The Bean...

The Bean...

Some say it's a shiny thing in Chicago,

I know better.

These words come pouring into my head,

From some steaming pot of universal wisdom.

In the hours past midnight,

I have sought out Midnight Mud in the hospital cafeteria,

In the savage morning,

Challenge my coffee wu do not,

Until my morning cup have I had.

I have gone to the dark side,

I drink it black,

Percolated,

Strong.

I have my old friends,

Percolators,

Mugs,

A grinder or two,

And the scent of paradise fills my garage,

As soon as the beans are turned to dust.

Yet let me tell you of coffeemojis,

There is one to every mood or purpose under heaven!

The universe does not exist until there has been coffee,

The entire thing arises,

Fresh-brewed daily out of a steaming pot,

This is the reason my friends,

Stellar plasma is hot.

Piping,

In fact.

The biggest planet in our solar system,

It looks freshly stirred,

Does it not?

With a hint of cinnamon,

I just you all by the strength of your brew,

Never,

Never ever,

Be a drip.

Weak coffee is a cause for woe.

Good morning,

Wake up and smell the coffee,

Let all of creation commence.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/30/2020

Indiana Rose And The Temple Of Thorns...

Indiana Rose And The Temple Of Thorns...

She wanders the desert tough as nails,

Her petals of faded glory,

Wearing canvas garden gloves,

Bearing snips and a trowel.

Perhaps she'll find it in the next ghost town,

Thinking as she pores over old paper maps,

Sipping reposado tequila,

Dreaming of treasures forgotten.

Maybe a dried out shack will be the place,

Somewhere tumble weeds and ghosts pile up,

Somewhere a young bride once lived,

Her and her husband both seeking gold.

It might be a diary left tucked in a night-stand drawer,

Written in old Spanish cursive,

Spectral whispers of long-lost dreams and hopes.

Somewhere,

In some once front yard,

A place that hears only wind,

Sees only searing sun by day,

Billions of stars by night,

That's where it will be.

The oldest rose,

A variety so forgotten,

You'd have to read a dark-ages Spanish gardener's journal,

Just to know its lost name.

It will be the most famous ghost-town rose in history,

Only long-dead spirits will know its scent.

Somewhere,

Hidden in the forgotten desert towns of California,

She will find the Temple of Thorns.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/28/2020

https://www.sfgate.com/homeandgarden/article/Old-roses-101-For-those-who-don-t-know-Empress-2619457.php

California In Heat...

California In Heat...

It is twilight and the temperature is high,

Palm fronds and star jasmine rustle,

The San Diego breeze is in off the Pacific,

Up the Valley up to wine country,

It ends just past our street,

The first stars jewels above,

Fading sunset falling behind the Santa Ana mountains.

I am lost in the sky,

Hearing stories of smoke and embers,

Fire tornadoes and running feel,

Hercules flies an airplane,

Praying for rain.

I could go a thousand places or none,

But this is my night,

My place,

Final stand perhaps,

This is now home.

For all the exaggerating,

There is nothing quite like it,

California In heat.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/27/2020

Beach Glass...

Beach Glass...

Softened bauble tossed by waves,
There in the tumble of my favorite lake,
You dance with pretty stones and driftwood,
Washed up and old but elegant.

It's something gentler the waves bring,
Walking down the sand with the gulls,
They float and they dance,
The waves break and break and break.

A soft roar and a driftwood stick,
Footprints and foam and green and blue,
Sunshine and yellow-tan with glints all about,
Looking for shells and other treasures,

We drift along in timeless reverie,
Until it's time to just lie still,
Sun-baked and wind-washed,
Filled with the beach-scent of the lake.

We take one shell,
Soft violet tinge inside,
And four colors of beach glass,
Green and amber and white and faded blue.

Treasures to set in a cigar box,
Children at play in endless time,
Tokens and omens and wishes of fishes,
An art of life that's sublime.

I turn it in my fingers and see all the beach glass colors,
Softly in my mind summer is ending,
Sharp edges gone and nights just beginning to cool,
Tumbled at the edge of Lake Time.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/01/2007

Spell-Bound Master...

Spell-Bound Master...

Poe,
Bound,
Bird of flightless intellect,
Downcast to the cage,
Twine-bound masterpiece,
Too low to sing,
Head-bowed,
The horror of silence,
Words lost.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/25/2020

A Gentleman Of Every Color...

A Gentleman Of Every Color...

In the distant space of a colorblind whirled,
Flags are anachronisms best kept furled,
Something of darkness missing and away,
All we need is sunshine to spend happy days.

I'm not sure where the words come from but I know truth when I feel it.

Slanting by decorations is so utterly silly,
Foolishness slapped about all willy-nilly,
If sunshine were blue,
Could you still be all-white and believe it true?

Forget it man, halos are in rainbows...

A dash a dot and an old mahogany fiddle,
Answer me quick one simple riddle,
Was it lack of soul,
That kept so many packed in the Bowl?

I'll call my friends from everywhere to watch the stage.

It's a simpleton idea whose time should end,
Open your hearts and find good friends,
Dance in the streets and jump for joy,
Life is a place where a kind word is more than a toy.

A dashing figure was split through a prism...

A gentleman of every color.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 05/18/2007

Poetic Archaeology...

Poetic Archaeology...

Trying to keep up with the Jones,

File formats die,

Websites go dark,

Others are abandoned,

Search boxes suck,

And Poets die,

But will anyone ever dig up a digital notebook?

I have to try,

It's painstaking work,

Remaining one step ahead of entropy.

What do young Muses and dinosaurs have in common?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/25/2020

Maui's Moon Dancer...

Image version:

Fog Horn...

Fog Horn... 

I'm here to warn you all,

A deep booming rumble,

Rolling out upon the invisible waters,

Fog and mist obscure,

News yet to be discovered.

I danced with the three sisters,

For a solid week and more,

Squash was delightful and steady,

Satisfying,

Corn was delectable,

Sweet and charming,

Green Bean was snappy,

Full of energy,

But that tango with sweet Watermelon,

What an utter delight,

I was sated and more.

A chance encounter,

The first night it was Pasta,

Who tread on my toes,

But her wild sister Pizza,

Ah,

The glories,

The glamour!

Yet the next morning,

Oh the next morning,

You'd think I'd had a fifth all alone,

The fog was overwhelming,

Dizzying,

A hang over,

 Tired and head-mushed,

I crawled off the rack,

Dying for the wonderful sense,

My rescuer lovely Coffee,

Kept me alive through the day.

I think I've finally learned,

Those Gluten sisters are all Mickeys,

They'll leave you in the fog,

All the energy of a cold rock,

Praying for the day to end.

You've been warned,

And I've sailed past.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/22/2020

While The Finger Was Pointing...

While The Finger Was Pointing... 

I Boomer blamed Millenials,

For their human faults,

I Millennial blamed Boomers,

For their human faults,

Still the sea crept up.

I Liberal blamed Progressives,

For all of my anxieties,

I Progressive blamed the Liberals,

For all of my anxieties,

Still the COVID came.

I Democrat blamed Republicans,

For all that might be or become wrong,

I Republican blamed Democrats,

For all that might be or become wrong,

Still the hurricanes landed.

I Conservative blamed anyone with different ideas and origins,

For every loss I bore,

I Immigrant and Native blamed Conservatives and Whites,

For every loss I bore, 

Still the wildfires burn.

I the future blamed the past,

Still the temperatures creep up,

The seas slowly swell,

Fire tornadoes howl,

Glaciers vanish,

Forests die and deserts grow.

Nature never listens,

While the finger points.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/16/2020

It's Not About Me...

It's Not About Me... 

At least not this time,

Though poetry can be,

Verses of memoir,

Lost love,

Love found,

Joy,

Despair,

Yet really...

Once I am gone,

How can it be,

For there will be no more of me?

What then it comes to,

A common thread,

You see we are not alone,

For when we are read,

It's about the reader.

Humanity is universal,

Hopes,

Dreams,

Desires,

Causes,

Loves,

Fears,

All the lesser children of these...

You,

Reader,

You are not alone in your,

Hopes,

Dreams,

Desires,

Causes,

Loves,

Fears,

All the lesser children of these...

This is what Muses see,

Ages of poets,

Languages alive and dead,

Commonality writ long and large,

More similar than different,

As we cried,

Smiled,

Laughed,

Bled.

In love or blues,

Any millennium,

Any day,

We are one.

It's not about me,

At least not this time.

It's about us.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/13/2020

Morning Chalice...

Morning Chalice...

The aroma is legendary,

Such a part of life,

Impossible to say goodbye,

All I can say is good morning,

Over the tender wavering shimmer,

Steam rising,

The true alertness of half the world,

I can never imagine my percolator idled,

My antique hand-grinder stilled,

The can of beans empty,

As the world goes to sleep,

Never to awaken.

From the misted moutain sides of Columbia,

To the lowlands of Africa,

The hills of the Inland Empire,

Not a bean?

Surely the world can agree,

It would be a mourning tagedy,

For us all.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/12/2020

https://www.vox.com/videos/2020/8/10/21361950/coffee-crisis-climate-colombia

Wordfish...

Wordfish... 

So you want to swim with poets,

Let me tell you a tale,

You'd best have a wordfish,

Thiiiiiiisssss biiiiggg!

Some thoughts are like barracuda,

Fast and dangerous in the briny deep,

Others like minnows swimming in rosewater bowls,

Love sprinkled down from above,

Yet others crawl like crabs,

Sideways on the murky bottom,

Dancing perilously with lobsters,

And jellyfish bubbles of nothing,

That sting you if you read.

Still all these characters,

Have no bearing,

The true monsters of the deep rarely come out,

Their reading bites like megalodon,

Sharks with a pen.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/12/2020

In The Space Between Sleep...

In The Space Between Sleep... 

Stars have always called my name,

I could hear their twinkle whisper,

Way above the bright blue sky,

Where I always thought I belonged,

Soaring and dreaming up,

Always up.

I dreamed of a Blue Angel,

Even before kindergarten,

Carrying prayers into the sky,

Jealous of birds,

Even butterflies.

Some nights I swim the skies,

Silver pool so fast,

I am a dolphin of the night,

Playing with bubbles of light,

Always searching,

Seeking,

Full of wonder and hope,

Something even this year,

Can't pull to the ground,

I remain aloft always in my heart.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/12/2020

Farcebook Junkie...

Farcebook Junkie... 

Do I have another like?

Time for school,

Read a book,

Dinner date,

Darling mine,

Do I have another like?

Doctor,

Doctor,

Give me the news,

Do I have another like?

Oldest friend's in town,

Off to the beach,

Stoplight red,

Annoying,

Do I have another like?

Birthday bash,

Waiting for the cake,

Trying to earn cash,

Boss turns their back,

Do I have another like?

You know where everybody reads,

Totally appropriate it seems,

Just dropped your jeans,

If only we could flush,

"Do I have another like?"

AquarianM

By: Daniel A, Stafford

© 08/10/2020

Tales Of The Pandemonium...

Tales Of The Pandemonium... 

Don't get me wrong,

I love a day at the beach,

But these waves crashing,

They're no warm salty water,

Nor cold surf on a Great Lake,

Not even a pond.

There is no placid,

And complacency,

That will maybe get you eaten,

Not in a good way.

The national parks are trashed,

Or sold off to a salt mine,

Or gutted for frack sand,

Merrily tossed away.

The stars are streaking,

Oceans peaking,

Maybe we'll someday,

Boil plastic soup from the seas,

Fishing from the crown of Lady Liberty.

Today it's the fad,

Outlaws are unmasked riders,

Hawgs enmeshed in Sturgis,

A sea of meat for the bugs.

It's all sold from the top,

A Barker's carnivale,

Full of more baffle than a used car seller,

Cliche flim-flam in a suit.

The carpets are all filthy on the bottom,

Our only hope,

The relentless tick of the clock,

Perhaps served up with a cup of karma,

We are the clown posse now,

And our emperor,

Well,

We've even seen a pumpkin,

Wearing imaginary clothes.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/10/2020

#Political #Poetic Memoir

Fast Forward...

Fast Forward...

Heard calls for redux,

Not for me just fast forward,

Twenty twenty gone.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/09/2020

Poetry Was Never About The Money...

Poetry Was Never About The Money... 

So now that you're done laughing,

Wait,

You are,

Aren't you?

Word play is a mission,

So secret only readers know,

We play at being secret agents,

An agency of the subconscious,

Muses our handlers.

Words might build pyramids,

But not those of poets,

We whisper to Father Time,

Who laughs at our ego,

If we're lucky our jokes.

I play with these words in twilight,

Somewhere between insomnia & pillow,

A sparkling word vampire,

I'll bite you for ink,

My only progeny pretty word baubles,

But it suits me to fill the time,

And I am in good company.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/08/2020

In The Church Of No Time...

In The Church Of No Time... 

The bully pulpit ticks,

Sacramental sand flowing,

Down a narrow waist,

Water filling a balance,

Wick burning,

Mark-by-mark through tallow,

Too dark for a sun dial,

Evil red numbers change in cadence,

A lock on perception,

An artificial rush,

Even rhe Sun and Moon,

Leading stars and planets,

Dancing to an endless river,

Of these ticks and tocks,

We're born into bondage,

No mercy and no respite,

The closest freedom is sand and surf,

A seemingly endless cadence its own,

In the end it must run out,

We all run screaming out,

The fire of our agony is even finite,

Here in the Church of No Time.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/08/2020

#Poetic Philosophy #Political

Blogger Finally Getting Development Work From Google!

I have been using Blogger-dot-com blogs since around 2002. Google bought it circa 2004, if I recall correctly.

I have been doing several updates on the style of my *Spell Book* poetry blog ( http://www.Whizzyrds.com ) on Blogger.

I don't think Google had put any development effort into Blogger in a decade or more. All of a sudden in the past couple of weeks, I am noticing some definite modernization of the layout and post editing interfaces. This is good news, because it makes it more likely that Blogger will be maintained.

Now if they just upgrade the mobile version design...

Dan

What Is Poetry?

What Is Poetry?

Can I even begin to answer?

Let me try...

It's the subconscious spilling out through a conscious filter,

With a touch of beauty and heart,

A deep connection at the unconscious level,

Between all of us who are built this way, 

Looking through a word kaleidoscope,

At the fractal undermind. 

Maybe.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/07/2020

#Poetic Philosophy #Poets Poems

Immersion...

Immersion... 

It's a grind,

Far older than I,

I'm the spinning wheel,

The engine that could,

The rumble,

I crave the scent,

For the murk of morning,

My cup I will fill,

Yet at the moment I breathe deep,

Best-scented garage in town,

I savor the immersion.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/06/2020

The Quiet Dark...

The Quiet Dark... 

Cool night air lies still,

Crickets the only ear-fall,

Mystery above.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/05/2020

#Lifestyle

Standing...

Standing...

My feet planted,

Close my eyes,

Pull light of white from the Everywhere,

Mind dancing I do not move,

Winds of news sway nothing,

My duty is to stand,

Monolith,

Aware of the flow,

Wind and water,

Roll off my back and brow,

The sky might be gray,

Perhaps blue,

Even starlit,

The calm of Eternity comforts me,

Water in the river flows by,

Just as dust blows,

Always renewed,

I am standing,

This too will pass.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/04/2020

#Lifestyle #Poetic Philosophy #Political