Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A Poor Day To Die...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 3, 2005 at 8:42am

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 awoke...to the news of Katrina.

Monday, January 30, 2017

The Simplest Evil...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 7, 2005 at 7:54am

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

Author's Comments:
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.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

What Came After...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 13, 2005 at 8:10am

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

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Divination's Dance...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 20, 2005 at 7:58am

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

Friday, January 27, 2017

Hawkbelly Grace...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 27, 2005 at 8:37am

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

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.
All of my published poetry is at:

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Unintentional Solar Art...

Post by AquarianM on May 28, 2005 at 10:14pm

Unintentional Solar Art...

Go to the corner of Wacker and Washington,
Turn East and go half a block,
Puffing on a big cigar with a mug of coffee in hand,
Be sure to be on the South side of the street.

Between seven a.m. and seven forty in April,
On a clear sunny morning,
The sun will shine on you there,
Warming you from one side despite wind.

People walk by in their hundreds,
Always looking forward as if to see their destination,
Barely a glance at the world around them,
Unless sirens are screaming lurid alert.

Standing in your sacred spot smoking,
You adjust your sunglasses and look North,
Seeing the buildings across the empty lot,
Where they tore down the old Commodities Exchange.

How long the lot will remain open is a question,
This view didn't exist two years ago,
May not in another year or two,
Yet for now the way is clear to see.

Look North and find the low brick,
The building with the arched entry,
There with the yellow banner,
Spanning the top of the arch.

Look up over the roof line and higher still,
Over the top of the parking ramp behind,
To the glass building standing on the bend over the river,
Leaning out a foot towards the current.

On the side of the building you will see,
Squiggles and curlicues and strange symbols,
For all the world like some alien language,
Written in the warping of the glass and sunlight.

Glowing like white-hot neon in the morning sun,
I wonder what language they speak,
If their strange and transient message,
Somehow is meant to awaken those who see.

"Look, look at the wonders around you, for miracles are always free."


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/27/2005

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Back On The Train...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 5:57am

Back On The Train...
Hot magenta sun rising into orange indigo,
Fade to burning yellow and soft cool blue,
People stand at the station darting glances,
A word maybe here or there between coffee sips,
News paper rustles and we shuffle on board.

After the clanging blinking stop,
Blue suit man the Conductor taking tickets,
Swingin' swayin' roll past houses or stores,
Parks and factories and churches,
Phone poles stand guard like whispering sentinels,
Watching the baseball diamond tennis court swing sets,
WHUFF an outbound train whips past,
The world reappears and the buildings rise.

Downtown and into the Underworld,
Hoping for a second of window-reflcted second hand sun.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/04/2005

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Soft Pink Morning...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 19, 2005 at 8:04pm

Soft Pink Morning...

Hot magenta balloon rising softly,
Only to brighten crawling across sky,
Fire-lined clouds in crimson and gold,
Birdsong greets the coffee yawns,
There at the edge of the rails.

Young old and middle all huddle in bunches,
Together but alone to await the lights,
Clanging blinking train downtown,
Only to disperse to myriad places dark,
Hidden away from sunlight for our toil.

Young Miss in the pink blazer,
Not even twenty riding with Mom,
Does she even notice I held the door,
Yawning into the seat to nap the ride,
Just another face to fade into the world?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/19/2005

Monday, January 23, 2017

Just A Different Shirt...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 20, 2005 at 8:34pm

Just A Different Shirt... 
A different colorful color every day,
A very fine deal on the sale rack,
Ten new crisp work shirts,
Sure to fit my mood - or not.

It's a new day every day,
Not much has changed at all,
Just another shirt gets me along,
I love clean colors and sharp lines.

Cotton blue checks or orange or yellow,
Fire engine red or maybe green,
I pull ten stick pins a day,
Stick them through the size sticker.

Toss them away with the plastic necks,
It's a new color - a new day,
Is it just another shirt?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/20/2005

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Morning Birds...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 18, 2005 at 7:59pm

Morning Birds...
Train ride together with all the world,
Outside the circle a touch of suspicion,
Dark Indian hair and smooth coffee complexion,
Soft spoken accents maybe of Bombay.

She disappears into homework notebooks,
MP3 player rocking on his ear,
Napping to the beat as rails sing softly,
Train sways his dreams and my pen.

Trees spring blooming drift by,
The morning sun rises pretty and bright,
Pull the hat down over your eyes Sir,
The day is long and bright ahead.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/15/2004

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Between Sunbeams...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 18, 2005 at 8:00pm

Between Sunbeams...
Cigars are peculiar things,
Most people love the scent and sense of relaxation,
Smokers - the texture in your fingers is warm,
They need air and hate wind,
Burning sideways in a strong breeze.

I lit mine in the underground rail yard,
Climbed up the steps and walked East,
Across the drawbridge over the river,
Straight into the rising sun.

The breeze was slow and gentle today,
Gulls swooping and gliding gracefully,
My sunglasses awash in morning sunlight,
The world fading at the edges.

Entire buildings appear and disappear,
Washed out in golden glare,
People caught faintly at your eye corners,
You wonder if angels travel somewhere there,
Dancing between sunbeams.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/15/2004

Friday, January 20, 2017

Lime-Eyed Man...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 19, 2005 at 8:02pm

Lime-Eyed Man...
You see him on the brick wall,
From the passing trains.

Some graffiti master's awful dream,
Eyes of green lime slices huge and round,
One half slice makes a graffiti wink.

He's got a pale moon head,
Ultra-rounded face of silver paste,
Sharp white collar tuxedo in black,
A gold ball-capped walking stick gleams in hand.

Living on a brick wall and passing dreams,
The scowl of lime-green disapproval,
Ready to guide you through darkness,
To face all that lies under your mind,
With a martini in hand and aloof.

A green-eyed monster of a dream.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/19/2005

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Shores Of Naked Sand:

Post by AquarianM on Jan 25, 2004 at 1:12am

Shores Of Naked Sand:

I leaned upon the rail and peered into the night,
Cygnus the swan twinkled back down on me,
There in the deep darkness amongst the stars in their thousands,
It was the eye of the Bird the Hunter followed that chilled my bones,
Amongst all the Heavens you can no longer see ashore.

The Albatross glided slowly into the night.

I looked to the bow in the morning,
Sure to find leaping dolphins and cheer them on,
Yet seeing only blue water breaking,
My eyes wandered off to the distant cloudless sky,
Chastised like a disappointed child I walked away.

The Albatross was a distant speck out of sight.

We saw a fishing vessel every other day,
Our grim-faced Captain gritted his teeth and turned his face aside,
I often wondered at that moment what iceberg struck his heart,
Yet at dinner that night he held a plastic smile,
Roast pig was at the table yet the only fish was an ice sculpture cornered.

An olive branch floated past but no bird circled above.

We passed the island at calm sunset,
Not stopping for a moment and I had to ask why,
The Mate just said a plague was there,
And I saw not a canoe under swaying palms,
Nothing darted through the bare blue sky.

True North was gone mystic for I'd never see a guiding bird.

It happened in the night everything flew across the stateroom,
We were going down yet not a shark was circling,
Perhaps some comfort in bare waves breaking upon one lonely uncharted rock,
My eyes fell below the blue and I sank like a stone,
Noting the palm trees underwater just before the stone.

I dreamed of the Albatross as my body glided down to bare sand.

Going into the light I realized,
I still have never tasted fish, Old Man.

The Albatross stared at me cold without a tear in his great red eye.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 01/25/2004

Author's Comments:
Wandering albatrosses are huge, solitary, near-mythical birds who mate for life. With wingspans of up to four meters (12 feet), they're the largest flying creatures on Earth and can spend months far beyond land, seeming to revel in the fierce winds of the Roaring Forties. They are Southern Hemisphere, circumpolar birds, as are most of the other 23 albatross species. They also were a prominent feature in a most famous poem, Old Man Of The sea. To see the inspiration for this piece, go here: www.enn.com/news/2003-01-23/s_12292.asp

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Chorizzo Con Huevos Y Queso En La Tortilla...

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

Chorizzo Con Huevos Y Queso En La Tortilla...
Caught the early ride out express,
Track swayin' my newspaper 'n coffee,
Sunrise not yet sunny side up.

Shuffled off down the ramp,
Be a good sardine and no pushing,
Up the upscalator staring at a thousand backs.

Step in line at the counter,
Order my hot steaming breakfast burrito,
Chorizzo and egg with cheese no salsa.

Watch the cook flippin' the spatula,
Stuff it in a paper sack and off I go,
Grab a little table and hot goodness...

Una poesia para ustèd.

Good morning, Buenos dìas!


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/08/2005

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Monday Dusk...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 14, 2005 at 5:59am

Monday Dusk...
Hustle shuffle feet if you want to make it,
The six seventeen just rolled up clanging,
Blinking and squealing I'm stuffing the pay box,
Two bucks for slot 610 at 6:10,
Sun glow barely warming East.

Sit on the first car behind the hooded sweatshirt,
Dark navy with the electric bluebird on the back,
Hood drops and young,
Pretty straight black hair,
Turn of ear with small black earring,
Hoop and nape and the sweats go up,
Pillow on the window soft pink shoulder,
Red tank strap sleepy.

Train sway shakes my hand slow letters,
Back yard flower trees springing by green.


By: Daniel A. stafford
© 04/11/2005

Monday, January 16, 2017

Grounded In Grey...

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

Grounded In Grey...


The roof of the world is grey today,
Chilly and dripping wet drops,
Tote-a-roof people rushing with bent splines,
A floppy umbrella edge suggests a painful cause,
I duck for cover at the building edges.

Sea gulls squawk from ledges of concrete,
Grounded in the chill wet winds,
Only a few brave birds glide over river water,
The distant myriad window lights,
All the warmth a soggy psyche can find.

Across the gently bouncing rattling drawbridge,
Millions of stamping wet feet dodge cabs,
That scourge of the streets never trusted,
How fast can you spin that final revolving door?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 04/12/2005

Sunday, January 15, 2017

By Your Calculation...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 28, 2005 at 4:14am

By Your Calculation...

The silence of beautiful voices haunts me like a cold winter night,
The stars above call without speaking,
And the faery ring around the Moon is at a quarter this sky,
Just a few hours from the rise of a brilliant Winter Sun.

Still you are swearing black-hearted and frigid,
So busy counting every snowflake in the pile,
Certain your wretched gold must lie beneath the bank.
And the glare of your Antarctic indifference may just kill us all.

Put a good woman away out of work in a dark night,
Silence the warmth of clever-jeweled voices,
For the pennies that lie upon that now bare floor shine to your fingers,
And the despairing silence is the easier course in this blizzard...

By your calculation.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 01/28/2005

Author's comments:
Barnes & Noble corporate has eliminated their Events Coordinator position,
and canceled all events at specific stores that were not meeting an un-specified
revenue volume. Of course it doesn't matter that the store where Plainfield Live Poetry
reads is in a subdivision that is currently building five thousand new homes within three miles of it,
or that they had a wonderful person in the position. I just got the news the day after one of
the best readings we've had, with things poised to begin growing. I'm choosing to look at it
as an opportunity to find a better venue, but it does chafe a bit, and I am holding hopes
that the gal that was handling events there gets a new gig soon.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Don't Buy No Rotation Babble...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 5, 2005 at 10:44am

Don't Buy No Rotation Babble...

The doctors are out there,
Spinning the whole Universe from the inside,
Total rotation of creation,
A bad day in Everyland with electromagnetic complications.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

Fricasseed little brothers and sisters,
Like flies without wings or even legs and the camera is too shy,
All because of the great green voice that's speakin' broken,
A bad day in Everyland with electromagnetic complications.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

You think you can pick but you really just shovel,
All unknowing and smelling roses upon command,
Never get your real demand like you're thinking,
But when everything's frying on the sidewalk you'll still be blind.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

Brother have you got a dime for some really cheap minds,
It's just a simple button-pushed modem white-wash,
Viscously flowing down blackness underneath uncountable lies,
And when everything's frying on the sidewalks they'll still be God-waving high.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

I went to the garden store some more plant food,
It made with rotation-babble pie,
Was gonna throw it right on the other side of the yard,
But the long-faced donkey tree wilted like globally warmed salad.

I tell ya it's a poison plant but you can't see,
...blinded already with some meaningless devotion.

It's why I won't buy plant food.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/03/2005

Friday, January 13, 2017

Flying Fish...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 9, 2005 at 12:43pm

Flying Fish...

I saw the sky in gun metal grey,
There were dots over the horizon.

Lost on the floating scales I was dreaming,
Soaring over water like spirits in the morning mist,
Silent-eyed souls like flying fish.

I sat at the table by warm candle light,
Red wine with a halo refraction on the tablecloth,
The glare of silver was not as bright as my soul in that moment,
There was a lifetime smile across from me speaking in silence.

It wasn't so much the what as the when,
All the silent ghosts hovering,
Taking this or bringing that for their evening,
I wondered at being their servant in my turn but was un-trained,
Thinking my wishes for how to someday thank their flight.

I never look down my nose,
I might miss the flight of fish,
Those who make our life so much more graced,
Little reward in terms of respect in many cases,
I speak my "thank you" at every possible passing,
Because I recognize it takes every kind of fish to make my ocean live.

The flight of fish to my table is all the evidence I need.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/09/2005

Author's Comments:
This poem is dedicated to waiters, to busboys, to maids and shoe-shiners. To every one of those whose time and effort makes our time and efforts possible. if we had to handle everything they do ourselves, we'd never be able to do much of what we do. At every chance i make sure to thank them, and make them know I appreciate what they do. We were out for my birthday dinner tonight and this point was once again brought home to me very clearly. I wrote about the celebration here: www.whizzyrds.com/020805_Birthday.html - so I though I'd write about those who helped make it wonderful up there, where the poem is.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

This Crazy Battle of Love and War...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 12, 2005 at 2:03am

This Crazy Battle of Love and War...

Singin' songs and a carryin' signs,
It's a day of blood and tears in how many places?
Ranting on this group and rolling over that,
Like some football fanatics in star-spangled hats ya want to go dyin'.

The big screen is advertising rolling green and the flag is waving for it.

How many moniker markers can you concoct,
False labels for a cruel imitation of Godly devotion in motion,
You walk right past the stone tablets without a glance,
Taking unreported prisoners and acting like Jezebel because,

Because, because, because the might of your wrongs makes anything right?

There was a crown of thorns and scourges that were supposed to be the last,
Borne so that no one else need endure and the plain of blood awaits irrigation,
Because of your actions reality might mirror predictions of flames and bones,
But from a God of Love who'd rather He could leave us alone.

So you seem to say it's all been laid out and said.

I wish you could read,
Because the book said "follow now the path of love,"
And according to your purported hero it's the ones who won't...

That will truly be dead.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/12/2005

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

From Where The Music lives...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 12, 2005 at 2:45am

From Where The Music lives...

I hear Led Zeppelin pounding on my ears,
Angel feathers living in summer heat shimmers,
Whispering of times that live in my heart -
Golden fire and reeds in the wind,
Every note a cherished moment.

When the last beat sounds,
Something new comes up in the sunshine,
I've never heard before yet I feel it breathe alive and shining.

I can feel the brass in my hands with love just waiting to be born,
The mother of pearl keys crying for my fingers to be pure,
The fire and pain of endless repetition will carry me like wings,
All I have to do is beat them hard enough and believe.

If it's act of a higher power flowing through me,
Or even just a pouring down of universal love,
I will some day play...from where the music lives.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/12/2005

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Cosmic Shower Three...

Post by AquarianM on Mar 2, 2005 at 1:06am

Cosmic Shower Three...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May God grant you the gift of fresh mountain snow.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/02/2005

Author's Comments:
Two must-see sites:

Love & Gratitude:

Monday, January 09, 2017

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, January 08, 2017

Swallowing Lump Coal:

Post by AquarianM on Nov 3, 2004 at 7:12pm

Swallowing Lump Coal:


Choking bursting gagging,
Eyes fill and heart breaks,
Coal the lying diamond lies in my throat,
Unmoving uncaring and heartless,
Somehow I must will have to,
Spit it out.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/03/2004

Saturday, January 07, 2017

Drumbeat Windows:

Post by AquarianM on Nov 3, 2004 at 7:35pm

Drumbeat Windows:
The rain falls striking windows,
I can hear it drumming behind me,
The sky is black nighted the color of lightless clouds,
There is nothing in my eyes save a candlelit prayer,
Something held cherished in memory,
I am in constant effort to see,
Anything alive in these drumbeat windows.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/03/2004

Friday, January 06, 2017

Thank You...

Post by AquarianM on Nov 25, 2004 at 10:11pm

Thank You..

Thank You for those who shed light on darkness everywhere,
Who give everything of truth for us to see.

Thank You for the freedom those before left us,
That we have the light given us to see.

Thank You for our needs being met,
In whatever manner that may be.

Thank You for every moment of peace in our lives,
And the many more there will yet be.

Thank You for the gift of snow's pure white,
That replenishes so much life for the coming spring.

Thank You for the love gifted in each moment of kind intent,
The light that we most and truly need.

Thank You,
However we each might know your name.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/25/2004 and given in thanks to public domain.

Thursday, January 05, 2017

A Driving Need For Christmas...

Post by AquarianM on Nov 26, 2004 at 12:40pm

 A Driving Need For Christmas...

Looking out the window at the melting fade of Wonderland,
The grass coming through the failing purity of the snow,
Fallen on Thanksgiving Eve it was to the heart more like Christmas.

Covered in white and crystal like a delicate soft dream.

In the restaurant yesterday Thanksgiving dinner was rushed,
Pushed and prodded by staff trying to turn over tables,
In a manner which no subtleties reside commercialism gone rampant.

Still I gave thanks in the face of barely restrained greed.

I find my day after thoughts turning to decorating,
Pondering a pile of bills and a pile of cash waiting a turn to grow,
One definitely being higher than the other at the moment.

Can I find reasons white as snow for canceling holiday dinners or do I see tufts of green?

I hear whispers of war and dead upon the land of civilizations' birth,
Angry voices raised everywhere from here to there,
Praying for success at harm to others in the mistaken belief that violence isn't a circular notion.

Shall we pray for death and destruction from a God of love?

What is driving this unspoken need for Christmas everywhere around me,
Is it the result of what's without us or the flames hidden within,
That need some show of love in stores and snow and lights?

Perhaps we should seek those lights in the candles of a church...

..That remembers Christ's birth was meant as an act of love.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

Wednesday, January 04, 2017

Dreaming In Druid:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 5, 2004 at 8:38am

 Dreaming In Druid:
Sitting in a calm chair slowly,
Early October afternoon sunshine drips between my crossed feet,
Like the wax of a candle made of whispering yellow leaves,
Falling and drifting and rising in spinning glee amber,
Tall grass rustling in tune to the wind dance,
Wildly gyrating young leaf-spangled Oak and Maple,
Cloud of blackbird flock endless whirl in the visions haunting me,
Someday to walk in a church with no roof,
All stone heavy immense and thick breathes in slow flowing heat,
Candles flickering in the twilight as leaves spin rustle round pews,
Stone seats that pass through time like soft water parted,
Broken bits of fallen leaf fade to soil in time,
Source of all God's gifts are in the rich black Earth we turn,
And the secret whispered by the stars and echoed on wind,
Along with dominion comes stewards' responsibilities.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/04/2004

Author's comments:
Genesis 1-26: Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth." Genesis 1-29: And God said, "Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food." Genesis 1-30: And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food." And it was so." Genesis 2-15: 15 The LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. Look up the definition of the word "keep" at www.dictionary.com sometime and read all the definitions. This is from the King James version. The American Standard Version shows 2-15 as "and care for it."

Tuesday, January 03, 2017

Between Dandelion And Snowflake...

Post by AquarianM on Nov 25, 2004 at 10:28pm

Between Dandelion And Snowflake...
The dandelion has dried up in a puffball state,
Seed released upon the wind - drifting.

The snowflake has evaporated from a backyard pond,
Gathered crystal layers in a cold high cloud,
Fallen down upon the wind - drifting.

In a fluke the dandelion seed was carried in an updraft,
Blasted by the jetstream into the far Antarctic,
Laid deep into a glacier for millennia.

In a one in a billion billion chance the snowflake never fell,
Tumbling over Paris in summer or Madrid in winter,
Chaotic twisting air kept it high in the stratosphere for millennia.

In ignorance the last drop of oil was sucked from the ground,
Burned and blown high to trap the sunlight here.

In the new world that then came,

The last crystal of ice on Antarctica melted and released the seed,
The last snowflake fell upon the South pole,
Each unique in all the universe.

Between the dandelion and the snowflake the world shrank,
Yet the waters rose.

It was a simple result of what was or wasn't carried upon the wind.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/26/2004

King Of The Orange Track:

Post by AquarianM on Aug 15, 2004 at 5:49am

King Of The Orange Track:

Fifty cars strong,
Two Slingshots,
Rubber band powered zoomers,
Two loop the loops,
A California Eight set,
Juice Machine and ten Sizzlers,
Twin side-by-side thirty foot runs of orange track,
The best Hot Wheel set in town,
The pinnacle of it all,
A purple 1968 Dodge Charger RT,
Would run the whole circuit every time,
Never flew off,
Eight year old King of the Orange Track.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/07/2004

Author's Comments:
1970 Genoa, NE

Monday, January 02, 2017

One Black And White Step:

Post by AquarianM on Aug 15, 2004 at 5:50am

One Black And White Step:

Third grade I remember,
Teacher said it was something special,
Something completely amazing,
Rolling a black and white TV out,
Front of the room on a metal cart,
Quick draw the shades so we can all see,
I heard the tinny voice live,
Tranquility Base it's one small step,
Followed by incredible bounds,
Eagle had landed on the Moon,
And in those moments everthing had changed,
In all our hearts hope sprang forth,
Earth was tiny and beautiful,
Too small to hold us,
We'd witnessed the fire three days back,
Burning away the infancy of Mankind,
We all grew up expecting to someday fly.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/07/2004

Author's Comments:
Winter 1969, Genoa, NE.

Sunday, January 01, 2017

Stars After Sunset:

Post by AquarianM on Aug 15, 2004 at 5:47am

Stars After Sunset:

The cool breeze of the evening whispered from the left,
Grasses waving and tree leaves danced,
Birds flew and gold lined every cloud,
The sun was fallen below the building across the street,
Cigar smoke was swirling slow and easy,
The fading blue and orange West called to me,
Haunted by the twinkling lights overhead,
The first stars winking knowing another day gone,
Further and further from roots and nostalgic longing,
Closer and closer to whatever knowledge or wisdom,
Well something like that I suppose,
The music on the new CD full of beautiful angst,
The red cherry of my cigar glows,
Still I wonder what we really know,
Thankful the only lights and sounds,
Only music and grass rustles and glowing stars and clouds,
Underneath all our worlds we know it,
The sadness is borne each day in bloody blackened sand,
Search for hope or meaning whatever you will,
Should we hurry or hold slow a major dilemma,
Another day’s light is going out,
And I want to crawl slowly through the beautiful night,
Up into the far haunted twinkling bejeweled sky.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/07/2004

Author's Comments:
The politics of the day seem unwilling to leave the back of my mind. I want to see right and humane choices made, want the country I grew up loving to touch once more it’s kinder and hopeful soul. I feel like we’re all searching for that somehow, like we’re all lost in a nightmare with morning glowing just out of reach.