Sunday, May 19, 2019

I Hear A River...

I Hear A River... 

It is easy to imagine sound as a river,
With all its twists,
Changes in pitch,
Gentle or fierce.

I hear silence as the river.

Bounded by banks of sound,
Silence flows deep or shallow,
Shaping and giving meaning to the landscape of sound.

It is the silence at the end of our course that returns to an ocean of void,
Carrying the dust of our ending into the depths of eternal quiet.

When the silence evaporates,
We are found back upon its river,
Recycled once again.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 02/10/2019

Friday, May 03, 2019

Dream Visions...

Dream Visions is an antique book of sheet music that I purchased many years ago. It's a series of waltzes. I love the cover art.

I scanned the cover many years ago:

I love the idea of using this with a poem at some point.


Thursday, May 02, 2019

Antiquity Went Green...

Antiquity Went Green... 

In the verdant springtime of mankind,
The world was lush and rich with life,
Varied of color and shape,
Wealthy with the force of life.

Then the coins came,
Were swallowed by peasants and bankers,
The wee folk loved shiny objects,
Lusted for bread without labor,
A trick of magic.

Nobility was crafted out of gold cloth,

A masterful game of death and darkness,
Playing charades of light and glitter,
A Mardi Gras masquerade,
Unleashing softly-covered breasts and treasures,
Of every description and nature,
A trick of light and sorcery,
Woven into the fabric of language.

What a dark psychic poison it is.

Sloth begets a lust for shiny baubles,
The most ancient of psyops,
Infowars from the infancy of Humanity.

Can you imagine life without the language of the bank?

How much of every tongue would require excision,
How much mental space would need vacation?

I can easily see a green new deal,
It existed before we did.

It's why we are,
Likely to be why we were,
Failing a recognition of the dream as the nightmare.

Rasputin was legend,
Mesmer fabled.

They pale under the gleam of gold and silver,
The ringing song of coin and register.

Wake up,
Make a bed of swaying boughs,
The singing rustle of leaves,
The swaying of flowers and buzzing of bees,
The rise and set of the Sun.

Go back to the green and bury the gold.

May Day, May Day, May Day!


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 05/01/2019