Thursday, August 31, 2017

When Summer Comes...

Post by AquarianM on May 28, 2009 at 5:06am

When Summer Comes...

Sun shining brilliant of diamond clarity,
On grasses and trees a sea of green,
The Rock of my youth turned way up,
Windows down on the highway and wind in my hair,
Memories of Summer nights dancing noon 'til two,
Walking home miles along the river by starlight,
Plastered and exhausted and impatient for another night,
Raw motion emotion and music saturated,
Wild and light on my feet as lightning,
The river still runs there where the festival comes,
The night clubs burned down or deserted,
Memories of an era of incessant motion,
When Rock County was the ruler of dance,
Miles by scores and centuries in every golden direction.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 05/19/2009

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Break Dancing....

Post by AquarianM on Jul 10, 2009 at 1:54am

Break Dancing....

I swear this ankle behaves better the more I move it,
Something I found between the edge of sleep and passion,
Tuning in to a radio station quite by accident,
Driving into work tonight I hit the dance mix channel,
Sucked in by the beat to those old days,
When I was young and lithe and 100 pounds lighter.

I felt the ages fall away from my soul,
Remembering what it was to just move,
All beat and no thought,
Sound and heat and attraction,
Wild and free.

I pulled up the old disco on the PC at work,
Stood on my aching ankle and just rocked away,
And for a few minutes,
The pain rocked away with me.

That's when it struck me -
Entropy slows down in the face of rapid motion.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/10/2009

Tuesday, August 29, 2017



I've looked up at the night sky ever-after,
That fateful day in Summer school,
Betwixt second and third;
My favorite teacher rolled out a cart,
Mrs. Olsen's little black-and-white screen,
The one the Eagle landed on,
Two-hundred and sixty-five thousand,
Miles over our heads.

Look up and see the stars.

Star Trek entered my life at ten years old,
It's long been one of my joys,
So \\//_ .

Dream and dream of the stars.

Fireflies and lightning bugs,
They remind me of Summer stars,
I miss them so.

Catch the stars and put them in a jar of grass.

High school brought astronomy class,
Class not club,
Touring the University of Wisconsin telescope,
There in Madison,
We spied on the nebula in Orion's belt.

Cold bright stars so far so far so far away.

At eighteen,
I was playing with sparks,
An electronics technician in New Mexico,
All those science texts good for something;
There was a rural park there,
In the darkest of the Lower Forty-Eight.

There was always promise of stars at night.

Rick and his six-year-old daughter Lisa,
Out in a State park in the desert,
Watching the Milky Way glow,
Lisa would catch a satellite for us,
Every time.

Faint stars at the edge of vision fleeting circling above us.

We debated how to power space craft,
Impractically in practical terms,
There with the telescope taking turns.

An eye to the stars has company all 'round the world.

Saw a UFO zig-zagging over Temecula,
A week after we moved here,
Purple and blue glow flitterbug,
Were you a visitor from the stars?

There must be something kinder out in all that glorious infinity.

Look up and see the stars,
Dream and dream of the stars,
Catch the stars and put them in a jar of grass,
Cold bright stars so far so far so far away,
There was always promise of stars at night,
Faint stars at the edge of vision fleeting circling above us,
An eye to the stars has company all 'round the world,
There must be something kinder out in all that glorious infinity.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/29/2017

The Bane Of Forgiveness...

Post by AquarianM on Jul 14, 2009 at 1:12am

The Bane Of Forgiveness...

There was a young witch who whispered on the wind,
Calling a lover's name for some simple sin,
A time she thought to dally in pleasure,
Simple sin for a single night.

The wind was fickle and brought her love true,
A Knight in Paladin's white bearing a golden ring,
Speaking in earnest tones of sweet lovers' dreams,
It was Summer then and the heat was high.

She left him enspelled and wearing dusty boots,
A raving lunatic with rusted armor and broken mail,
Downcast eyes with barely a light,
A tragic figure the Devil's own delight.

Every time Summer comes he tries to forgive,
But this requires him to remember that she left,
As the white light of the Paladin fails to enshroud him,
He mourns the end of Summer and the sight of Fall's golden leaves.

Fate was wicked upon him,
And memory was the bane of all forgiveness,
A wonder that will never cease,
Not even when his bones are dust in soul's sleep.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/14/2009

Monday, August 28, 2017

The Perfect Bowl Of Soup...

Post by AquarianM on Jun 12, 2009 at 12:23am

The Perfect Bowl Of Soup...

If I could take what's in your eyes,
Boil it down in a huge steaming pot,
Stir in what's in your heart,
Maybe a fresh onion,
Carrots and tears and smiles,
Celery and pain,
The scent of helpless joy,
And the taste of home,
Just a hint of future possibilities,
Ancient ways and traditions,
Youthful exuberance and chopped carrots,
Five drops of a dream come true...

The scent roiling up from the pot would leave me speechless,
The perfect bowl of soup.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 06/08/2009

Author's note:
I watched Ramen Girl tonight. Poets will get it easily.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Welsh Hills...

Post by AquarianM on Jul 20, 2009 at 8:14am

Welsh Hills...

The evening is raw and fallen,
The chill bone-deep upon the wind.

The stones by the solemn blue seaside are wary and drab,
Laid in a place where hearts rage in wounded silence.

There is a cold and ancient magic there,
Amid the barrows and monoliths in the Welsh hills.

It makes people sing.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/18/2009

Saturday, August 26, 2017

Movin' Time Blues...

Post by AquarianM on Jul 30, 2009 at 11:54pm

Movin' Time Blues...

Put it here,
Throw it there,
Push it - pull it up the stairs,
Drenched in sweat,
No time for sleep,
To take your life it will constantly creep,
Move it, move it move it!

A change of address,
A change of state,
Relaxed to busy,
Resigned to fate,
Exhaustion's folly,
I'm not one spared,
These new digs now must be shared.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/31/2009

Author's Note:
We've been moving all week. I hope to be done by Saturday - so the "putting away" can begin.

Friday, August 25, 2017

Candy Apple Strat...

Post by AquarianM on Aug 27, 2009 at 11:16pm

Candy Apple Strat...


I can feel a little heat off the amp,
It's like a Christmas bulb in my eyes,
Pretty and hot.

I've waited for years and later finally came,
I can hear it screaming sweet in my head,
Waiting for release.

Slow steady work finally located Rome,
Now for the years to build it,
Not starting a day too late.

I can feel all my legends buzzing under my skin,
If I can play anything they invented I'll be thrilled,
Finding joy in a burst of song.

Glory days don't have to pass you by.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/28/2009

Author's Note:
I bought a Mexican-made used Fender Stratocaster on eBay, the guitar you see pictured here. She's in mint condition and plays like a dream. Candy Apple Red with a rosewood fretboard. I'm thinking to call her Rosie. I have a lot of learning to do - I'm also wanting to learn to repair guitars on the side. No, I have not given up the sax - but at times I get in a rut with it and have to put it down for a few days. I've wanted one of these for 20 years - so now I can alternate between the two.

Thursday, August 24, 2017

Max Eclipse...

Max Eclipse...

Max couldn't wait,
It was coming on the morning,
The greatest show off Earth these days.

He was all ready,
Got the specs from a friend,
Cheesey paper hot to hand,
Lawn chair in the driveway.

Like a strange throwback to the 1950's,
Max bug-eyed the sun,
Holding onto reality for dear life,
A lonely geek planted on the concrete.

His namesake hit it at sixty percent,
Max Eclipse watched the max eclipse,
Of the Sun,
Just like in the Carly Simon song,
Without any of the vanity.

2017 should be a good year.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/23/2017

Yuku Is Stinky...

Yuku Is Stinky...

Eat my pictures,
Thou black hole of the web,
This slow orbit to nothing,
I see it coming,
It's the Tapatalk curse,
The slow squeezing death,
We're all just frogs in your boiling pot,
You maddening beast from the depths of Hades,
Watching the magic fade,
I understand the Fey Folk now,
Thanks to Yuku.

The beast from Mordor is sniffing about the bushes.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/23/2017

Gonna Give Rosie A Ring...

Post by AquarianM on Aug 29, 2009 at 8:43am

Gonna Give Rosie A Ring...


Sweet mornin' glowing bright and true,
Gonna give Rosie a ring,
Sweet-playing thang,
Gonna give Rosie a ring.

If the day comes when I'm feelin' down n' blue,
Gonna give Rosie a ring,
All six strings,
Give Rosie a ring.

Playin' true in the morning,
Strummin' happy by evenin',
Even if I can barely sing,
Just gonna give Rosie a ring.

Someday I'll play so fine,
Happy up on cloud nine,
All because I gave Rosie a ring,
Sweet-playin' thang,
Just gonna give Rosie a ring.

And when Heaven calls,
Won't need no harp in the Angel halls,
Just gonna give - give Rosie a ring,
Lord, let me give Rosie a ring.

Give Rosie a ring.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/29/2009

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Honey Be...

Post by AquarianM on Aug 31, 2009 at 3:36pm

Honey Be...

The birds and the bees,
Know a thing or three.

The sun up above,
Shines down on our love.

Oh, Honey be,
Sweet for me,
I'll love you,
Forever and I do.

The flowers and the trees,
wil see me on my knees.

Only for you,
Honey, yes it's true.

Oh, Honey be,
Sweet for me,
I'll love you,
Forever and I do.

When I see you smile,
It thrills me like a child.

Sweet Summer Sweet,
You're my honey treat.

Oh, Honey be,
Sweet for me,
I'll love you,
Forever and I do.

The birds and the bees,
Know a thing or thee.

You're the one for me,
So pretty and so sweet.

Oh, Honey be,
Sweet for me,
I'll love you,
Forever and I do.

Oh, Honey be,
Sweet for me,
I'll love you,
Forever and I do,
Love you.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/31/2009

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

High Summer On Herrick Lake...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 13, 2009 at 2:04pm

High Summer On Herrick Lake...

The sky is a cloudless seventy five and sweet.

The breezes soft as a baby's kiss,
The grasses dance slow,
Slow and sultry and tall.

People are all around and reverent,
Walking dogs,
Rowing boats and canoes,
Throwing frisbees,
Lying in dappled shade holding hands.

The leather and wood I carry is essential,
Almost as old as I am,
Somewhat battered and serviceable,
Beauty inside waiting.

I find an old picnic table in the shade,
Down at the far end of the lake,
I can scent the green and mirror water,
Dragon flies dancing over sparkling rowboat wakes.

Everything is green and light,
Faint hints of Summer's yellow end barely showing.

I pull the golden brass from its case,
And through me Bello sings.

Clear as water and bright,
The notes drift out over the lake,
Easy and mellow,
The reed sings to all its cousins,
"I am alive!"

I bring the notes down low and rumbling,
A deference to Thunder that's left us all this grceful peace,
Then push for the ragged edge of harmonics,
As close to chords as a saxophone gets.

Young children stare in delighted surprise and wonder,
Parents smile and walk slower.

People smile in passing,
I play and play,
One of the last bright Sundays of Summer languidly passing by.

If this is not church and worship and thank-you to God,
I am lost and deaf and blind,
No more so than sources of dispute.

I roll gently through the deep and soft notes of my ending song,
Close the case,
Walk back to the yellow truck.

A fine cigar and chair are waiting,
Coffee and the songs of frogs and cicadas.

September is sweet,
At peace,
A piece of forever.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/13/2009

Monday, August 21, 2017

My Little Park...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 14, 2009 at 3:12pm

My Little Park...

Over in the old town today,
Doctors and physical therapy.

Finally realeased,
It's like recess,
Cloudless 85 degrees,
The Summer that almost wasn't.

The soybeans in the field are a third golden,
Like God swashed a streak of yellow amid the green paint.

The edges of stately old trees are orange or yellow,
Faint yet unmistakeable signs of Autumn's advent.

Birds lazily chirp in time to cicada melodies,
Not quite ready to flock.

A white egret drifts across blue sky,
Somewhere between fishing ponds.

I've played Bello's golden notes to the lowering Sun,
Laid him to rest and lit my Cameroon cigar.

Butterflies and bees float by,
And if I couldn't see the cars and telephone wires,
I could be a hundred years younger.

I went by the old house today,
The grasses I planted lush and flowering seven feet tall,
Untouched by the mortgage buzzsaw's relentless insanity that cut us out of Paradise.

I sit at my little park on 135th street,
Mentally removing pavement from my picture.

I missed the dandelions so.


By: Daniel A.Stafford
(C) 09/14/2009

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Perfect Afternoon...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 21, 2009 at 2:27pm

Perfect Afternoon...

Seventy degrees,
Top-of-the-line cameroon cigar,
An even burn from light to finish,
Not even a lighter-flick between,
One mile per hour breeze.

The songs of birds and insects washing over fields mostly golden,
Weeping willows draped over a small creek,
Sunshine just peeking through a ceiling of grey the last fifteen minutes,
Golden fire that eases up to your feet,
Drifts by like an old friend coming home.

Sipping coffee slowly,
As first leaves of Fall drift down from huge old trees,
They swirl across a country road in circles,
Tickled by Summer's playful good-bye breath.

The Equinox celebrated by life's song,
I am in quiet reverence,
The air of home I breath in,
Last-of-the-season dandelions speckle still-green grass,
Watching clouds kiss the top of an ancient domeless grain silo,
Witnessed by the old barn with a mossy roof.

There is something sacred in moments like this,
Something in my blood and bones knows these lands intimately.

I am feeling close to my ghosts as the season passes,
Another year drifting towards the snows of closure,
I am in this current of time,
Fishing for the best moments,
Another landed in my poetry's net,
Set to live long and glorious,
Resplendant in the color of serenity,
Tinted by a hint of angst,
Poignant in forever's unending universe.

The prairie flowers are my silent witnesses.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/21/2009

(135th Street, Eaton Preserve, Plainfield, Illinois, USA)

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Uniform Corn...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 25, 2009 at 4:55am

Uniform Corn...

Row-upon-row of identical gold,
In products wherever they're sold,
Corn oil and plastic,
Corn paper and corn sheets,
I wonder will it someday be corn false teeth?

The whole world over we depend on corn,
Drive it fly it eat it grind it boil it butter it,
Pop it and salt it,
But can you believe it?

Uniform corn with so much uniform DNA,
So few varieties - but when the GM comes into play,
Doomsday seeds and BT,
All the better to kill off the bees,
Floating away on a pollen-filled wind,
The GM genes will do us in.

Will climate change the corn,
Or can our corny world survive?

Uniform corn,
I scorn the uniform corn,
Boil it all and feed it to pigs,
Bring back the indian variety and sweet,
Colors and flavors and fun,
It's all a corn maize we have to run.

Corn rows of blackbirds all in flight,
It's uniform corn that we must fight!


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/25/2009

Friday, August 18, 2017

Cold And Howling...

Post by AquarianM on Oct 7, 2009 at 1:26am

Cold And Howling...

It goes right through you,
Like chill fingers tattering your jacket,
Reminds you to get that broken sweat-jacket zipper fixed in a hurry,
Forces your gloves out of pockets,
Whirls litter thirty stories high and more,
Announces Autumn and screams of Winter coming,
Bringing the first full-blown shiver of the season full upon you,
Merciless and fearsome.

A 45-mile-an-hour wind whipping through downtown Chicago,
Forty-nine degrees static,
Pitch dark,
Cold and howling.

I'm begging for a warm fire and hot chocolate,
Wondering at the "Summer" we had this year,
A weak thing barely here and quickly passed.

I've never seen a dark early-October night be so obviously blue.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/07/2009

Thursday, August 17, 2017

A Day At The Beach...

Post by AquarianM on Oct 10, 2009 at 7:39am

A Day At The Beach...

Sand - soft and giving usually,
Today packed and damp and hard,
Breakers rumbling tumbling rippling rolling,
Ceaseless as the wind in your hair ears eyes face,
Sea gulls climb it screeching swooping gliding turning,
Sky of grey steel blue charcoal ash in constant motion,
Sun faded washed scrubbed over-dubbed clouds,
Grasses waving blowing swaying rustling browning,
Trees whipping bending tapping turning browning,
Leaves flying drifting swirling falling sliding,
Red ones orange ones yellow ones brown ones crinkle and blow and rustle,
Lake Michigan powerful at your feet moving spraying churning.

The only still things driftwood sitting on the dark yellow sand and old footprints.

Autumn is here and it's another day at the beach.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/10/2009

Wednesday, August 16, 2017




THIS again?

Go wash your sheets,
Show your face like a man,
Which you wouldn't recognize,
If his any-color-but-hate whupped your chicken ass.

There's a dark band,
Way out at the edges of the light a prism casts,
But y'all eclipse worse than the Sun in August of 2017.

You shadows on the wall of Humanity,
Living in fear and hate.

Find some other planet to darken.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2017

Welcome To The Land Of The Ice And Snow...

Post by AquarianM on Dec 20, 2008 at 1:20am

Welcome To The Land Of The Ice And Snow...

The cold winds of fate grabbed the handle of my shovel,
Adding extra drag to every stroke on ice-caked pavement,
Outlawing the snow thrower in an arbitrary attitude against motorization,
And forced the five pound maul into my hand,
All the better to crack ice off the stoop with,
At least now I can walk.

At night though,
With all the Christmas lights glowing,
Carols on the radio,
All the sore muscle blues fades away into the eggnog glass,
A soothing rhetoric of soft glowing color on pure reflective white.

Dreams come easy then.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/20/2008

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Church Of The Rustling Breezes...

Post by AquarianM on Nov 8, 2008 at 4:02pm

Church Of The Rustling Breezes...

In the morning I waited,
Quietly watching faces,
Gentled and humbling,
The sky and skyscrapers limned with a golden glow,
A cloud of sea gulls and pigeons bustled,
Fluttering like jubilant leaves over the river,
The smiles were small but persistent,
Heart-singing in a fresh-minted world.

In the early afternoon we walked,
In the Church of the Rustling Breezes,
Indian Summer long and gorgeous,
Soaking up moments upon the trail,
No stone edifice could touch this,
The life energy of the trees enfolds you,
Fearless squirrels dance past your feet,
As the leaves in multicolored glory rain and fly and rustle.

A Nation spoke - and they chose decency.

Nothing can take that away now.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2008

Monday, August 14, 2017

Sax Need…

Post by AquarianM on Dec 2, 2008 at 12:26am

Sax Need…

My fingertips feel the pearly keys long before my hands can grasp,
The vibration of the reed a living thing,
Closely regulated and monitored;
A heartbeat not to let skip,
Fingers be sure and swift - never drift,
Burning brass calling me,
There is only so long I can go,
Before notes sweet or sour break free,
Call it sax need.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/27/2008

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Dreams Of Wood...

Dreams Of Wood...

Chopping with a swing,
Both hands,
Long axe you feel it,
Not thinking,
Mind wanders as logs split.

Winter is coming,
Your bones feel it.

Aunt Leona and Uncle Harold are too old.

Dad and I are not.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/10/2017

Rembrandt Sleeping - poem #31

Dancing For The Tribe...

Post by AquarianM on Aug 2, 2005 at 10:06pm

Dancing For The Tribe...

My people.
Your people.
Our people.

Varied like daily sunsets.

Changing rules and lies and fears that fade like dust.

It blows down the hill at sunset just before the stars howl.

It was a child's eyes that always saw them moving,
Fleet across the skies like night birds aglow in Heaven,
Satellites are like dreams come true in a way.

If you vanish into the New Mexico desert,
You'll see more Heaven than a lonely campfire could possibly create.

It's in the dark of night that you see the most distant lights.

It has to be dark or you're blind.

Don't stare at the campfire - keep your night vision clear,
Until you're able to see ghosts and whisper to our ancestors.

Stand upon the high rock naked of all but cotton.

Feel what we've been missing, listen to the wind on the rocks -
Maybe you'll hear the treasure of raindrops melting against your skin.

It's the music of falling rain and desert wind,
The merger of camp fire and starlight,
The howl of lonely stars in the sky.

Maybe it's so dark even lies glow an evil red.

It's time to start dancing a prayer of hope and wisdom - maybe deliverance.

Start dancing for the tribe.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/03/2005

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Quick Reply…

Post by AquarianM on Jan 28, 2009 at 3:14am

Quick Reply…

I'm looking around and seeing no modern day Jesus,
Just men with or without hearts,
Women their equal.

People still thinking they are above and outside the bonds of community,
Because they think they can play the system,
And those who see the necessity but can't find the object.

It's a world in whirling transition out there,
And hip waders will only get you so far,
Especially on TV or in print.

Walking around the edges stinks,
And being at the center is drowning in the dream-turned-nightmare.

It's time for another time,
Another paradigm,
And you just made me write a poem,
Without even thinking deep,

In response to SuSanne’s “Too Deep To Wade”.
( )


By: Daniel A. Stafford

Friday, August 11, 2017

Masters Of Reality...

Post by AquarianM on Feb 17, 2009 at 11:23pm

Masters Of Reality...

In a tidal wave of surrealism gone wild,
The Masters of reality have imploded,
Proven beyond a shadow of a doubt their fallacies are waste,
Wanton lot they eat their own children,
Biting the hand that feeds them until the fingers fall off,
As they starve in their feeding frenzy,
Only cake is left,
Full of air and chemical nothingness.

Creatures with huge ears and pointed teeth,
Carrying gilded canes and dressed in,
Fool's gold foil suits,
Rents and tears in their fa├žade scream open,
As the world sees the empires with no clothes,
Delusional and not even realizing their own suicide.

Wisps of false gold smoke drift lazily into the sky,
But the rest of us have already left the dream,
Only awaiting a new vision to replace it with.

Their sky may be falling and their ground fallow,
For us it's still the blue above and naked earth below,
We must breathe life back into it,
The sweat of our brows falling into the still-wounded seas,
As we clean up the dreck and wrack of their plutocratic eewtopia,
Becoming human,
Becoming light itself,
Shining brightly upon all the failing shadows.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/18/2009

Thursday, August 10, 2017


Post by AquarianM on Feb 21, 2009 at 2:18am


The heart is the strangest creation of all,
Filled with soft dreams and aspirations,
A cloud of caterpillars in chrysalis,
As delicate as hair-thin crystal or soap bubbles,
All shimmery and decked in rainbows,
Waiting to be shattered or popped in life’s cacophony,
Broken by the discordant sounds of conflict or loss.

Still – butterflies exist.

Do you suppose that’s why we live?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/21/2009


Post by AquarianM on Jun 16, 2009 at 1:25am


There was a time of head-in-the-clouds,
Full of thunder and rain,
Raging-hearted desperation,
Shadows and pain-chased dreams,
Filled with fires unrequited and out of control,
A gentle heart tried to reach out,
Burned I was callous and senseless,
Indifference on a cold plate.

I’ve wished I could say “I’m sorry” for years.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 06/16/2009

Wednesday, August 09, 2017

Compassionate Community...

Post by AquarianM on Dec 8, 2008 at 6:08pm

Compassionate Community...

As the layoffs and rumors fly,
Hopes and dreams are thin,
Resources even thinner,
Hand to helping hand,
Remember "united we stand,"
Because divided we fall.

The neighbor who lost their job - and internet,
Has no fuel to drive to search,
Give a few minutes on the web,
Job-hunting and State aid sites are great,
If you can find them,
Or will our poets fall off line one-by-one?

We have all these back yards of grass we have to water,
When out-of-work neighbors can pull weeds in all that garden space,
As grocery stores are harder to visit,
Canning parties next fall sound delicious,
When compared to shoe leather boiled in grief sauce.

A neighborhood Captain maybe,
Or better a Yahoo list to go along with Craig's,
Sharing time and resources in exchange for food,
Village projects for solar heaters and hot water,
First to those who need utility assistance,
Then for the rest of us who learn "waste not - want not" first hand.

The time has come my friends,
To know your neighbors,
Trade a little help for a bit of work 'round the house,
Supporting those still working,
So they can support those unemployed,
Grease the local wheels first,
Keep the tall from falling too fast and hard.

It's all of us in the end - salvation from on high may be slow.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
Who Cares About Copyright On This - 12/08/2008

Tuesday, August 08, 2017


Post by AquarianM on Feb 24, 2009 at 3:12pm


In three places,
My ankle that is,
Beat up by a skinny little snow shovel,
In collusion with cold-hearted driveway ice.

The x-rays are in,
The surgery's planned,
And I'm not moving much,
I'm laying on the lam.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/23/2009

Yep, broke my ankle but good slipping on ice yesterday while snow shoveling. It'll be a week before surgery, then 6-8 weeks before I can put weight on it at all. After that, likely eight months before I can go back to Karate.

Monday, August 07, 2017

Poetry Is...

Post by AquarianM on Apr 10, 2009 at 5:52am

Poetry Is...

I loved all the quotes,
Soaked in the ink-blood of bygone days,
A token and a shield whispering,
In the night the breezes give voice,
Starshine and moonbeams now concrete.

Poetry cleans the heart,
Entombs memories in shining glass,
Leaves you with wanting and wishing,
Swirls your mind in an endless sea.

Seas are ever-changing,
Yet all are water.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 04/10/2009 (National Poetry Month)

Sunday, August 06, 2017

Black Ice...

Post by AquarianM on Jan 19, 2009 at 10:35pm

Black Ice...

In the frozen chill that is the world right now,
In the dark of silent Winter night,
Smooth riding down the highway of life,
Suddenly you’re fish-tailing wildly,
Heart beating frantic,
Trying to simply recover without getting ditched.

The temperature has dropped precipitously,
The world buried in glistening white,
Tiny flakes swirl about the air like flying diamonds,
A fairy-tale view to a seeming static world,
Hush-muffled and quiet and waiting,
It looks like damp pavement,
The only clue you’ll get.

Watch the road carefully,
Watch and be ready at an instant’s notice,
Black ice changes everything,
Faster than an eye-blink.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 01/15/2009

Author's Comments:
We had a wild ride on the way home from the family Christmas dinner this past December 27th. Fish-tailing an 1/8th mile down the white line on I-88 near Dekalb, IL at 12:00 a.m.

Saturday, August 05, 2017

Isla De Los Suenos Malos... (Island Of Bad dreams)

Post by AquarianM on May 28, 2009 at 5:00am

Isla De Los Suenos Malos... (Island Of Bad dreams)

Life on an island,
Late afternoon sun,
Dinner at a sidewalk cafe,
Latin dancing in the streets,
Mission architecture everywhere,
Colorful and beautiful,
A movie crew filming down the street.

High-wire dancing ladies,
Cameras up high on booms,
Rooflines only pictured,
"Psst - why only the roofs?"

"A movie on Global warming, they'll blue-screen the water."
"Won't that be a thousand years from now, that deep?"
"No, a hundred at most, if it keeps going like this."

Wandering home darkness falls,
A six-story apartment house with balconies,
Wide open walls at the ground level,
Looking West waves are coming chest high,
No winds only light warm breezes,
Waves right into the house and rising,
Soaked and shivering climbing stairs,
Fourth floor finally high enough,
Fitful sleep All manage.

Morning comes,
Waves lowered down to first floor now,
Far above the beach now sunken,
No storm - rising water,
Wading to where the beach should be,
Community trying to pile sand to block waves,
Struggling as water washes all away.

Back to the house,
Movie dancers in the air in crystal skirts in the distance,
Giant squid reaching into the house searching prey,
Dodge and walk upland to the air strip.

Small plane very high,
The Earth's curve below,
The land on the map shrunken and sinking in reality below,

Alarm clock rings.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 05/27/2009

Author's note: My dream last night.

Friday, August 04, 2017



Great spinning energy,
Red flame flecks like spinning burning leaves,
Bits of paper in an orange-lit cyclone of mind,
Special places where the fire is a healing burn,
Cracking open the shells of rebirth,
What is a disaster for the old is an usher,
So get ready to dance at the center,
Whirling light in the darkness,
Who will be be left standing?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/18/2016

Author’s note:
Every once in awhile I get flashes of insight, and they can be just subconscious imagery. I had a flash of this today. Like the place I was in was at the center of the fires of change, protected, just the place for an audience to ride it out.

The Art Of The Very Small...

Post by AquarianM on Aug 2, 2008 at 7:35pm

The Art Of The Very Small...

Contraction and redaction,
Rome burning its money,
We're all dancing the fiddlers' tune,
Soft-shoe on the stained red carpet,
Roll it up into a bag.

Staycation nation,
The wheels stopped turning,
So the world doesn't - we need a better way,
It's the little things Silly,
Sunlight on hair and a cheap harmonica,
Sunshine in your own back yard.

The proud and the mighty,
Dancing a skull-bones fantasy,
Raving Revengers on the prowl,
Buried in video games and movies,
Burning and shooting and exploding.

The big tickets are over,
The dance is all that's left,
Piper plays and who can pay?

It's the art of being satisfied with the very small -
Mental survival.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/02/2008

Thursday, August 03, 2017

Fun House Mirrors…

Fun House Mirrors…

I watch the twists and turns of light,
Like a Fresnel lens of insanity,
A beacon of changing tune,
A hurricane-driven weathervane,
An egoic Super Moon of willful ignorance.

Day-by-day we must wonder and fret,
Twisted upon an impaling spike,
Awaiting a hail of stones,
Yet hoping for the kindness of a shovel and bath towels,
Receiving a schizophrenic cyclone.

We’ve eaten more trail dust and grime than an ancient cowboy,
Run over by our own cattle,
No real awareness of the deed,
Oblivious to the utterly warped light,
Of these fun house mirrors in every room we inhabit.

E. R. Murrow is spinning hard enough to burst into flames,
Mirroring our sad excuse for truths and portents.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/16/2016

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.

Climbing The Tree…

Post by AquarianM on Aug 15, 2008 at 3:46am

Climbing The Tree…

Drumbeats like gumdrops on my mind,
Ripples on the pool I throw my troubles into,
Prayers of guidance and protection wash my mind,
Lush green and cool in the forest where the cave lies,
Deep inside,
The roots permeate All,
Tree of life,
Up or down I climb,
Another world of symbols,
Like wisps of candle light,
August is half-by,
I am opened tonight.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/15/2008

Wednesday, August 02, 2017

The Universe According To Space Cowboy…

The Universe According To Space Cowboy…

Some people called him Ray Gunslinger,

And he was kind of cool with that.

He wore a white hat, and steam punk shades,
Carried a weapon that crossed a sonic screwdriver with a badly used lightsaber,
Scared the crap out of everyone he met out there in the wide cosmos.

Space Cowboy also carried a six charge ray gun on his hip,
Modeled after an old Earth Colt revolver and holstered in antique leather.

He was faster than light beamed at a black hole with either,
So don’t mess with the kid.

A guy in a Tardis picked him up out of his back yard,
One crazy Summer day when Ray was ten.

He had some crazy adventures,
Learned all about galaxy-conquering deathbots and how to un-bolt them,
Then escaped the Time Lord of gibbery goodness in a crazy Tardis junkyard.

Ray was a mechanical man,
Even though he was made of flesh and bone.

He cobbled and he cribbed,
Tinkered and jiggered,
And danced off into the galaxy rise,
Proud owner of a fully-functional but butt-ugly time and space displacer,
Which looked for all the universe like a flying garage.

He was great about fixing stuff,
Be it evil or old junk,
But he was better at telling a story.

His yarn didn’t come off a spindle,
No siree, Earthlings,
Space Cowboy’s yarn came from his lips,
But it was so fantastic,
It was hard to figure he could’ve made it up.

If there was an evil critter out among the stars,
Ray would just as soon talk ’em into the Ever-After as shoot a blaster at their behind.

His only regret?

That cobbled-up replicator was only good for beach towels,
Beans and Starbucks coffee.

The cool part?
His go-lever in the Tardis made a sound like “yippee kiyay!” every time he took off.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/14/2016

A Lot Of Candle Light…

Post by AquarianM on Aug 16, 2008 at 3:54am

A Lot Of Candle Light…

It’s August 16th again,
The candles are lit again,
In parade.

The songs we sing are sung again,
For the losses of summer,
Things dear never to be forgotten,
Neither humor nor heartache.

Memphis is glowing tonight.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/16/2008

In Memory of Elvis Aaron Presley,

Tuesday, August 01, 2017

In Between Skins...

Post by AquarianM on Aug 22, 2008 at 9:38pm

In Between Skins...

The drum beats softly,
Heartbeat across lands and continents,
Frequencies of light invisible,
No colors left.

One world - one tribe - one family,
Members bellicose and benign a common thread.

Dance for the world,
Move for life,
Seeing tree leaves and wind and rain,
A web of life interconnected.

Spirit lies between skins,
Breathing the same air and water,
Every soul and piece of creation,
Recycled from endless time.

There is no here and there,
Only everywhere,
Lines in the sand are wind-blown nothingness,
Figment of a moment ephemeral.

Neither the sun nor moon care for sight,
Yet light is given freely,
Stars are had by all,
None is the wiser.

The arts of division equal to a prison,
Something is changing the equation,
Finally we breathe freely,
Regardless of fear or word one world.

Every disillusion must pass - it's clearly time.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/22/2008