and golden grass,

Left overs from last year awaiting fire or new growth,

I saw the dead soldiers that had won the war.

Their skeletal remains stood over the remnants,

The remains of the childhood of a nation,

They were rusted and broken,

Missing vanes like limbs lost to blasts,

More like hailstones, high winds,

Corrosion and neglect,

They and their farms surrounded,

Suburban cookie-cutter houses and town houses,

Mute testimony to once lush fields and a slower life,

The priceless water they'd given had made life possible,

Two continents dependent on their whirling arms,

And here and there, here and there,

You can see a whirligig with fresh paint,

All it's blades straight and true,

Though the pumper shafts seldom touch the wellheads,

And most often they're furled and immobile,

Yet go down Argentina way,

Or maybe to the vast ranches of the American West,

And you'll still find them tirelessly at battle,

Bringing life from the vast Earth gallon by gallon,

Year after year after year,

And if you have good money and open land,

You can still find them new,

Sons of the Aermotor clan,

And there's the tale of the Jacobs,

Left alone at an Antarctic outpost for twenty years,

Still turning and delivering electricity,

To an empty building that saved a few desperate souls in need,

So is that continent number three?

The new soldiers are starting to grow now,

They harvest a different crop,

They take wind and give lightning,

Clean clear power for the growing urban demand,

Standing tall they dwarf their ancestors,

Their feet grown upon the farms or shoals,

They stand upon land and water and deliver,

And their forward charge will someday render irrelevant,

The dark visages of the twin poison monsters,

Oil, sir, and coal, oh no,

They are like the beneficient angels,

Clean crisp white wings twirl endlessly,

Saving farms and lungs the world over,

Heroes that we are just learning of slowly,

In a battle too few understand,

And so like Don Quixote,

I recognize Giants when I see them.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 04/18/2003

Author's Comments:

New Aermotor mills and parts can be found at:

Dean-Bennet / Aermotor

I'm hoping to do a documentary piece on these mills

around my local area soon, and also will be reading

some of these wind poems for a benefit to help

fund Sheboygan, Wisconsin's Earthfest this May.

If that goes well, I will be giving a full length poetic performance

with also a speech on Midwest wind energy potential

and wind energy in general at Earthfest in Sheboygan this

coming August. And so yes, Dan Quixote is still tilting

at wind mills. Titlting a salute, that is. For an excellent

source of information about wind energy potential,

politics, projects, how to's, and far more, please visit:

The American Wind Energy Association

Thursday, April 17, 2003

Wonderful news... The Grand Enchantress of Earthfest is goibng to squeeze me into the *SCHEDULE* spell and let me recite a couple of *incantations* at the benefit function. If all goes well and the *Spellpower* flows nicely, I'll be welcomed to the full Earthfest for a complete *mejik* show. This will include an *educational* discourse on *WIND ENERGY* and also I will be handing out postcards from the *AWEA* Wind Masters Council. All in all, it should be quite wonderful indeed. I will also be travelling with an old friend, a *HUMOUR* whizzyrd named Art Paul Schlosser who does some interesting and funny *mejik* incantations of his own.

Thursday, April 10, 2003

Some of the spells below are also *Sea Spells* and *Garden* spells, but most are *WIND ENERGY* spells.
Another little project I'm up to: I am trying to *convince* the promoters of a festival called Earthfest in the Monotnusverse to allow me to present some of my *WIND ENERGY* spells aloud at the fest this year. *WIND ENERGY* is a very powerful mejik that can help operate many, many types of spells in the Monotnusverse without utilizing evel *POLLUTION* mejik. *POLLUTION* mejik does things like killing living creatures, *poisoning* waterways, heating up the Ayre, making it harder for whizzyrds to breathe, and eventually they could even render the Monotnusverse lifeless by overheating it so badly nothing can survive. (Although the Evel Eryl whizzyrds that use mejik powered by *POLLUTION* mejik will not admit this, no matter how many *evidence* spells are sent to them.) If the Earthfest Grand Whizzyrds are kind, I will read some very interesting spells, and possibly give a brief lecture on the many benefits of powering spells with *WIND ENERGY*

Some of the spells I have in mind are: (You can view these in my collection at

Sea Shells Turn
Down Home Green
Northern Lights Weeping
City Garden
Wind Blown
Fresh Country Air
The Magic Of A Breeze
The Firewater Conspiracy
Cities On The Edge
Whirligig Way
The Alchemy Of Flutter And Howl

I certainly welcome opinions on this, simply click on the *Mejik Quill and Parchment* spell at the top of my little corner of the Blogverse and send me a missive. If it's really good, I may even *quote* you here...(granted your *permission*, of course.)
Just a tidbit here, I am going to use Blogverse mejik to allow you to LISTEN to some of my spells. There are a few Christmas spells, and then there is a bluesey little piece called "She Was Blue".

*She Was Blue*

*The Electric Elf*

*Whissler's Paradise*

*Calling All Snowflakes*

*Snow Down*

I Hope you enjoy!

Laine's Cry:

Where my eyes fell into the small
There was beauty in the details,
Un-noticed and unseen until your voice,
Humming wordless in the thin air,
Though you spoke not a whit,
Still I heard the oceans' endless roar,
The cycles of life passing,
Just behind your ecstatic eyes.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 04/10/2003

Author's Comments:
Crafted in response to C.E. Laine's poem,
I have been working very hard on the new keep at *Word Whizzyrds* with new whizzyrds' robes and scrolls and beautiful *POETRY* spells. Please feel free to take a look over there. I've purposely kept it pretty simple, and I hope to maintain that simplicity. I will be adding small *spells* and tweaks as well as *mejikal* services and items for sale. I am also starting to delve into *Wind Mejik* as well - and the very first *Wind Energy* robe is now available. I plan to develope a complete line of both *POETIC* and *Wind Energy* products and *mejikal* services over the coming moons. There is also a quarterly *missive*, the Word Whizzyrds' Scroll that you can *subscribe* to, and I encourage you to do so. It will feature site upgrades, public appearances, *poems*, and selected *Wind Energy* news.
It fascinates me how operation Iraqi Freedom is becoming operation Iraqi Jubilation. I hope this is true - and that our boys fought and died for something good. It has been very difficult for me to write as this issue keeps spilling over into my writing like some kind of *spell* or *Hekz*. I am diligently working on *counter potions* to make room in my portion of the collective undermind for everyday life and magic.

Sunday, April 06, 2003

The Cathedral Of Spring:

The place where we were married,
Funny date that,
January 01, 2001,
At 1:10 a.m.,
And bless them,
They gave us room 111,
The sky that next morning,
On our unplanned wing-it return,
That was perfect blue,
Seventy three and birds singing,
Just a slow breeze through bare trees,
We walked the trails up,
Walked the trails down,
The trees still bare and last year's brown,
The leaves were mostly on the ground, mostly,
A few must have clung on high and long,
Maybe to overlook Winter's rule and white cloak,
But that was passing and we walked the ridges,
Hearing birds singing in the distant maze of branches,
Hawks soaring over olive green river and weathered limestone,
Looking down the canyons sheer and sharp,
All the blasphemous that had carved names in God's place,
Maybe they didn't understand, maybe,
Down along the creek In Saint Louis Canyon,
Well past Starved Rock's towering rocks of sorrow,
Along the thin shallow trickle of water through dead leaves,
Fallen trees and branches uncovered before the leaves hiding green,
We walked into Saint Louis and down to the Cathedral of Seasons,
The fall was thawed now and flowing cool and singing off the stone,
It's burbling voice in the cool shaded air the reflection,
Ten thousand drops per hour sparkling bursts on yellow limestone,
Lichens and moss clinging here and about,
The glacier carved shallow caves like galleries for the faithful,
The standing stone overlooking the base of the fall like an altar,
And we held hands in silence to look and listen,
I put my free hand up and my love raised hers,
Two leaves floating down from above to land in cupped palm,
Different, one larger one smaller and subtle changes of hue and shape,
Yet the same and the smaller leaf nestled gently in the curls of the larger,
I took Spring's gift and placed it in a small stone alcove safe,
I spoke the wish to write this prayer,
And in that instant a thousand leaves fell all around us as She breathed,
The wind rushing over the top of the canyon just long enough,
And all the myriad incarnations of "yes" came floating down around us,
I laid my hand upon the stone and watched breathing soft,
Carried away what detritus of the unknowing unfaithful I found,
As we walked out along the path that glowed,
Sparkling with billions of silica bits catching afternoon sun underfoot,
And there was no question it was blessed Spring.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 04/06/2003

Author's Comments:
This was last Sunday at Starved Rock State Park,
Exactly as it occurred, and every event took place exactly as
it's written. The magic, well, that my friends you have to
see on your own.

Friday, April 04, 2003

The last couple of Suns have ben quite enjoyable. I've found a new *ZAZZLE* spell that I've put into place at my keep,, and it allows me to conjure beautiful finery and fashion for interested whizzyrds.
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,
God hears you as clear,
As the color of your heart,
In that cool blue moment.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 04/04/2003

Friday, March 28, 2003

Read the blog of Salam Pax. I hope he can continue and is unhurt in that place of danger that is his home. I am sorry for the non-combatants. When this war is over, I will try to donate to helping these people recover. Sort of put my *greenspells* where my mouth is.
Those fingers of blame are certainly a nasty weapon. Heard an interesting new term yesterday, "weapons of mass distraction". I'm not so sure that isn't true of what is happening.
It saddens me greatly to witness the destruction and harm going on inside Iraq.I hope that this war ends soon, and that people may go about their lives in peace there. I do not wish to waste time pointing fingers of blame at anyone, it is too late for that. I will craft many *PRAYER* spells for peace to come to that poor tortured place.

Monday, March 24, 2003

Unfortunately the juxtaposition passed with too little spell energy, the sorceress was missing a key spell. Perhaps another will be found.

Saturday, March 22, 2003

Hmmm... I detect the possible juxtaposition of concurrent positive spell energy between my whizzyrdly self and a sorceress in the know, that may bring one of my mundanitieverse spell dreams to *fruition*. It's still just a tenuous web in the eythre, but it COULD turn out. I cast a scroll on a gentle breeze in a *hopeful* spirit, perhaps the Good Spirit may shine on this...


Wednesday, March 19, 2003

Walking The Razor:

May God as he is bless the children,
His sons and daughters are far from home,
They come in so many colors,
Forgetting they are leaves of one tree,
As we must forget blame,
Grace the innocent with safety,
Grace the dutiful with speed and swift homecoming,
And when the whirling sands all fall,
Grant us all peace and joy of life,
In brotherhood and harmony,
Every step having been correctly placed,
Walking division's razor.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 03/19/2003

Author's Comments:
We need the light of every soul in prayer in these times.

Tuesday, March 18, 2003

Cocklebur & Rush:

That uniquely all pervasive stickiness,
And it's attendant wave-in-the-breeze plumage,
All wrapped up in honey-gold tones,
A staple of snowless Midwest in Fall and Winter,
In this year of bare ground,
See the snow's blanket is thrown off again,
And the sunlight meets it's Earthly duty,
Exposing the prairie bones left between suburbs,
In small woods and glens and all the creeks' windings,
The secret little friends that hide and dart,
Have known these two for eons,
And I all the years of my life.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 03/13/2003

Author's Comments:
Just after Summer, just before Spring, and in recent years,
Much of Winter. Tawny IS the official color of the Midwest.
This land is so rich in tones of Earth's own golds.

Monday, March 17, 2003

Turn It On A Dime:

Take the wheel of that heart you drive,
No one else has the key,
Spin it on a dime,
A complete one-eighty to keep you alive,
Healthy, happy, whole,
Soul deep in the best parts of happiness,
A place only faith can fuel your heart to,
Understand the words you say,
Looking in the mirror at your own eyes,
They hold all the power in your universe,
Your own miracle mile you will drive,
When you love yourself,
By treating yourself to only good,
In words, in thoughts, in deeds,
And the red flashing lights of ill fortune,
Await the first sign of rushing too fast,
To add fuel to telling yourself to fear,
To doubt or expectations you must cry,
Take the wheel of that heart you drive,
No one else has the key,
Spin it on a dime,
A complete one-eighty to keep you alive,
Healthy, happy, whole,
Soul deep in the best parts of happiness,
A place only faith can fuel your heart to,
Understand the words you say,
Looking in the mirror at your own eyes,
They hold all the power in your universe,
For how you bespeak yourself,
If you see yourself so,
How can God do anything,
But follow your choice of roads,
Or see anything different than what you see?

This is the truth of freedom of choice.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 03/11/2003

Author's Comments:
If you see yourself as good and happy,
so will God. If you see yourself as bad or sad,
so will God. It's all there in what you say to you.
The Sun Is Shining Down:

Even on the darkest day,
No matter the black clouds and rain,
Above there is one thing no clouds may change,
The Sun is shining down upon the Earth,
In time these clouds will blow away,
And after the rains must come the light,
Cycle after cycle cold then warm,
Never forget that simple fact,
The Sun is shining down.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 03/08/2003

Author's Comments:
No troubles last forever.
Blue Waves On Yellow Sands:

I was contemplating late in the night,
Cross-legged on the beach under the stars,
The day had been all restful soul,
In a place that reaches you wholly under the skin,
The winds blow cool under a powder blue sky,
Gentle clouds catch your eye and dance,
Soft yellow sand cradles the blue waves,
"Huuuush, huuush, huuuush": they whisper loudly,
So long and endless they fall under your mind,
Sea gulls float and glide and search,
Any bit of food or a twig to play with,
Parasols and lawn chairs and distant lone sails,
So when evening falls and they sky turns to pink,
Finally washed in deep red and indigo,
The lights of Chicago across the waves,
The stars straight up at night,
The tall tall grasses rustling in tune,
Wind and wave and sand and stars,
You forget to wonder,
You are.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 03/04/2003

Author's Comments
A very real place I love to be.
Time Bombs And Serenades:

That calendar rolled like a tank,
Blew holes in all the "might have beens",
Just like a mushroom cloud omelet,
Fast and furious from fifteen to fifty,
Pale ghosts blew out the door like Grand Central,
And Baby, I just ever wanted you to know,
It's a kiss now or regret later world,
Hey, ain't any hurry but dinner's got cold,
The table's made of plastic since the sucker was set,
But it was formica and chrome when the oven was lit,
I heard Mario Lanza on vinyl catch me quite by surprise,
I had red roses and homemade ravioli in my heart,
I had a violin I was afraid to play under the window,
And the minute you pushed me away,
Damn, how I miss...
The friggin' omelet went off.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 03/03/2003

Author's Comments:
Time doesn't stop in the same place twice.
Never waste a good "I love you."
(Old missin's.)
Bearcat Seven:

The sky is blue,
All I hear is the rumble,
No clouds to duck under,
Over or around,
Below the water sparkles,
Islands rush by at 400 knots,
And the radio is silent,
I'm low down on the deck,
My partner playing eagle,
Trying to flush bad birds out of the palms,
And suddenly black clouds burst,
Flack on my palm Sunday,
And a leaping Zero makes my heart race,
My eagle is in trouble,
Upon high and screaming in a dive,
I race up from the deck,
Under the Zero's belly,
Pop my tracers on his guts,
Break sharp to portside,
As black smoke billows and debris flames out,
A cartwheel upon the waves,
And he sinks into blue silence,
My wingman waggles and we walk tracers,
Dropping the heat on the pillboxes,
One look at the gauges and we're off,
These thirsty birds begging for the roost,
Eagle and I give it they eye,
A couple of holes in him,
But minor he's going back to the sandbox,
And it's one more day of alive,
For Eagle three and Bearcat seven,
Tires chirp smoke on the tarmac,
The radio's chatter with instructions,
Flagging port and stop on the flightline,
Chief's screamin bloody murder,
"You let 'im wop my bird",
And the WACs are wavin'
Sneaky how peaceful,
Palms and surf can seem,
But you never know what's poppin',
Here in the Philippines.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/25/2003

Author's Comments:
Back when it was up close and
personal comparatively speaking.
Fishing The Sea:

The sands were red today,
And they were floating,
Belly up like fish,
Tangled in the weave of wire,
Shredded like fish on dynamite,
A bit here or there...

Seventeen and lied about less,
In their gloriously lost thousands,
I wonder if they all had mustaches,
But the sun will never know,
What the sharks packed away that day,
Thank God the sweethearts and mothers,
Left at home with just paper to see...

In their blackened and burned hundreds,
The legions of Hell walked among them,
Pointing to this or that,
But they were as frustrated as ever,
For they could not stop them,
As the smoke rose from the wells,
Steel rain fell in the trenches...

You see the ghosts at times,
In their silver chairs,
In their parades or on the walls,
And the ones you do not see,
Tucked away behind white walls screaming,
God I wish we could give them all back,
The pieces and souls we asked they leave behind.

Agreement is not universal,
With those who wrote the sending,
But the givers,
Those all we can say to is thank you,
For we know it was duty done,
And just who it was really for...
As far as I can see.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/25/2003

Author's Comments:
Regardless of what I or anyone else thinks of
the morality or justness of war, the soldier on the field
is doing his duty as sworn, no matter the side. This is the lot
of the common man under the thumb...and not where choices
are much granted.

Thursday, February 27, 2003

While The Sun Is Shining:

I will forget that rain exists,
I will rejoice in a day of peace,
The splendor of light,
The warmth upon my back,
I see the light as our boys all come home,
Joyous and relieved,
For the stars of peace and harmony,
They will shine bright and full,
But I will be here walking,
Amongst the golden trees and grasses,
Looking over the shoreline,
Seeing all the world's ships coming in,
Knowing I will be finally reading happy headlines,
Because the bright serenity of morning,
I have utter faith it shall come.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/27/2003

Author's Comments:
Something to hold close to heart,
For the tone of our hearts creates the tone
of our lives. May you all walk in the sunshine.
A Sea Of Glass:

The white sails were silent and unmoving,
The flag lying draped immobile upon the mast,
The sunset was vast and indelibly warm,
Tears were draped across eyes,
All the decks awash yet not in pain,
Sheer delight and joy our Captain,
The brass under hand held us steady,
As we leaned and watched the stars rise,
The fish of the seas looked down into our eyes,
And the sea of night lovingly swallowed us whole,
A comet fell across the waveless expanse,
And we feared to break the treasure of silence,
Never dipping an oar to follow it away,
Little did we know then of angels,
But they sang our treasures upon the distant reaches,
Those sands of our tomorrow such gentle breezes hold,
And the fragile red wood of our boat,
It held us up to Heaven like babes in arm,
Even as our ship glided silently in from the sea,
Content to see the fires of home,
Our towers of light,
Upon the coming shores.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/27/2003

Author's Comments:
I am looking to find a beautiful place in the heart,
and hold to it like a glowing candle against the
dark night of false fears.

Sunday, February 23, 2003

Boundaries Of Pictures:

A heart can be broken to look,
Joy may fly into a face in remembrance,
Cheeks may flush at the cringe,
Reality even seem to bend,
In the magic of artistic illusion,
Time may stop and start like an engine,
Racing into the great beyond,
All these lanes we drive so hard,
Yet you can twist the key 'til breaking,
Shift every lever you find,
But there is no reverse,
Not even the slightest brakes,
And that's what drives you to tears the most,
The universal law of the boundaries of pictures.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/23/2002

Author's Comments:
A life lesson reinforced yesterday.

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

The Light Of Understanding:

Understanding is a small candle,
Hard to find even in a dark room,
Flickering in the breezes that blow through our lives,
And no matter how close or loving,
The hand that tries to light the match,
It so often seems we must find it ourselves,
And when we do it's hard not to look,
For joyous or sad it fills our eyes,
With stinging smoke or sudden glaring light,
How I wish the arms of a hug,
Could turn your head just the right way,
So that you could see.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/18/2003

Author's Comments;
How many times have we all thought
this when a loved one was hurting?
Miracle List:

Sunshine upon golden hair,
Fine wine and wonderful dinners,
Eyes to see my love,
Warmth to hold her,
Plenty of cash to buy her gifts and flowers,
A life of plenty that doesn't come at other's expense,
Sweet music for romantic hours and hours,
Sand and sea and fun,
A beautiful place where we wish to be at home,
Candle light and starshine,
Both of us feeling fulfilled in our purpose of life,
Peace and harmony and happiness,
Safety and happiness for those we love,
Charity and kindness and good works,
Someone nice and inquisitive to teach,
The ability to help others in need,
The opportunity to do so,
This is my list of miracles,
I now claim by divine right,
And thank you God for granting these things,
To all who have the heart to ask you.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/18/2003

Author's Comments:
A prayer, a poem. Many times there is
little difference between them.
Freedom Of The Sun:

I want to go back to where my hair was long,
I want to rock on out to a bad guitar,
Bust out in the summer sunshine,
Get my eyes just so full and ride like the wind,
I want to walk under fast jets and smile up,
I want to dance in a concert without a care,
Feel the bass wash my body like an ocean of sound,
Turn on my dreams and bring them out loud,
And all the pieces I miss but cannot say,
Wish I could see them curl up close,
Just get blown away,
Let that guitar come on strong and rock me away.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/18/2003

Author's Comments:
Listening to some tunes from my high school
years and wishing I could have a vacation back in
that time knowin' all I know.
An Affair Of The Heart:

Day by day,
Note by note,
Our lives play,
Everyone takes it so for granted,
But we've been given the gift,
Incredible and magic and joyous,
Or sad and blue and washed out to sea,
Angry and devastated and blissful,
Every nuance in between,
This gold and platinum of the heart,
Take an ancient and put him in one day of ours,
He'd know instantly what riches I mean,
This gift we expect just like the air we breathe,
We've the richest gift of poetry to music,
This world has ever seen,
Voices that stroke our hearts in all shades,
How do we use it,
How do we choose it,
Take it away for a day,
And you'd see.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/18/2003

Author's Comments:
I wonder how many people realize how
graced our culture is with access to so many
different forms and styles of music?
It's unprecedented in history.

Monday, February 10, 2003

A Hushed New Voice:

Husky and feminine,
An evening of gentle pull at the heart,
You can feel the soul in the hearing,
And wander in a tenderly longing atmosphere,
She brings the lights low,
The feeling tremulous and wanting,
The keystrokes and deep vocal reach,
All there in your ear like heart candy,
Reaches into you and calls you away,
Yeah the fire is burning smoky blue,
When Norah sings.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/10/2003

Author's Comments:
I've recently discovered the voice
and style of Norah Jones. It's like
a smooth whiskey blend of blues,
jazz, and lounge that fits perfectly
into a quiet enjoyable night.

Sunday, February 02, 2003

When Seven Angels Fall:

You won the sky,
All of you,
You reached for our dreams,
Never giving in,
You flew so high and so far,
And the sky reached out,
Calling you it's own.

Never fear that we shall fail,
To pursue the dream you gave up living for,
We shall miss you,
Give our arms and hearts to those you loved,
As we stand upon the Earth searching to Heaven,
The place where heroes go,
When seven angels fall.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
Author donated to public domain.

Author's Comments:
It is with great regret and a heavy heart that I
write these pitifully inadequate words in the
aftermath of losing Columbia's crew. These people gave
their lives in pursuit of the best things humanity aspires to.
Via con Dios, go with God, and we shall remember you.
Rick Husband, William McCool, Kalpana Chawla
David Brown, Mike Anderson, Laurel Clark
Ilan Ramon.

Please be aware I do not need or expect any reply. I wish to pay my respects to the individuals that passed and offer my condolences to their friends, colleagues, and most of all families. My heart goes out to you all.

Dan Stafford

Saturday, February 01, 2003

Touch The Earth:

Upon all the cloud-decked dark as blackness stormy sky,
I reached out my hands to touch the wind,
Hair flowing back at the rain pounding my face,
Even with eyes closed I could tell in the moment,
The clouds opened up in five places,
The rays of sunshine carried down,
Voices of angels howled in the cyclone,
And the fingers of God fell upon the Earth,
Bringing warmth amid the tears,
I turned as the wind whipped me,
Opened my raw eyes,
And saw the double rainbow,
Two times the price of the covenant,
In payment for the gift of all these tears.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/01/2003

Author's Comments:
I've seen all the things I describe in person
at different times, except the angels were in my dreams.

Tuesday, January 28, 2003

Under The River (of Words)

I wrote the sunshine,
I wrote the blue sky,
I wrote rain,
I wrote snow,
I wrote a grey wall of cloud,
I wrote a warm flowered field,
I wrote the lovers running hand in hand there,
I wrote a child in swaddling clothes,
But I never wrote the end,
I had no idea how hard it would be,
Not to be there when the words came through.

I'm carried in black water where no one can see,
The ghosts walk in and out of me,
Like the wind through an open door,
Only silent angels sitting on clouds can smile.

Every drive by and I feel the pull,
That little place I came from knows me,
The river runs there silent and endless,
It pulls the tears from my hiding eyes,
When no one is looking the green water flows,
Just as the words fall from my blind fingers,
The river whispers of eating the banks,
The delicious bitterness of that change.

Run the maze,
Riddle me this,
When your heart is pulled from your chest,
Lies beating upon the pillow of black silk,
Do they watch to see if you stop before it does,
And do the answers rise in the frozen air,
With each steaming beat?

Please don't feed on anger,
Leave fear it is no more help,
When the ghosts call let them hold your hand,
I will remember,
I will love,
Even if you can't see enough,
Don't hold to Hell on my account,
I'll not look down on you if you fly,
Walk the fires to your own drummer,
Please don't hide your crying eyes,
This time is yours as you need,
And I'll ask no more of your clock,
Than you can bear to give.

I can't see their faces yet,
But the angels are smiling,
I can't hear their whispers yet,
But I can still find these damn blurred wet keys,
Walk under Heaven and say hello for me,
I'm still swimming here,
In all these colors under the river of words.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/27/2003

Author's Comments:
Don't think I don't care, but don't think you can't go,
if or when you need.

Sunday, January 19, 2003


I feel my head is spinning,
So many details,
So many feelings,
So many tears awaiting cheeks,
Will the force of the spin,
Keep any of us standing,
Just like a top,
You can only fall,
After the spin...



By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/19/2003

Author's Comments:
I'm out of here for the next few days.
Thank you all, and all of you be well.

Saturday, January 18, 2003

Trumpets Gold Joy:

The Devil is pulling his tail on lonely street,
I see what dances 'round her head,
The angels will come and all the light,
Some of them I've missed since a boy,
Blue and gold and platinum,
Dance at the end of the rainbow I can not see,
I can feel the whispers,
Shiver my tender living bones,
Send me on to Sinai whirling,
Or falling softly through the clouds,
I know what they've come for,
This moment of birth and light of free soul,
At the edges of our vision God smiles,
As his herald trumpets gold joy.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/17/2003

Author's Comments:
The Evel Kurz of Kanzer is upon my mother's mind, she is falling and not all my mejik can save her from the whims of the Faytes. The fingers of the *KURZ* are grown between her ears, and we are dreaming the dreams of stones, the ones that never come true. Only fourteen setting suns is the best guess of the sages, who speak with glazen eyes. In the blogverse or the realverse, this is a spell of Great Pain.
In The Teeth Of The Storm:

I had a vision a moment ago,
The porthole was opening,
The bird awaiting to fly free,
Outside was sunshine and calm seas.

So long had we sailed,
Tossed by the storm,
Upon the sea of your creation,
Masterful the skill of dodging your waves,
Even the ones from outside your world.

In the end the stones are too many,
We've crewed the lifeboats as you lie helpless,
And command by committee now reigns,
Your first and your second we shall carry on,
The third still sails the gale.

When the albatross flies home,
And the black skies of the heart are raging,
I'll remember the best of you,
In the teeth of the storm.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/17/2003

Author's Comments:
My mother is a fighter, fierce and unyielding,
but she is laid low by MS and Parkinson's both.
Things are not well right now, but even the bravest and
strongest cannot outlast time and elements, and these
fights are one no one alive knows how to win. It's been hard
on all of us her children living under such a captain, but
there are things worth knowing we learned as well.
I Fell Through:

I fell through the pain today,
Strange how cold looking up,
At the clear surface I can not break through,
How cold and numb the immersion,
Where I can no longer breathe,
Touch is gone to me now,
As life rewinds behind my eyes,
Above the snow is taking the light,
The cracks of my escape are freezing over,
I thought I left my dime in the fountain,
So many pennies in the wishing wells,
There is no bottom,
It's only inside the blackness,
I'm finally free to fly,
Trying not to remember,
The moments of your horrified eyes.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/17/2002

Author's Comments:
So cold in this place.

Friday, January 17, 2003

In The Wash Of Maybe:

The torrent in my mind carries me,
Here and there the stones block my way,
Carefully and strong swim,
Else the bruises of resistance are painful,
Best is to drift with the current,
Until that moment,
The one where a single powerful stroke,
Makes just the happy turn,
Maybe, just maybe...


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/17/2003

Author's Comments:
Possibilities are perceived, but careful navigation
is required.

Tuesday, January 14, 2003

Where The Candle Once Flamed:

When the flame is small and barely holds the wick,
When the slightest puff of breath threatens it's glow,
It's then the light is most precious,
Look long and hard at the light,
For you will miss it once the red ember goes black,
Not even able to see the smoke stop rising,
Brilliant though it had been,
When it's gone,
That's when you find yourself truly missing the candle.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/14/2003

Author's Comments:
There are a few around me now in their Winter years,
and when the time comes on, I will not fail to remember.
While they are here, I will look on to see what is in the light.

Friday, January 10, 2003

Sea of Dreams:

The Summer breeze flew through the window,
Cicadas were making music,
Moon smiling orange low,
Eyes bound to fall,
Somewhere in the vastness,
Weeping drew my name,
Reaching ever reaching I could only see,
Love sat grounded upon the stones,
Looking this way and that to find me,
I was but fifteen and infinitely possible,
I was the black waters of Love's wept sea,
I was the stones her curves rested upon,
Invisible through mundanity,
I cradled Love and called,
Yet She heard only slapping waves,
Burbling nonsense of the yearning tides,
All my reaching brought empty stone arms,
My eyes were only the sea of lonely tears,
Love's softness rested fully against me untouchable,
It's in the depths of raging frustration,
That the Secrets of Darkness unfold,
In the being of an untapped no longer child,
Yet to be held by aught but the Sea of Dreams.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/10/2003

Author's Comments:
Can you remember the fierce yearning of untried youth?

Gentle Light:

I light the light of hope,
Add my voice to the song of love.

As this candle burns with gentle light,
Grant the gift of love to every heart,
The gift of reason and kindness shall come,
See the gentle light with us.

Gather faith to you,
Stand upon it as bedrock,
As God spoke with all His names,
We live now in faith and love.

As this candle burns with gentle light,
Grant the gift of love to every heart,
The gift of reason and kindness shall come,
See the gentle light with us.

Peace harmony and happiness,
These are the gifts of a loving soul,
Given now to all freely as they reach for them,
The most wonderful thing I feel and see.

As this candle burns with gentle light,
Grant the gift of love to every heart,
The gift of reason and kindness shall come,
See the gentle light with us.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/10/2003

Author's Comments:
The more of us there are pouring out Love on the world
with faith and perseverance, the better the world we live in.
Join in.

Thursday, January 09, 2003

The Comm Grid is behaving fairly well tonight, a high speed spell link was getting Grimlen nibbles and going *bumpiddy*, but everything else has just been minor *wogglies*. All of you out there in the Blogverse have a wonderful night and thank you for scrying the *Spell Book*


In the land of Imagine,
Anything can happen from any direction,
Passion from a single eye catch,
Wandered down a once untrod street,
Money flutters down the street,
As the partiers throw green confetti,
Future meets wish in a chance encounter,
Stumble meets a kiss on a was-lonely corner,
Inspiration in the rumble of an elevated train,
Sparks shower from steel like ideas in the wind,
Hunch-picked a flyer fluttering in the breeze,
Saw a fascination never dreamed of,
Turned the corner and stumbled,
Found gold in happy abundance,
Where the foot did slide.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/09/2003

Author's Comments:
You just never know what life will bring,
but I think if you expect happy it's more likely to be.
It was a strange and awesome spell cast in the Cavern of Candleyears, but the ghosts were appeased by the company, the winds were satisfied to sing a vision whisper, and the spirits of the Earth felt at home for a brief time again. It's such a shame that all the rigidity of mind that has been is taking so long to fade. The Earth spirits need our help now to restore the balance before reality snaps uncontrolled upon us once more. Science Magic is a powerful thing. The beastlieness of reality is that we create it, and the more minds that lock beliefs in one direction, the greater reality's overall movement in that direction. Lack of general knowledge of this principle is currently a drawback to Science Magic. Wherever you can find it in your heart to believe, pray for the Earth to be healed in harmony with Science Magic and not in spite of it. This will in the end bring a gentle merger between spiritual law and scientific law, creating a much more pleasant long term condition in the universe. This is the first precept of the Book of the Tecnomage Philosophy, and it's most important and deeply magical concept. All rituals and rites after this prelude fall within the spirit of this law of universal function. Take for instance the Candle Trance spell:

Candle Trance:

The flame flickers in blue trace to yellow,
Dancing upon the pin of sheer black,
As the wax must softly bleed hot,
Becoming just a puddle,
Subservient to the essence of the flame,
See how Law follows the flame of Will,
Should will burn steadily to left,
Law to the left becomes fluid,
Law to the right becomes rigid,
Flow of action rolls from fluid to rigid,
New shape of Law is the result,
Will is the flame,
Law is the wax,
Intellect and Heart are air and breeze,
Intellect, Will, and finally Heart,
These three must act in concert,
Or Law follows it's set path,
See the light of your need,
It will flow from the well burnt candle.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/09/2003

Author's Comments:
Remember the High Law of Harmonious Purpose.
Discord can bring the candle flame to touch
the flesh of the source of ill Will.

The Whisper Makers whispered slowly,
Droning like the rain,
Or maybe like the wind through carved rocks,
The night painted sky pictures longingly,
Until you reached the cave where they whispered,
Bathed in the light of two thousand three candles,
Yet filled with whispering shadows,
I sat cross-legged on a leather pad,
Staring into candle flames wherever I looked,
Even if I never looked,
I saw because I heard the whispers,
I saw a vision of you,
Late at night curled up covered you were,
Reading a book of magical musings,
Half whispered off to sleep by those words,
As we met in this twilight of the mind,
I heard the whispers of the words you read,
Even as I said them to my journal,
The one you were reading,
And we saw each other reflected in the shadows of ourselves,
Because we met in the twilight between whispers,
And it never mattered if we closed our eyes.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/08/2003

Author's Comments:
On the important meeting of reader and author,
the meeting of minds. There is a magic to it.