Tuesday, October 30, 2018

The Tinkerer...

The Tinkerer...

A gadget is an object of delight,,
Better yet retro or steam punk,
Whiz-bang spark and flash,
Function with flair and panache.

It's always about making it work,
But making it look good never hurts.

Iron and steel and steam and wood,
Sparks and fire,
Hot air and smoke.

Resourcefulness is an art form.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10-28-28

Monday, October 29, 2018

A Poets' Moon...

A Poets' Moon...

...can withstand a more varied light,

Or forlorn weather,

The coldest of winds and baleful gusts.

A lovers' Moon needs fullness,

Soft Summer night breezes,

Twinkling stars and music,

Candlelight or a gently-flickering fire.

A poets' Moon can withstand the flight of a raven across its gaze,

Or a dragon or witch or bat,

The first flurries of an encroaching blizzard,

Even the distant thunder and lightning,

Echoes of storms passed,

Anything in the Universe might appear.

A poets' moonlight will bare it naked,

Expose its core for all the night to see.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10-28-2018

Friday, October 26, 2018

The High Priestess Of Sound...

The High Priestess Of Sound...

This world we live in is all out of tune,
Changed to fix a mathematical error,
Sometime back in the sixteen hundreds,
A convenience for the composer's sake.

Don't worry the wineglass,
It may shatter explosively,
Yet only if it is the finest crystal of purity.

Pure notes devoid of linguistic meaning,
Therein lies the magic,
The root form of creation and cohesion.

A community of pure sound.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10-26-2018

Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Autumn In California...

Autumn In California...

A subtle change of hue,
Delicate tilt of Solar angle,
Tinges of color lend a subdued glow to specific plants and trees,
Especially in late afternoon or evening.

Nothing so overt as the blazing colors and tawny grasses,
The visible breath and frosted mornings of my native Wisconsin.

Here in Summer's Winter home,
Jack Frost is a rare guest in court,
Though mist and fog blanket the tops of mountains,
Ceiling over canyons in hushed morning reverence.

Verdancy is only limmed by Autumn fire,
Yet Orion rises.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

Friday, October 19, 2018

Brain-Shaking The Universe...

Brain-Shaking The Universe...

A quantum field is the waving grass of endless possibility,

Waving this way and that,

Depending on the winds of thought,

Tickling the feet of minds all about the Multiverse.

If an ordinary human has the wing-breeze of a monarch butterfly,

Then poets are as an albatross,

Where a shaman or yogi may be a Thunderbird or Dragon,

Shaking fluid reality,

Or soaring on the shared winds of monarch migrations.

We all dream of being hurricanes.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/18/2018

Thursday, October 18, 2018

I Want To Dream...

I Want To Dream...

...Of a sound,
Maybe a droning hum,
Or possibly a drumming drum,
One sound that lets me see,
Drowns out all the wicked noise.

I will dream it so clearly,
So tight to the sound,
That I will see a new universe,
One full of trees,
With clean air and crystal-clear skies,
I'll see for miles.

There will be no clocks,
No tick-tocks,
Everyone will wake when they do,
 And fall to sleep then too,
Work at things that they love,
Where art and crafting are of value...

They and I will write there,
in beautiful flowing cursive,
A beloved finger print.


By: Daniel A. Stafford

Sunday, October 14, 2018

In The Moment...

In The Moment...

Joy flows from the smallest of things,
Sunrise to open eyes,
The scent of a grandmother's kitchen,
A warm coffee mug on a frosted morning.

Gold may bring ease,
But it is cold in your hands,
Will break your teeth,
Make you look over your shoulder,
Always glancing side to side.

As long as there is food,
A beloved face to see and touch,
A voice intoned in warmth,
A fire and a candle,
Somewhere soft to lay your head,
Wealth is all about you,
Simply awaiting definition.


By: Daniel A. Stafgord
© 10/13/2018

Inspired by Anil's poem above.

Sunday, October 07, 2018

Public-Domain E-Book: "The Great Book Of Blizzard..."

Preface to "The Great Book Of Blizzard":

The Poetry that is contained in these pages is the result of a lifetime spent mostly in places with real Winter; The Great Lakes for the most part, yet also the Great Plains, the Rockies of Colorado, and even mid-North Texas and Northern New Mexico.

In the face of Climate Change, I wanted to save and preserve what it was like to live in these places in the era of actual Winters.

Many of these poems are what I like to call “Poetic Memoir,” and are based on real events in my life. Some are simply fantasy based on a lifetime of experience with snow and Winter...real Winters.

Although I have lived in Southern California for four years as of the completion of this compilation in 2018, never forget that I am a native of Wisconsin who spent fifty years in the Midle West of these United States of America. My family still lives there, and lives with snow.

For those of you who find snowy Winters a novelty, or know it not at all, I hope this book can give you a deeper understanding of what it was like.

What so many forget is that almost everything in nature needs a period of rest and renewal before the busy regrowth of Springtime. Even humanity needs – and mostly neglects – quiet time to turn inward, reflect, and recharge.

Thank you for reading.

With love and light,

Daniel A. Stafford

This book donated to Public Domain

Download .PDF e-book for free HERE.

Monday, October 01, 2018

The Whirling Dervish Of The Middle Country...

The Whirling Dervish Of The Middle Country...

They bide their time all the long Winter,
Finally dry enough to fly as Spring renews the Earth.

At some point,
The dry and dead stem snaps and releases,
And the mother tree is left,
Towering immobile above the soil.

If the only moment a plant knows in its long life is as a seed,
These must be among the most graceful.


They settle softly to their bed of chance.

Maple seeds are a wonder of nature.

A single-bladed helicopter, 
They have been toys for children as long as children could see them flying.

I wonder if Igor Sikhorsky was a maple-seed child?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 07/06/2018

Ever So Much More So...

Ever So Much More So...

Not a moment goes by in quiet,
Clock hands whirl in a furious rush,
Every second wrapped in a harried agenda.

We are infinitely more connected to the wider world,
Lost in the demands of the little rectangular devils in our pockets.

I have not read a complete novel in two years,
And there are people besides me who would consider that evidence of a collapsing universe.

Carry on,
Wayward souls,
But quickly.



By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/30/2018