Monday, October 31, 2016

Rail Surfer...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 6:01am

Rail Surfer...
He comes into the car with a flashing smile,
Arms outstretched swayin' the track swing,
Thumbs up when he sees your ticket,
Morning sunlight under a Conductor's hat.

The whole train gets a dose of jolly,
He surfs from car to car with a grin,
Maybe the size of Texas somehow,
A soul shedding light with plenty to spare.

Hang ten my rail surfin' friend,
When I punch my ticket I'll remember,
Though that ride is far and whoever rides first,
I can walk below all this concrete chuckling.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/14/2005

Druids In A Modern Age - II:

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 5:56am

Druids In A Modern Age - II:
Visions of ancient trees drive the mind,
Towering brown and green,
Tinges of yellow and red just touch leaves,
Rhythm as ancient as standing stones,
Visual mist breath on crystal white world,
Fade into warm rains and greensward.

We strive to connect through the concrete barriers,
Tarmac footsteps in rubber soles,
Looking at sun and moon and bird,
Trees by the houses but travel food in the cupboards,
Farmers are able to eat of their own dirt,
As long as they can hold it close and live.

Maybe tomorrow when the sun rises,
We'll remember that it's good to eat at home.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/04/2005

Sunday, October 30, 2016

Sunset At The Station...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 5:58am

Sunset At The Station...
Sea gulls are swoopin' and callin',
I don't feel like a bat in the dark today,
Up with the sun and sleeping human.

After more than two years it feels great,
Sharp and alive and no slow wits,
The breeze is warm and the sky near cloudless,
Cars circling awaiting their exit.

People walking off the train in a burst of freedom,
I sit at the streetlight post writing the world,
Hello to its late evening and the sun is golden,
Spilling onto this page sublimely.

Can you see it pouring back out to you,
Making the shadow of my pen dance?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/04/2005

What The Pear Tree Knows...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 18, 2005 at 8:01pm

What The Pear Tree Knows...
A week - maybe three,
Stately and proud covered in white flowers,
Tiny with little yellow centers,
They come in mid-Spring,
Each blossom a small universe of beauty,
Gracing the world in its brief season,
Then to fade away yellowed and withered.

They fall into the Earth never repeated,
Though many like them may follow,
Season after season in what to a blossom,
A semblance of eternity must surely be.

So long as the tree is nurtured,
Given clean rain and plenty of sunlight,
The cool of Fall and the cold of Winter,
No poisons in it's soil or air,
The blossoms will come before the leaves,
Season after season they will grow and fall.

Such is life on the Earth.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/18/2005

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Whispers of Grace...

Post by AquarianM on Dec 4, 2004 at 8:47am

Whispers of Grace...

I see my universe as filled with joy,
I have faith and vision my needs are met,
All I desire in peace and harmony,
I am given faith and riches as is the Divine plan,
According to the law of spirit,
I see truth before me,
I am the wind,
At peace,
In health,
In joy,
In wisdom,
Guided by Divinity,
Intuitively receptive,
Filled with faith,
I stand upon the grace of God,
Claiming the life that is mine by Divine right,
My foundation of harmony and peace is unbreakable,
This is the tree and the root of my life,
That I may fulfill my part in the Divine plan.

© 12/04/2004 by Daniel A. Stafford

Friday, October 28, 2016

Christmas Quartet...

Post by AquarianM on Dec 24, 2004 at 3:52pm

Christmas Quartet...
*Note - has been down closing on two years. The audio should be good, though.*


Post by AquarianM on Oct 29, 2004 at 12:23pm


I close my eyes,
Transported in time and space,
Beyond the bounds of reality's rules,
I walk in the fields of dreams,
Close to the time of visions,
Believing something endless,
Awaiting trespassers,
Sprung like spiral steel.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/29/2004

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Jack Rabbit Man...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 6:00am

Jack Rabbit Man...
Six seventeen means six seventeen,
No matter how many school buses or trucks,
Riding behind a desperate honk,
Pop the cash in the parking machine or tow ya,
Still the horn blows and the wheels clank on time.

Huff and puff and plop in a seat,
People disapproving your breath noise,
Of course they never ran like a child,
"Wait for me, wait for me!!"

Six seventeen means six seventeen my son,
May the Universe bless you with swift feet,
Long legs and great lungs,
The beast of iron waits for no one.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/13/2005

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

A Soft White Miracle...

Post by AquarianM on Dec 28, 2004 at 2:28pm

A Soft White Miracle...
A simple write of slight import some might say,
Just a little tiny miracle upon Christmas Day,
Beautiful lights everywhere, everywhere,
Wonderful dinner and festive decorations,
Songs sweet and of good cheer,
Wishes for all the world to be able to share,
This is the Common Man's dream everywhere,
That we all might stand in peace and harmony and caring.

Outside it was the hush of a dark night upon Christmas Eve,
Stars twinkling bright and pretty in a clear sky,
Chill to near zero and breath rising in the only cloud to sky,
Grass bare all across the land,
The Weatherman said Santa would need wheels this year,
Nor a speck of white expected.

Three days of soft-spoken prayer,
Three days of asking God for just enough,
Three days of asking that it not take from another's due.

Who would answer this Christmas wish,
Weatherman or God?

There was a quarter inch by Christmas morning,
Grass peeking from under the blanket,
Soft flakes falling all day and all Christmas night,
Outside the decorated windows and covering the flat iced pond,
White upon the pine trees and bare oaks,
Millions of tiny flakes like Christmas lights under street lamps.

God spoke softly in 2004 my friends,
We should all just listen.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/28/2004

Author's Comments:
Every word of this is true. There was to be no snow. I prayed for three days. There was snow.

Opalescent Aquamarine...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 9, 2005 at 6:38pm

Opalescent Aquamarine...

A soft color reminiscent of sea foam,
Gilt with gold-flecked froth and warm as summer rain,
Just as cool as perfection while I float in it's effervescent hue.

Vision of smooth pastel translucence...

I would wear it in a jewel or paint it delicately upon my walls,
Here within my heart I swim in it's incredible peaceful beauty,
I feel the Earth's embrace upon seeing that color.

Warm sands of time washed within it...

Like returning to a tidal pool in a primordial time,
This color is the next to embrace the subconscious of the world,
A gentle persistent splash of healing and clear knowledge.

The ultimate color of teeming life...

The color of unconditional love,
Unending yet always quenched thirst to know,
It is my gently rolling spiritual sea.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/09/2005

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Thrivin' 2005!

Post by AquarianM on Dec 31, 2004 at 4:49pm

Thrivin' 2005!
The air is charged with expectation,
Wonder at what might be,
Liquid silver future,
Shimmering...about to take shape.

What vision lands,
It's all in what we see,
Before the clock strikes twelve we reminisce,
Remember all the vanished ones.

As the fateful tick tocks,
The lights go brightly high into the new night,
Cheers and wide open possibility,
Infinite maybe vastly before us.

Let us walk across the threshold of time,
Carrying only visions of joy in our hearts,
As we become what is still to be...

What we choose we will see.


© 12/31/2004 By Daniel A. Stafford

The Great Pumpkin Is Real...

The Great Pumpkin Is Real...

I saw it in plain sight,
It was three hundred pounds,
No joke,
No boast,
The Great Pumpkin landed in our front yard.

Funny thing,
He always had his back to us,
In daylight that is,
Wouldn't show his face,
Not to a single ghoul,
Nor witch.

No magic was powerful enough,
Not even when the veil was thin,
Not until kissed by the rays of Harvest Moon,
For at night that Great Pumpkin,
He came alive!

I heard his secret late one Halloween night,
Long after children were abed,
Thrashing in candy throes,
Trying desperately to sleep.

"I believe in Linus you see,
I must visit a different pumpkin patch each year,
For some day,
There will be a little boy,
With a blanket and a girl,
It will be up to me to save her faith."

I wish I could believe in the Amazing Linus,
Who could make a toy piano sound like Mozart,
With one thumb still in his mouth.

I hope the Great Pumpkin finds him someday,
Only to save her faith.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/25/2016

Monday, October 24, 2016

Grasshopper Tracks...

Post by AquarianM on Mar 4, 2005 at 2:12am

Grasshopper Tracks...

Hot and sunshine beaten,
The grass is tall over our heads,
Wandering along the rusted rails and timbers,
Grasshoppers bouncing off our ankles step by step.

Sneakers tied tight over tube socks,
Birds were flying over and perching on wires,
I remember the oil-browned poles with blue and white glass insulators,
How the wires could sing at times the birds grew wary.

Garter snakes slithered off into the grass harmless,
Pocket compass and toy binoculars,
What kinds and colors of stones best fill your pockets,
Footpads in bicycle world with un-wound watches.

Wade through the pricker bushes pulling burrs out of socks,
Climbing trees for a lookout or to stare down clouds,
It was a lucky day when the trail ended in watermelon slices on the porch,
And hide 'n seek was the show for the night by lightning bug lights.

July had just started and tomorrow was the lake,
Corn on the cob and hot dogs with lemonade,
Digging up clams from the mud and getting dog-shake splattered,
Grasshoppers bouncing off our ankles step by step.

I wish I could burn THAT in a board with a magnifying glass.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/04/2005

Sunday, October 23, 2016

A Single Voice...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 5, 2005 at 4:57pm

A Single Voice...
Will there be a sound,
The peal of thunder is just upon the verge,
Lightning flashing all about,
The cracked bell tolling wildly in the gale,
Ghosts swarm the harbor and ride a swift steed,
All about the East headstones twitch and Earth rumbles,
Spinning, spinning so that smoke rises,
Amidst the falling snow,
Shall we hear a single voice?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/05/2005

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Words Of Water...

Jan 9, 2005 at 6:40pm

Words Of Water...

It was a black wall moving fast,
Surging upon the beach at 500 miles per hour,
Sweeping like the broom of God,
Amidst all the wailing and cacophonous roar,
Driving it's own wind of change.

I could write a thousand words on each of one hundred fifty thousand deaths.

Instead I write these few words on another current,
That after the blackness swirled back out to sea,
Hundreds and then thousands and then millions gave,
Some going and some sharing,
Incredible need reaches incredible numbers of hearts.

There is a wall in another sea greater than a tsunami.

From deep in the Ocean of Hearts a great wave arises,
Lapping the shores of grief over and over,
Common people and un-common people alike,
Hands and hearts extended amidst a sea of tears,
Is a groundswell of sympathy and kindness and compassion.

Words of water indeed...


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/08/2005

Friday, October 21, 2016

Time Of Fire And Gold:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 10:09am

Time Of Fire And Gold:
Everywhere, everywhere,
The leaves are burning without smoke,
Sun or grey skies the fields glint of gold and harvest,
The land is calling to be taken and I walk the hills and paths in my dreams,
The honking of vast clouds of geese circling whirling over corn,
Blackbirds fill the trees and wires,
The burning bush is rampant and replicated innumerably,
I landed in a field of harvested corn with still neat rows,
Walking in the morning that should be silent,
But the geese are speaking in volumes and I long for open hills,
Free of the concrete burdens of clocks and city,
This is no time of life for lifeless lines and angles,
Give me the wild disarray of red and orange and gold leaves,
The sprawled leaves lying in evidence of harvested corn,
The endless wisps and blankets of grey fall clouds,
Breath on the wind and following the sun and moon,
Haunted nights speak to me of dreams and changing guard,
I am ancient in the fields and reminiscent of fire in stone circles,
Of stealth in the woods and grasses and wielded hoe and scythe,
Of dancing to echoing drums by firelight 'round golden sheaves,
Watched by the blazing yellow of Jack 'O Lantern eyes and such ilk,
Silent in the moment of drawn bow in my mind like Orion in the night,
The world is starting to turn here in earnest,
The world is ablaze,
I am bathed in the time of Fire and Gold.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2004

Author's Comments:
Fall is an incredible gift.

Inscribed In Stone...

Inscribed In Stone...

Words are everything.

Read it again;
Words are everything.

They make us.
They break us.
They echo us to the future,
Long after our dust is eaten by Earth.

When we are stars,
Shining in the depths of night,
Words give voice to our silent light.

See and remember,
See and hear,
If you can read the stars,
Inscribed in stone.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/20/2016

For our stars gone to the sky.

*Side note: We just had to put down our 19-year old cat. He was a very mellow and intelligent guy, and of course a total foodie. Indy, you get a star up there too, old man. 

Thursday, October 20, 2016

The Quiet "Why?"

Post by AquarianM on Jan 13, 2005 at 1:18am

The Quiet "Why?"

Don't whisper that, or even hint.
It's no place to shine the sun.

I'm half-believing, half fearing.
Unable to admit to myself that, that...

My world isn't that way, it just isn't.
Everything will be just fine, in time.

Don't whisper that, or even hint.
It's no place to shine the sun.

I'm half-believing, half fearing.
Unable to admit to myself that, that...

I refuse to see the reflection off of tin foil hats.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/13/2005

Celebratory Lights...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 14, 2005 at 2:14am

Celebratory Lights...

In the January darkness cold breath is rising away,
God's house is full of candles tonight,
I'll never stop looking up at them,
Stars up on high crisp and clear,
These celebratory lights,
A season of rest,
Sleeping frost,


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/14/2005

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

A Majority of Angels...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 13, 2005 at 1:53am

A Majority of Angels...

Wings aren't all they've been cracked up to be,
Some darlings caught between moments whisper softly,
Dear prayers rise up like smoke in the night.

How many hearts really just want everyone and everything to be alright?

The majority of Angels stand between human heartbeats,
Just one second away, just all around you,
Looking out through the carefully-labeled toughness mask.

It's something you have to count with insight.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/13/2005

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Stars and Stones...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 14, 2005 at 2:37am

Stars and Stones...

Is it something tribal or just a hint of survival,
A place in the heart so dark and lonely only God could fathom,
That black hole of a missing soul gone too far from heaven,
Just a dream I see when a certain stone tells me to believe,
Wrapped up in silk and flying in the future,
Dancing like a dervish under my silly skin,
A dream of Neptune for children of Uranus, Saturn rising,
Garnets and amethyst in the night,
Polished and shining and forever recorded,
We were poetry whose page burned,
An ancient ritual of the Spring's return,
Whispered in a far too brief dream,
Like the fallen leaf turning scarlet,
Too bright and pretty for forever to bear,
Still, we once were there.

It was written in the stars...


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/14/2005

Borrowing Arthur's Car Park...

Borrowing Arthur's Car Park...

I know we're in America,
But when it's THAT space,
You simply must say it in that fashion,
There's just nothing else for it.

Have you spilled the pages yet?

Of course I mean Hitchikers' Guide To The Galaxy,
What other pages could there be?
Did you lose your Babble Fish?
Is it sick or drunk?

We went to the International Society for Astrological Research conference,
Where we proceeded to borrow Arthur's car park for two days.

Arthur is off in Space again you see,
You can tell by the missing towel and bathrobe.

I hobbled,
I wobbled,
My knee was just ripped to junk,
But I have stars in my eyes,
Have heard all the astrology of elections I could bear,
And wish for all the world to have a return to Normality.

Little white mice squeaking at my feet have to be better than this,
I'm as depressed as a hyper-intelligent robot opening doors,
For no one told me that Vogon Poetry was portrayed in American politics,
But there it is in orange emails.

Of course,
Earth might be destroyed,
If one of them wins by 42 votes,
If I could only get to the local galatic planning office!

I'm sure the plans were on public display in another star system,
For they seem to have been written for years and years.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/18/2016

Author's Note:
We did attend ISAR, and we did get parking space 42. As to the rest, only Wikileaks and Anonymous know.

Monday, October 17, 2016

It Was A Fish Floater...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 23, 2005 at 7:17pm

© 01/22/2005 by Daniel A. Stafford

(Inspired by the movie "Silver City")

To Be A Child of Muses...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 25, 2005 at 1:21am

To Be A Child of Muses...

Who else could see a dust speck floating in a ray of sunshine,
Single it out and see it as a star in some Lilliputian universe of dreams,
Speak it's name upon the wind even as it was slipped into your whisper ear?

In the shadow mind with your heart-eye open to listen...

Who could see a yellow flower growing alongside tarmac at seventy five,
Tell the whole world of every breeze and raindrop each petal touched,
Whisper out every secret of a life lived in one place all in a single springtime like a child?

Swimming the current of sentimentality like a dolphin racing a great white clipper ship...

Who else could stand upon a flying thistle seed,
Brush a kiss upon the cheek of the amber Moon,
Then spin a pillow story around the crown of a young child well loved?

Seeing strength in the keenest eye of make-believe Paradises...

Yet somehow these velvet visions become real,
Watercolored upon the pages of history where only Love wins in the end,
Breathed out in insight-guided whispers of inner-speak...

Simple things in the world of a child of Muses.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/25/2005

Sunday, October 16, 2016

January's Sign...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 27, 2005 at 11:52am

January's Sign...

I heard it on the radio as the tiny snow flakes fell,
Just as she was singing "Kiss Me," the D.J. broke the news,
Something I can only wish I saw...

The tiny lake effect flakes were dancing,
Road humming under my tires about going home,
Sun was shining behind me East through the thinning clouds...

Cold and clearing,
Salt spray painting my windshield like fog,
I was just about to sing along with the chorus...

"I wish we hadn't missed it,"
She said in her best smooth radio voice,
"...I hear they're very, very rare..."

"The beautiful snow rainbow everyone's been calling about."

Some people complain about January in Chicago,
I just wish I hadn't missed it.

January's sign...


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/27/2005

Author's Comments:
True story this morning, listening to The Light,

Saturday, October 15, 2016

You Are NOT Alone...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:43am

You Are NOT Alone...

There was a bad whisper coming from the high hill, just a lie on the wind.

Followed by many, and many more.

You chose NOT to listen while you spoke of sunshine,
Dreamt of warm hearts and caring arms being a global fashion,
Sowing the seeds that would devour the bull refuse in a blaze of green and sunshine,
You wrote poems that spoke of a spirit of giving and caring and inclusion.

Eyes are opening with every whiff of bad wind blowing, believe it.

A thousand years of peace is not a dream - just a prayer waiting to happen,
And you stand there with love in your heart for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall...
Wondering why you only hear dark and see dark and dream light,
Waiting for tears to end and people to "get" embracing everyone - instead of coloring circles of enclosure.

Don't just change the channel...turn it off, leave pages un-turned, go into a different paradigm.

If you look in the right places there are thousands and millions awake,
See the right weathervane - it's racing in bit torrents like a flood,
The congregation rising from where the fooled say only fools live,
But you can see that the finger pointing for lunacy is being done by the insane.

Look up - look out and about - see all the sunshine and cool are NOT alone.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/05/2005

Friday, October 14, 2016

A Short Bio...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:42am

A Short Bio...

I was born, I breathed, that breath,
- it was filled with the mist off a Midwestern river,
I walked the Earth and read the people,
I wrote,
I write, and I live -

...and I want everyone to live.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/05/2005

Thursday, October 13, 2016

The Ghost Bird Of Plainfield...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 2, 2004 at 12:10pm

The Ghost Bird Of Plainfield...

It was something graceful,
The way the tree leaves streamed with the afternoon breeze,
The sharp slant of early afternoon sunshine,
Easy old music on the baby blue cream white and chrome radio,
Retro with dials and red hands and yellow numbers,
A wasp flew by and two butterflies,
Three flies and a swift flock of pigeons raced over the rooftops,
Grey and speckled white and seeming swift,
I looked to neighbor Ron's swaying red flowers and purple tall grasses,
It was then that I saw it unrecognized at first,
Hovering at first one red bloom then another then gone,
It took a moment to register,
Just three tiny inches with invisible wings,
In that flash of fleet beauty,
I had witnessed the appearance of the hummingbird.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/02/2004

Author's Comments:
Instant replay via poetry.

Labor Day Rain:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 6, 2004 at 10:50am

Labor Day Rain:
I kind of wonder if the edge of Frances is touching us here,
Thinking of far away friends scattered about the windy circle,
But here it's gentle rain and breezes blowing,
No hullabaloo in an unhurried morning,
Ducks on the pond and vast green view out the window,
Simply four Mallards paddling,
A little yellow tinge on leaves everywhere,
Yesterday's ride through the country as gold climbs down the soybeans,
I've thoughts of amber leaves and red and brown,
Of milkweed tufts burst free,
Of wandering the corn maze holding my wife's hand like children,
Of the passing of another year,
Amber moons with black cloud veils,
The occasional bat flying past,
Even in this season young hearts falling in love,
Caught in the hurricane of time,
Enjoying every rest of landing feet,
Yet for now the warm coffee calls me,
And Fall can wait another sleepy day.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/06/2004

Author's Comments:
Fleeting thoughts, a note from one of my nieces, a morning of reading poems after a wonderful day and night.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Broom Rider:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:13pm

Broom Rider:
I've often wondered if it was a cackle of glee,
Or a twitch of black cat claw on the backside,.
That lifted the first broom off the cauldron lip.

Perhaps the long green stockings,
And whippy black cloak,
Just trappings to hide picking broom splinters,
Out of something "nether" or such.

What they don't show you in corn bristle assembly class,
Is how to wrap milkweed fiber over toad skins,
So you can cling to an upside down spinning yew spear,
After you blast up the chimney in a puff of soot and sparks,
Big screeching black tom spike hackled and all.

The big question of the day,
Corn strings or long straw,
Batwing leather or worn old scalps,
The best method of cleaning black wax off cracked skulls,
Which type of toadstool stew to use for broomsores,
Or the best angle from which to cross an ambered gibbous moon.

Just remember to tip the vampire valets,
After you finish landing in the pumpkin patch,
Never let them catch you out racing ghosts,
And make sure you have a solid supply of sandpaper,
Before you take off for any spell casting match,
Standing naked and green under the stars,
There in the pentagram of a Druid circle.

There's a reason Fall brings out slang like,
Cold as a witch's...well,
Considering the entry fee is getting kicked in the face by a unicorn,
Is it any wonder you'll eat only small things stewed?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/15/2004

Author's Comments:
For some ghastly reason, I'm looking forward to Fall and Halloween.

Even The Tiniest Place Needs The Sun...

Even The Tiniest Place Needs The Sun...

Ah, the gifts of muses,
To hear their call is to see life with a poet's eyes,
That permanent magnifying glass,
The very air in front of your sight,
It bends time and space,
Makes them pull on your heart in such a way,
Such a way indeed.

You who read me often know it;
A flower never moves,
Nor the blade of grass worshiping at its root,
Unlike the dog,
Or the butterfly,
The world is a small place for a tree or flower,
Not much less for the spider who weaves,
A web for just one season amidst its leaves.

This world has almost lost its flowers,
Might never notice a blade of grass,
But for the sight of poets,
Like fairies and elves,
The small world would be lost.

This then is the true gift of the Muses,
To bring sunlight to the existence of every little thing,
To bring depth and meaning to each moment,
So that all of life receives just enough hurrah,
For attention and love fuel this universe.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/12/2016

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Plight Of The New World Witch:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:14pm

Plight Of The New World Witch:
One has to wonder at the stereotypes,
Green-nosed Halloween caricatures,
black hats and totally missed points.

Thum datta thum datta thum datta thum...

Maybe some ancient crone playing with black arts,
Maybe just a vicious tale,
Made to scare children abed.

Unmask the wicked ancient dreams...

When reality is blown free of October fog,
The magic is in the balance,
The dance of Love and Faith against Fear.

A clean clear wind whispers over the green hills...

There's a white light in the world today,
A gift from God and not an enemy,
Simple teachers of believing in Love.

Thum datta thum datta thum datta thum...

When the message is to have Faith,
Mountains will move,
When the message spreads Fear it sadly landslides.

Fear is only Faith that Evil will win...

Satan paints with Fear,
Rejoices in each soul bathed in that tool,
The exact opposite of Loving Faith.

Love is Faith that God wants us all to win...

God's own word teaches,
Faith is the source of what could be called magic,
Granted only through His universal Love.

Thum datta thum datta thum datta thum...

Faith blighted with Fear only illuminates pain,
Faith lighted with Love illuminates the way,
Have Faith we're all meant to be one in a new world.

Embrace Love each night and day.



By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/15/2004

Author's Comments;
It's there in His words - all one need do is look.

Far Better Than Farcebook...

Far Better Than Farcebook...

That's exactly the name I gave it,
For farce it is,
But certainly not scarce.

I don't know if I can bear it,
One more cucumbered kitty,
One more skinned doggy,
Not another man shot in cold blood,
Nor the conspiracies you want to believe,
Neither the ones you don't.

The science,
Oh to be sure,
The nieces and nephews,
Sons and sisters and brothers,
The Dads and the others.

The music and invention,
But not the games and deception.

I'll stay here where the Muses never lie,
Yet always always always,
Keep you wondering how and why.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/11/2016

Monday, October 10, 2016

Fish Doctah Blues:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 17, 2004 at 8:31am

Fish Doctah Blues:
We've got fish flying 'round the room,
There in the downstairs powder parlor,
Inspired by a picture about dreams,
Something about most people and wealth,
And the writer walking backwards,
Between flying fish and speaking animals,
So we found the little wooden trout at the hobby shop,
Looking just like the ones in the picture,
And I gave them rainbow shimmer wings,
Flew them on the wall like some creator,
And they look at me with beady eyes,
Every time I'm in there,
Like "He made us fly but what's stapled on next"?

Got a wooden child with wings coming loose,
Need to pull out the tape and glue,
Put the imaginary magic back,
Before sad-eyed trout rainbows swim my dreams,
I much prefer scaly ripples of free flight imagination,
Guess it's practice for some future responsibility,
Or just the silliest poet heart,
But if you give fish wings,
It's no fun taking a chance on them splashing down.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/08/2004

Author's Comments:
Yes, we do have this surreal scene in the downstairs powder room, and this piece is both figurative and real life at the same time.

Sunday, October 09, 2016

State Of Crisis:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 7, 2004 at 6:57pm

State Of Crisis:
It's a sad sickness these days,
The thousands and thousands of messages,
A never ending litany of fear and fire,
The flames of the Beast must be stamped out,
And I'm hopping upon e-mail after e-mail,
Dancing like a clown in too-small shoes.

In every place I look the Beast seems to be raging.

Slowly I'm coming to realize,
Some subtle understanding of change behind my eyes,
In the analysis of near poetic standstill,
I've come to a state of crisis,
Barely able to lift my hand to dip pen in ink,
Let alone delisciously stroke the page.

In every place I look the beast seems to be raging.

What the soul says is the answer is hard to believe,
It's wispy and willowy and ephemeral and electric,
It's a dance of the merger of physics and spirit,
Some might call it even shamanistic,
In every place I look the Beast seems to be raging,
Until I look inside my heart.

Defuse the state of crisis,

I refuse to be a lonely heart.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/07/2004

Author's Comments:
KNOW the Beast will lose. KNOW that Spirit will win.
JOIN in.

Saturday, October 08, 2016

Remnants Of Gold:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 5, 2004 at 8:50am

Remnants Of Gold:
Late afternoon in low sun like a dying year,
Gone to bursting milkweed and dead amber everywhere,
Flaming leaves dueling in ageless dance with still-yet green,
Walking round the trail the river is slowly flowing reflection,
Hand in hand we wonder at stalks and leaves and tufted seed,
Flight is a marvel as the vee circles again and again,
Hovering over golden corn stubble low and slow,
Like this sky without a cloud,
And they mate for life just as they gather in the harvested corn,
Hundreds and hundreds and voices of forever,
The sun is falling and we're walking past the barn,
Boarded up with it's children long gone away,
The sky will be all stars tonight and sheets over the mums,
A hard freeze will come they say,
It never ends but it ends every year,
We'll turn to sweaters and coats as tawny returns,
Tawny in every corner of the world and gold in the sky,
The turn of sunlight angle speaks to your soul of time,
In the manner of stone-shouldered hills and book-pressed flowers,
The world bears fruit despite harsh masters,
Yet the amber prairie bones fill our eyes,
Calling for a healing long overdue.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/05/2004

Author's Comments:
We have duties and we have treasures.

Friday, October 07, 2016

The She-Devil Of Hanover Pit...

The She-Devil Of Hanover Pit...

I can't believe it!
She bought me a speedo one size too small,
Took me out to Hanover on a sunny week day.

This old gravel pit has a beautiful beach,
And a solid thirty-foot cliff to leap from,
And now it has her.

She caught me by the broken heart strings,
Near twin to my first love,
But love wasn't what she wanted to pull,
No - I wouldn't call it exactly that.

I was just over nineteen,
She maybe the same,
Only the two of us and her little sister,
The beach all to ourselves.

All hands and no modesty,
She wanted to show me off,
Took me past caring about being a trophy,
My only relief to dive in,
Too late for staring eyes.

I could tell you stories about that one,
I could indeed,
But I want you to live.

Nineteen hundred and eighty-two was an interesting year.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/07/2016

Author's note:
True story. Like any good story, there's a LOT more to it. I couldn't help it, Goldenmyst tossed my Muse right back into my personal gutter! Lol

In The Burning Shadow Of Fallen Leaves:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 15, 2004 at 3:12pm

In The Burning Shadow Of Fallen Leaves:


It's another year gone and the leaves are piled,
Awaiting their day to smoke and burn into the sky,
The glistening blue of a sky grasping the frost of every breath in the world,
The flames only erase the most visible past,
The ash lies underneath - infiltrating the ground,
The building blocks and foundation for what new will come,
Is it a Spring of green you await,
Shall the harvest soon to come be forgotten?

See the shadow of leaf smoke long across the ground,
It's day is nigh and the stars of Summer are falling below the Earth,
Even as the Hunter rises in the sky once again,
Eternal with sword and bow twinkling in the night,
In the night that comes all manner of ghouls and flying things will rise,
Haunting the inner vision in annual respect of death's reaping,
In the time when each flower knows it's season was too short,
Must pass and fade and brown like last Summer's grass,
And when we breath in the smoke that shadows fallen leaves,
Watch the sparks leap up and licking orange flames,
The bare dead tree limbs and endless night question us,
Did you ever love enough in your short season?

Looking through the knot hole of a gourd,
It begs a question,

"When it comes to love,
What could possibly Oh Great Pumpkin,
What could possibly ever be enough?"


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/14/2004

Author's Comments:
I feel this every single Fall. Some more than others, but every one.

Thursday, October 06, 2016

Under The Turning Light Of The Moon:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 2, 2004 at 7:30am

Under The Turning Light Of The Moon:
The evening was fallen between clouds and stars,
Billowing black traipsed across the face of amber,
It was as familiar as bats flying on All Hallows Eve,
As the wind whispers departing secrets,
Soft syllables upon the just-turning leaves and grasses,
Milkweed pods full almost to bursting yet still green,
Brown tinge at the edge of Queen Anne's Lace,
Black birds are gathering upon the wires as the calendar comes to nine,
The breeze is warm in evening and cool after the witching hour,
Prairie flowers fading away to golden seeds,
The stars are changing and Summer is growing weary,
Yet for a time yet she will warm us still,
Watching as the corn leaves edge with yellow,
As the fruits begin to bear,
Squirrels hoarding and rabbits burrowing,
Sweaters and jackets checked for repair,
The passing of another season looms,
Beautifully bittersweet,
The only way left to greet it is like a child,
With wonder and wide open eyes,
And the feel of ghosts rising into foggy nights.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/03/2004

Author's Comments:
It seems we've hardly had Summer this year. There have been so many cool days, rain and fifty degree days in August. Another year gone, another year farther from Spring. I'm going to ride my bike for all I'm worth and just
try to remember.

Better Ways...

Better Ways...

I hear a ticking drumbeat that calls me in the night,
To an other-world,
A place of soft blue light.
All the world places shallow dreams there,
Jokes and screaming and the great salty mind of Humanity,
Raw and yet guarded,
A cesspool full of kittens,
Dreams of the stars spun around dreams of Armageddon.
Then there is this soft place,
An old green garden,
A place where dreams are pinned to the walls,
And our ghosts speak plainly to us,
Everything they ever said at our fingertips.
If I am so driven to pour pieces of my soul into the aether,
I feel that this is a better way.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/06/2016

Compassion is the greatest sign of Humanity.

Wednesday, October 05, 2016

Birds Diving Off Wires:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 12:27pm

Birds Diving Off Wires:
Must have been a flock of fifty,
Up against all the greyed-over sky,
A day for old blues piano,
Solid voices roll over golden grass,
Singing songs of falling love ends,
Fires as painful as burning leaves,
Guitars twang and echo,
Blinga blinga blue like cold creek water,
Another Fall season burns,
Birds are diving off wires,
Flocking South in the grey-blue sky,
And I am thankful I've found home.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2004

Author's Comments:
Listening to old blues on a fall drive.

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.

Tuesday, October 04, 2016

Those Heady Days Haunt Me...

Those Heady Days Haunt Me...

I remember the hustle and bustle,
The words were a tornado,
Where now there is a chill breeze of Autumn.
The back-and-forth was grand,
The ship of poetry like a yankee clipper at twenty-two knots,
Full sail under the bright stars of a deep oceanic night,
Our Muse the Lady on the bow.

There were so many of us alive then,
Our ghosts that we miss haunt us,
Yet if we look back in the logs,
Their voices are with us,
So long as these stars stay up in Heaven.

I fly like a silver albatross to the drumbeat,
Driven to sail these seas,
Perhaps all my days,
To cherish all the eddies and currents and wave crests,
Breaking upon the black seas.

Samhain is more than a dream of poets,
A pool of universal depth,
Steered with keyboard and pen.

All hail!

All hail!

Another Star burned down out of the deep dark night!


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/04/2016

Author's note:
For Maggie / Cusick - whom Cherri's post on Christine's memorial now tells me is a star up above. You can see a beautiful - and awarded - example of Maggie's poetry HERE.

River Fest...

Post by AquarianM on Oct 26, 2004 at 2:44pm

River Fest...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Author's Comments:
I just woke up a few minutes ago, I'd been dreaming of old friends and home.

Monday, October 03, 2016

Early Morning At The No Name Cafe:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 13, 2004 at 10:10am

Early Morning At The No Name Cafe:


Life is something ticking in the city,
When the sun comes out you only find it by looking at reflections,
Steel and concrete and glass cocoon you,
There in the No Name Cafe they have bright colors,
Back in the corner of the building,
Only those at this address know,
No signs at all anywhere,
Nothing in the windows facing out to the bustling streets,
But they speak spanish and flip up eggs and sausage with a smile,
Corned beef hash only on Fridays,
Change from mariachi to light hits at seven,
Always cheerful to precede sun or rain,
Clutching my umbrella I order up,
Surrounded by brilliant yellow walls,
Grilled potatoes with onions and bell pepper shreddings,
Breakfast sausage links and a bottle of orange juice,
One plastic fork and two paper packets of salt,
A single napkin and those fifties tables and chairs,
Yellow and green vinyl and formica with banded chrome,
Stainless legs polished gleaming off checker tile floors,
The scents and early morning faces smiling in greeting,
Finished I pop the swiveling trash can lid,
Whip out the revolving glass door with the second half of cigar,
Pop my umbrella from it's folded up respite,
Strut between raindrops under my tote-a-roof in green,
Elevate up to the sixth floor of the parking ramp,
I close the umbrella and lean on the concrete wall,
Flick the lid open on my Zippo *snick*,
Light up and puff as I look down on the sidewalk,
A river of umbrella colors moving in some semblance of order,
I look up at the buildings with all their glass windows,
Seeing the billions of individual drops in the cascade outlined in hive relief,
Zipping up the black sweat jacket full and relaxed,
I just left work for the day,
After stopping by No Name Cafe.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2004

Author's Comments:
I wanted to write this a few days ago, but it just popped out today.

Saturday, October 01, 2016

Dope Me Daddy:

Post by AquarianM on Dec 11, 2003 at 8:18am

Dope Me Daddy:

It burns - what they want to do.

The angels are falling into the grass -
Psycho tropic poison flowers fed on tears and paper.

They'll take you away for letting day dreamers dream -
Rule your children for you like they know something better,
Made up a name for it all fancy dancin'.

The death certificates that sing like Elvis's last seconds -
Hearing things seeing things,
Hearts hammering uneven rhythms on the precipice.,
The black shrouds wait and I know it's wrong.

Dope me, Daddy, I'll get my homework done -
Dope me, Mommy, I'll keep quiet my mouth shut,
Dope me, Teacher, I'll get my homework done,
Dope me, Doctor, was it kickbacks on the drugs,
Dope me, Principal, more big federal bucks.

The death certificates fall from the trees -
They let the winds bury them in the bushes where you can't see,
It keeps the kids in that uniform size box,
First cousin to coke and blood brother to meth,
They'll take away your kids for negligence -
If they don't dope them to cold in the ground death.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 12/11/2003

Author's Comments:
Ritalin: government-backed and school-enforced kiddy cocaine.
They'll push you and push you until you cave - or just take them
and do it anyway. But this is America! So they say. I'm being pushed to OK
my son being put on this garbage from every direction by well-meaning killers.
I will NEVER say it's OK to do this to my child. Just because his head doesn't
fit in their little tiny square box of a picture of how people should be. Thank
God they didn't get to do it to me. They just ignore the deaths - the "small" percentage.

Cigar Chair Secrets:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 25, 2003 at 7:31am

Cigar Chair Secrets:

In the loud silent space,
Inside your mind,
Falling into your eyes,
Every nuance of sun angle,
Every changing detail of cloud,
Every passing bird and rustling grass,
Frog voices and wind blown,
Distant words fall in your ears,
Every hint of wind or breeze,
Patch of magenta sunset cloud low,
You feel the Earth spin,
Remember Grandfathers,
Flavor and aroma of,
Life and Earth and,
Then and now,
Small and huge and in place,
Blow through you like,
Landing gently crushing,
Underskin upon your bones.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/24/2003

Author's Comments:
A fine cigar, late afternoon sun, a note book and pen,
big cup of coffee, lawn chair...timeless.

The Long Shadow of Time:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 9, 2003 at 7:15am

The Long Shadow of Time:

I feel it in every cool breath,
The ones I can see and not just hear,
In the slow turn of the stars I so adore,
In the disappearing green,
Like a flood of ennui in a field of stalks of gold,
The barest hint of purple twilight coming behind me,
The long low visual hush of fall fog over hugging the corn,
The way the geese are in ever larger vees overhead,
Or the growing blackbird clouds,
The death of green leaves and flowers last week,
In a hard night time freeze,
The slant of sunlight in disappearing afternoons,
The incessant insufferable inevitable ticking of clocks,
Every last tale of another year gone,
I sing with the mourning birds,
I could fall into the sky and hear stars whisper,
Or maybe spend a season in the headstones,
Crying over those I lost,
Candles with ice and snow coming,
How many more springs will we see,
Before I'm dusting pyramids in Egypt,
Specks on the wind that outlasted me,
Like all my personal legends,
Forgotten and fallen off the world,
So I write and I pray midnight mysteries,
Beg Eternity for a stone in it's pool from which to croak,
Pray that it's not the lilly pad,
Floating transient and lost,
Somewhere under the long shadow of Time.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/09/2003

Author's Comments:
The changing season always drives it home, like a stake through the heart.

Time Warps Do Exist...

Time Warps Do Exist...

Which must be the theme for this morning, because people were posting pictures of their Deloreans on Facebook, and the comments went all the way back to the future.

Now, getting past that digression, I just went through and skimmed over the content on this ol' blog, and just wow! It goes back all the way to November 1st of 2002. I'm pretty sure that's close to when I first started blogging, period. It can't have been too long before that.

I'm amazed at how much of my poetry is archived here. I'm damn lucky that it is.

I had at the last count I remember, nearly 1,800 poems published on before it went down. I'd thought I had emailed myself almost every one of those poems as I posted them. They'e nowhere to be found in the email folders I expected to find them in.

There are many of those poems scattered across multiple poetry sites around the web. However, nothing was as comprehensive as Luckily, a lot of my early poetry survives here, on this sweet old blog. I'm very grateful for that.

I'm probably going to work to recover a lot of my poetry from a couple of other sites that have quite a bit of my more recent poems. Maybe from 2005 on.

We'll see just how much I can recover, and put up here in this place where my mejic still reverberates through the webverse.

At the moment, I'm killing time in the wee hours of the morning working on a computer that has just been giving me fits. The thing has been an utter nightmare to work with. I'm on my last-ditch attempt to fix it. I'm waiting for a system image backup to copy over to a portable hard drive.

I had a great email from my dear old friend Spinny yesterday evening. That was cool. She lives way Down Under. We've been online friends since back in 1996. Who has friends on the web that long? The internet was in its infancy then. It was like a naive little baby compared to now! Seriously, Netscape Navigator! How many of you remember that? Or AOL? Remember the first time you found out what LOL meant, or ROTFLMAO? Windows 95? Yeah.

At any rate, I'm going to go find a poem and bring it over here. Happy morning world!

Thank you for reading!