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.


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.


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.


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!


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.


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?


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.
"Loyalty to the country always. Loyalty to the
government when it deserves it."
One person, One vote, It Counts! Do it, America!


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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 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.