They Whispered Cold Stone:

I saw the eyes darling,
They were bright and full and gibbous,
The leaves danced 'round my ankles,
Cold and restless to go to forever.

Jackfrost past the creaking gates,
One hung rusted and askew,
It was twilight dreading the equinox,
And they whispered cold stone.

Her name was there,
I saw it twixt these rheumy old tears,
The flowers of every year I spent in my cups,
Dead heaps of nothing once beautiful.

Spring is such a short time,
Yet it felt like endless,
You get to know in time,
Even memory isn't that.

Whisper cold stone when the flowers turn,
When ashen and stars rule what was blue,
Soon enough the snows come to bury,
And only the whispers of stone still stand.

Even stone knows Spring and Winter.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)10/13/2003

Author's Comments:
Sorry for the maudlin, it's just that I'm a child of Summer,
and I hear the leaves ticking.

Fingers of the Witch:

Isn't it strange,
Once a year,
The morrors all crack,
A green fog comes along,
A great bright glowing amber orange moon,
The light turns pale and ghostly,
All the beauty sinks in,
All the ghastly creeps out,
Realease the inner demons,
Rattle bones and commune with the dead,
Steel hard red fingernails,
Exclaim the gnarled green fingers of the Witch,
The black kettle grumbles burbling on the hook,
Swung hard over the fire,
In the purple burning center,
Of the cold white bricks,
Up the chimney with soot and cinders streaming trails,
Her broom screams cackling into the night,
Black familiar screaming like a woman,
Claws sunk to the utmost in ancient wood,
A trail of smoke straight up the sky spiraled,
As she spells ballistic without letters,
Parting a cloud of vampire bats,
Misted fog drifting with purpose,
Glowing-eyed sheets and such like twirling,
A cackling vile gesture,
Flung in the face of Luna,
She knows the time draws nigh,
Every gnarly gourd and gristly bone,
Floating in her cauldron,
Screaming spirits dance in the pentacle,
Soon the black candle will burn red and green flames,
Leaves are fire on the trees,
Children shuddering cowered abed,
No one sees the flying pain,
As the tears of missing forever,
What has died another season,
Wiped instantly away to vanish,
Upon the one trembling tip,
Of the only ungnarled spot left,
Upon the fingers of the witch.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/13/2003 in the hour past midnight.

Author's Comments:
The season of the new is passed again,
The season of the harvest,
Of reaping and death before rebirth,
Is at the heart of every witch this time of year.
She remembers her time of Spring and Summer.

The Family Muse:

It's an interesting thing,
When you click "search".

Never knowing what you'll find,
Gifts throughout space and time,
Mysteries and revelations.

The greatest of them,
William the Giant,
He lived with her close day by day,
She leaned on his shoulder with tender golden whispers.

Kim the Giant's Heir,
Walking around his father's incredible ghost,
She brushes kisses on his ear in timely fashion,
And Princess Kit dances sweet moving the world,
Listening to Daddy's Love in timeless abandon and rhythm's power.

The Giant's brood are nuclear,
And the rest of us in the family quiet old TNT,
Lady Judith wanders with her hand in hand,
As they laugh a verse and lay down polished words,
And Dave Sinclair with our family in the midst gets some time,
Whiling away poor dear Norma catches whispers while doing time.

Paul Michael dances with her a jig or two,
Some day I'll see the sweet nothings she left him,
And Patrick P. remembers Lady Di under the gift of whispers,
Immortalizing the beautiful lost candle light in the hurricane,
And there she she danced a well deserved turn,
Yet Clay lies at her feet hearing bits in his dreams,
And David recorded WWII under the force of her gently driven breath.

Jorge is the Crossword Prince twisting out answers under her wing,
And Claire Ann has a subtle spirit of youth which colors her gift,
While Mr. Chris has a turn coming for a whisper soon we'll read,
James speaks to our souls and the twisted path we must walk straight,
As we never forget Simon be it fall upon the lake,
While Jana records the readings yet I bet she'll have her whisper day,
And Donna dash Skar translates January Rainbows and other rare golden delights,
And Barbara lends us pictures of the visions with the poetic way she illustrates.

Georgia Lynn brought us joy and sorrow,
Poor dear couldn't live even with the words,
But she took the time to speak with us before her leaving day,
And so the clan distant and scattered though we be,
She travels light at the speed of light,
A touch here and whisper there,
Busy busy busy but ever a tenacious delight,
The family muse lives on touching the quiet gentle hearts,
All these Staffords in literature and poetry.

What of me did you say,
I think she comes to me missing William,
Because she is often but I've yet to reach Fusion,
She is loving Earth and Sky and heart and cloud,
She led me to start watching over the family,
"Daniel A. please whisper prayers for them upon electric clouds."
My ear is always open to her,
Beautiful Lady Inspiration,
Dancing in papyrus piles and loads of feather quills,
Our dear sweet family Muse.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/26/2003

Author's Comments:
Thank you to Google.com, for what they had to say about "Poetry Stafford."

!!ANNOUNCEMENT!!


I need 60 poets to read at Harvest Fest:



We need 30 poets each day over two days to read for six minutes each.

This will be a large outdoor family oriented function, part of Plainfield's annual Harvest Festival,

on Saturday September 20th 2003 & Sunday September 21st 2003.

Please, keep in mind there will be children and families in attendance when choosing material for this reading,

and choose appropriately. Please have at least one poem on fall or the harvest.



This event is entitled the “Gourmet Junction Harvest of Words” and is being sponsored by and hosted at Gourmet Junction,

(www.gourmetjunction.com) at 505 West Lockport Street, Plainfield, IL.



The readings will take place under a tent on the street in front of Gourmet Junction.

Local high school and college poets will be reading between 1:00 pm to 2:30 pm,

and adult poets between 2:30 pm to 4:00 pm each day.

There will be a single table available for chapbook displays for shared use by all poets.

If fully booked, this event will feauture a total of sixty poets, thirty adult and thirty young poets over two days.



Interested poets please contact:



Daniel A. Stafford

AquarianM@whizzyrds.com

815-483-8878



Please provide your name, city or neighborhood, phone number, e-mail if available,

and the best times to reach you, and age group, school or adult.



This event could well kick off monthly readings in Plainfield, so we need to really show ‘em what we can do!



This event will be free to the public.



I’ll be taking names until 4pm Tuesday, September 9th or all 60 slots are booked, whichever comes first.

In Search Of Light:

In the deep dark mejik I fell under tonight,
There were ghosts and miseries,
Plans I could never see.

The windows all were closed,
But a draft fell on my candle flame,
Tears were never far,
Angels on the window sill.

Funny how the night is so deep in between my ears,
But it's just a bit south and left where the hole lies,
And nothing can ever quite fill it right again.

No, I can't give you the crystal ball answers,
No I can't open the blinds on life,
All I can do is stand here looking for the lighthouse,
Wondering where you are.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/21/2003

Author's Comments:
Missing those who've passed beyond my world.

A little childhood mejik for you to ponder on:

Woolgatherers Rule:

You feel the chills running down your spine,
Wave after wave and hackles risen,
Dread and despair so close they could cut you,
Any moment the claws will rend,
You feel the teeth crawling over your skin just shy of breaking,
Roaring in your ears like the end of time,
The silver screen's ghosts come to life,
Right there in the torture cell,
Where they make you go at night,
And the only thing that saves you,
Is the wool you pull over your little eyes,
Ah, shiver little Ostrich,
How long can you hide behind the Woolgathers' Rule?

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003

Author's Comments:
Ever pull the blankets over your head after a night
of scary movies and banishment to a pitch-dark room?
Make up the rule that monsters can't get you under the covers?
I sure remember those nights!

Just a playful little thing I posted for some friends in the Gothicverse, the kind with white fangs and long black capes with red silk linings...

Black Leather - Red Lei:

He walked in the shadows,
Under the pale Hawaiian moonlight,
It was cast full and searching over the palms and waves,
He remembered a time long ago,
He'd called this place blue...

She walked unaware following faint notes on the wind,
Hearing a beautiful voice that was forever,
A lei of red flowers draped from nape to breast,
The only light was the silver moon,
She could hear the soft strains of Loving You,
Climbing the wooden stairs away from the beach,
She felt lonely and forgotten,
Barely noticing the midnight black 1957 Caddilac,
At least at first,
But then she realized where the song was coming from,
A pale slender figure in black leather,
Leaning against the front fender,
Slicked back jet black hair,
Sharp features and prominent sideburns,
Laser blue eyes that pierced her soul,
And man he could sing,
So easy about it while the hair on her neck rose,
Half in fear half in fire,
Damn he was good looking too,
She couldn't help walking close,
And he smiled that half-lip way she remembered,
Like in the movies and on the Ed Sullivan show when she was little,
He had that magic and he looked un-Godly like the real thing,
But hell it was August 16th 2003 on a beach in Hawaii,
And that king was dead,
But she looked in his eyes and she swore,
Swore that they were all somehow wrong,
She walked close just listening,
Her eyes glazing and her breath coming in shallow gasps,
Just his voice was melting her there,
Like when she was home alone in the bath,
Listening to those records and fantasizing over the calendar,
The one of him on the wall that made her fall,
She'd spent years loving a voice and dream too old for her,
But this she couldn't resist,
Not a word she let him take her hand and pull her close,
She looked up and burned in his gaze listening,
She never remembered for certain but she'd later believe,
There was music in the air to back him up,
And he reached out with a toss of his head on a soft note,
Grabbed the gold door handle on the black as night Caddy,
And opened the door like that kind of gentleman,
The kind you barely found these days,
And seated her in the plush blood red interior,
All the trim was gold and the red of the velour was LOUD,
Like he used to be when he decorated his place,
And he had that certainty to him,
Like he knew he couldn't lose,
And as the door closed the smoky tinted windows engulfed her,
Just like his embrace,
How could he still sing while his lips,
Were raising gooseflesh on her throat,
And the song changed to hard and fast,
Hound Dog hard she clung to his black leather and fell from grace,
Gladly.

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/16/2003

Author's Comments:
A little taste for the King on his anniversary...mmmm.

The darkness of Mercurial Retrograde affects the casting of spells, leaving the Blogverse in the darkness of a mejikless night. No Whizzyrd, no matter how great, may post in a fog of Plenetary Mejik, unless the Godforce smiles down upon them.

An interesting *spell* cast by a true Star Whizzyrd in the *Monotnussverse*. See how a cheap scrying glass can take you to the far reaches of the heavens: Backyard Paparazzi to the Stars

Explosive Sand:

Well over one hundred miles long,
And you can see at least five without too much trouble,
All this sand along the water's dividing line,
It was hot,
Blue,
Goldfire Sun,
Flaming across the waves,
Cold,
Crisp and rolling,
Waves about two to three footers,
White caps peeking up now and then,
But the Sun started falling,
All the blue above and below the horizon line,
Faded down to inky black and merged,
Just boat lights in the distance,
An endless line of green before white trolling slow,
The big dipper appeared,
At about eleven forty o'clock and eighty degrees azimuth,
Yeah, and eighty degrees Fahrenheit too,
The moon shot up at nine by seventy,
Ducking in and out of heavy isolated cumulus darknesses,
The last gold rays of sunfire fading fast into pink,
And the sand lit up,
Bangs and howls and screamers and sizzlers and popcorn poppers,
Red white blue green gold orange firefall,
They were shooting right into the pan on the dipper,
As far as eye could see,
Over the city lights on both ends of Sand World's curves,
The Lake Michigan shoreline was a multi-hued strobe light,
The gulls were off in hiding,
And all you could hear was boom bam sizzle pop ohh ahh,
For nearly three hours the firefall dance said one message loud and clear,
"Happy birthday, home."

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/06/2003

Author's Comments:
Fourth of July night, Indiana Dunes.

The Sixth Canticle:

Long hours in betwixt braziers and glowing skulls,
The stars lie in their appointed hour,
As a comet falls furious into the ocean,
The Moon gives sight to the racing wave,
In the tower of open night sky,
The Canticler drones in *mejik* rhythm,
And the Jewels of the Firestar light in brilliant purple and green,
Twin beacons of power at precise points of the Runegard,
The circle of silver characters which surround the star,
The Pentagram of Unicorn hair and Dragon blood,
And the purple-green braid of light races around the circle,
Black flames leaping from the pentagram,
The gateway opens into a distant sky,
And a howling wind screams into the void,
The Canticler sounds the Six Bells of Devonbane,
And the blood-red light erupts from the tower,
Leaping straight into the sky six Light Dragons,
Creatures of *mejikal* energy,
Awaiting the sight of the Canticler's wish upon their minds,
For they are bound him as Earthe to Sun in the Heavens,
Six points of the Canticler's soul given form in the night,
Eating the energies of starlight and Earthefire,
The Kingdom will soon be riven of the Usurper's minions,
And the Darklords scream as their crystals shatter,
And fire pierces their skulls like lightning from Heaven,
Two only, left standing to face the Canticler,
They are unholy Demons cloaked in robes as black as their hearts,
And yet he shows no fear,
For the Sixth Canticle he has bespoken,
And upon the dawn the Seventh shall fall from his quill.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003

Author's Comments:
What the mind sees, the page brings crystal clear.

Firefly & Sulfur Mejik:

Lights that sparkle in the night,
Time is slow and easy,
Cottonwood seed drifts across skies,
Barbecue flames and sizzles,
Sunglow falls to stars rising,
Fire flies dance and that's when they start,
Big boomers across the water,
All the lights are out tonight,
And the country's not alone,
We're all celebrating our Independence,
'Cause when the sun comes up we'll still be dreamin',
No alarm, no hurry, no coffee clutch,
We've got sunshine, gliding birds and water,
Calling all our names,
Shuuuush, shuuuush, shuuuush,
Dance the dance of sand and blue.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/28/2003

Author's Comments:
Vacation over the 4th RULES!

Happy Birthday To The Wordsmith

Life is a page,
Yet to be written,
It's all in what you see,
Claim the letters of happiness,
For your own on this,
Your shining day,
And fill all your future pages,
With the divine light and right,
Of a life well-lived.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/26/2003

Author's Comments:
Written as a birthday wish for our friend,
The Enchantress Roberta - who loves to *journal*.
We gave her a new *spell book* to do her *journalling*
in, and a birthday scroll with this spell in it.

* A note for any Whizzyrds from the Grand Control of the Blogverse Council *:
I used a *CHANGE TEMPLATE*spell to correct the *Scramblization* curse affecting my corner of the *Blogverse* since I sent you the scroll begging for your whizzyrdly assistance. Please dis-regard the scroll, I managed to fend off the *Eevil Grimlins* on my own. Thank you for following through...

A place out there in the eythre I need to *Spelleport* to: Kessler's Whizzyrd Spell Recording House For the retention of *greenspells* produced through new *mejik* works. I have a few good ideas about how to craft some new *mejikal* devices and spell components...

Becoming Druid:

You walk under the stars and changing skies,
The scent of the Mother slowly invades your heart,
Reaching in with tears and whispers and dreams,
Aspirations for cleaner lives flash burn in the heat of intuition,
And in that moment of inner light you feel her cry,
Saviors operating in bits and pieces,
Like ants we are many dispersed,
Like leaves we feel the wind and sun and they are good,
Working always to bury the detritus that beetles dig up,
This amazing awe in each place untouched,
Poetry is life and life has verses of it's own,
Hearing the whispers in a rainbow will tell you,
But when your un-trained inevitable vision quest comes on you,
There are no other choices because it's your nature,
Our nature but only so many achieve it,
Once the light shines down on you,
Learning to live it in some form of harmony,
Only on that path will the spells and whispers and words,
Add to the bones being shaken,
Bring the wave to crescendo and harmonic force,
Plant a bare foot upon the Earth and you are caressed,
Child and clan open your ears,
The green and the blue and the sky are in your eyes,
Crisp and clean is the common goal,
And the Mother is giving warning the undermind slowly hears,
The trees of her lungs are huffing loud,
Heat on the nape of every neck,
And the few first to notice are a named clan,
The Mother is calling them back home,
Under the stars the children with ancient souls,
Fast are becoming Druid,
And the stars in their eyes best we pray,
May save us all.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/19/2003

Author's Comments:
More and more I find that I want to learn how I can help
heal the Earth - and every day that I read about others
who sense the same urgent beat of time I do,
I realize that this is what my idea of Druid is. Were we
called to these births in this time by God? I hope the sum
adds up in time.

*POOF*
Good to be back here in my mejikal little corner of the *Blogverse*. I've been working hard at becoming a Drued. A Healer of the Eyrthe. I'm learning much about *Windspells* still, and also much of the underlying Blech Mejik that is causing the Eyrthe to slowly catch fire. It has a lot to do with Evile Mejishuns and Politico Eevil Bollweevils that are casting all sorts of eevil blech mejik that seems *pretty* and fun to monotnussians all over the Eyrthe. I must apologise for not spending a lot of time here in the keep. My Drued Duties keep me quite busy in other regions of the *Blogverse* and poring over Envirotomes in the vast mejikal library of the *Spellweb*. My assigned region appears to be the Great Lakes area of the *Monotnussverse*. Somehow the Fayte Spirits seem to have woven me into it's local *spellweb* and so you have it.

I'll be very busy in the *Monotnuss* moon of Augustus as well. I have two Spell Readings scheduled on the ninth and twenty third days of Augustus.

At any rate, I'm just dropping off a few drams of treasure for Admantium, the Silver Dragon. He may wake up one of these days and need a bit of gold and such to chew on. Meanwhile, my *Spell Book* has been missing my quill as I study the ways the *Multiverse* needs me to do Drueding. On that note, dear readers, I shall *Spelleport* back to the *Monotnussverse* and carry on and such. Faretheewell!.

Through The Door:

I walked through the door,
There were cotton candy clouds,
Lost in a blast furnace orange sky,
Stick figure birds glided over,
Ice slush waves I couldn't walk on,
The salt water sea monster awaited with whirlpools,
At the slightest toe touch I'd be drawn to the bottom,
All I could do was stare into the sunset,
No words could be cried loud enough,
Someone already spoke the magic,
Some sixties song in between purple hazes,
About Plasticene Porters and Marmelade skies,
Me, I was stuck in the boat on the river,
Man, it was a hell of a ride.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/05/2003

Author's Comments:
I painted a sunrise at the beach mural on our upstairs wall.
It's still a work in progress, but fun nonetheless. Our bedroom
door is in the mural, literally. It's quite surreal when the door is
closed.

For now, please use the LEFT archive link...thank you.

Interesting mess I seem to have going on in the past scroll library...the *Archive* spell has gotten a bit twisted out of alignment.