Reading Martì...
I was at first somewhat astonished,
Time stepped out of the picture and faded into the distance,
A bit player whose part was done in an epic timeless,
Where bare truths about the soul of a land are laid,
Flayed of all pomp and circumstance and artifices of finery.
The honest opinions of one in a land new and unknown,
Waiting in dusty tomes a century and more on the page,
Speaking of first impressions and speaking truth without mercy nor spite,
With the clarity of seeing everything hidden beneath,
Rivaled only by modern miracles like MRI's or x-rays,
Hits your preconceptions of culture between the eyes.
"We worship wealth here,
For we came without it and without its respect,
The downtrodden cast-offs of old lands all,
In waves and droves and sea-sick jubilation of landfall,
Only to emulate the visible qualities of our oppressors,
Seeking what we perceived as their strengths without true knowledge."
In a land where the clocks must be punched,
Where work rules every aspect of our worth and ability to exist,
How do we have a moment for the grace of souls malnourished,
Do we ever feed the worth of our souls when our mouths are our rulers,
Still slaves to our bellies which can translate only gold into food and shelter?
It is of small wonder that the sword that threatens our necks comes from "on high" -
A curved scimitar swinging with the weight of yellow metal,
Hiding at its core a hollow vacuum - a void where a graceful spirit should be,
If it were filled with what belongs there it would melt into a ploughshare,
Or perhaps into the bricks that could hide our heads from hurricanes and tornadoes,
Or the hearth that used to warm our bread.
The least among us are our true mirror,
The clearest glass we shall ever gaze into,
And if the bones of them are prodding their flesh,
Their frost bite of lack of shelter and bellies full of nothing but air,
Their pitiful rags wrapped 'round the vision of skulls that is the source of our fear,
It will pull that sword of gold upon us all to cleave our necks as surely as the clocks tick.
How many among us would give even the illusion of a five dollar bill to their pantry,
If it had to be given without the craven illusion of a tax deduction?
This world is not and never has been divided by arbitrary lines on a plastic globe,
Not one of marble nor glass nor clay nor wood nor paper,
No matter how well-drawn or sculpted its representation of Earth,
For what we put into the sky or the water or the land travels freely,
Not one law can arrest its progress or its consequence.
Our souls and our fates are as intertwined as is the atmosphere or the waterways,
Filled with underground rivers that carry every deed and action throughout the whole,
A permeated brew stirring by convection and gravity unseen yet ever-present.
What we do with the "least" among us we will drink and eat,
Regardless of whether we know it or acknowledge it or remain ignorant of it,
It will fuel poisonous growth or it will be clean and gentle with us,
As we reap we will sow is the pertinent verse.
Fires do not burn without fuel,
Fuel made of greedy intent or even plain ignorance,
And if violence and harm do not treat us as harshly as flames in the end,
It will be simply because we gave them no cause to burn.
In the end it all congeals into that basic truth -
Which crosses all those artificial and arbitrary lines on globes and maps.
We made a play for "freedom" here,
A crop which only thrives when shared and tended well.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/30/2006
Author's Notes:
This was inspired by reading the early newspaper articles written by Jose Martì when he first came to live in New York in the 1870's. He wrote for New York and multiple Latin American newspapers his observations on the emerging culture in the United States - which to this day values work and wealth but forgets the values of spiritual nourishment, charity, and the human need for self-worth not always gained through financial acumen. It shows in the way we drive ourselves nearly beyond our physical limits for work and career, the way we look down on vacations long enough to truly rest the soul and body, and the way we are driven to work at the expense of family and community. When one steps back and takes a fresh look, we are tragically out of balance. The fact that people in this country or any other go without food and shelter is a clear reflection of how such scales are tilted. What happens when things are unbalanced for too long and stretched too far away from the balance point?
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Saturday, August 19, 2006
By Rainbow Light...
Teased with visions of a fragile world healed,
I sense a hunger of titanic proportions,
Hiding in the mists of the collective undermind,
Waiting to climb the ladders of belief and faith,
Pushing on the heavy lid of fear that covers the exit,
The one from fantasy into reality.
I hear it spoken of with a nervous laugh,
Like it might shine in reflections from a tinfoil hat,
Something cooked up by a lunatic fringe in a crazed moment,
This utterly surreal idea that peace and kindness could somehow win,
When what seems like preservation is to kill more of "them,"
Still it's a haunting vision that lives in a joke,
A world where everyone has a roof and clean water.
I suppose it's all fine if the rich chase children in other countries,
Bullets bombs or underwear,
That sort of thing doesn't "belong" around here,
But can you tell me where it does so I never go there?
There are those of us like mirrors,
We shine mirror light on all the dark places,
You know - where a soul tries to hide when it's afraid,
Places like Denial and Ignorance and the like,
Because we see that world shining in the tinfoil hats,
Where everyone has the basics of life,
It's a vision of a possible truth,
All it takes is a lot of love and a little rainbow light.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/19/2006
Teased with visions of a fragile world healed,
I sense a hunger of titanic proportions,
Hiding in the mists of the collective undermind,
Waiting to climb the ladders of belief and faith,
Pushing on the heavy lid of fear that covers the exit,
The one from fantasy into reality.
I hear it spoken of with a nervous laugh,
Like it might shine in reflections from a tinfoil hat,
Something cooked up by a lunatic fringe in a crazed moment,
This utterly surreal idea that peace and kindness could somehow win,
When what seems like preservation is to kill more of "them,"
Still it's a haunting vision that lives in a joke,
A world where everyone has a roof and clean water.
I suppose it's all fine if the rich chase children in other countries,
Bullets bombs or underwear,
That sort of thing doesn't "belong" around here,
But can you tell me where it does so I never go there?
There are those of us like mirrors,
We shine mirror light on all the dark places,
You know - where a soul tries to hide when it's afraid,
Places like Denial and Ignorance and the like,
Because we see that world shining in the tinfoil hats,
Where everyone has the basics of life,
It's a vision of a possible truth,
All it takes is a lot of love and a little rainbow light.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/19/2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Reggae Heart...
Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.
A night song o’ sail cloth flapping under dese brilliant stars,
Bring de morning sun down upon de beach.
Palm trees, dey sway up over our smiling heads,
When de reggae plays de limes fall into de drink.
Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.
Rum runners dancing south dere, down by de sweet blue sea,
Coconuts floating out past de Keys where we sing.
Oh Lord, take me away down dere in de sunshine,
Where she swims by de light be dawn now.
Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.
We free now, Darlin’ mine you be de sunshine,
Fishin’ for your love gentle an’ slow now.
Put de peppers on de chicken an limes wit’ sweet plantains,
Love me slowly now, my miracle on de wing
Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.
I wan’ be seeing de parrots so colored pretty,
De albatross, he fly slowly over you an’ me.
Fly wit’ me reggae heart an de Wailers play,
I’m gone up on Heaven while Bob Marley sings.
Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.
Fly wit’ me reggae heart an de Wailers play,
I’m gone up on Heaven while Bob Marley sings.
Wash me down to de Carribean, she’s de bluest sea,
We could all ‘ave cried her, from tears o’ joy.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/01/2006
**NOTE** My web host did a network-wide server upgrade, and this resulted in the shut-down of all my blogs hosted on my own site, including *Spell Book*, for one month. Tonight is the first time I've been able to post here since early June.
*Spell Book* will resume publishing in the next couple of days. Thank you all so much for your patience!
Dan
*Spell Book* will resume publishing in the next couple of days. Thank you all so much for your patience!
Dan
Friday, June 02, 2006
Dreams Of Sand...
He awoke to heat and thirst and pain,
Not sure where he was in the silence,
Lying torn on burning sands,
Seeing the cloudless blue sky waver and shimmer.
Rolling over with a groan,
He shakily got his feet under him,
Unsteady and drenched in sweat that steamed away instantly.
He raised a hand to shield his eyes,
All the world was sand unbearably bright,
A scorpion crawled by nearly at his feet,
He licked his cracked and bleeding lips and remembered what it was,
Just in time jumping away.
Dizzy with confusion he turned around and followed his own footprints,
They led to a smoldering building in ruins,
An arm lay outstretched from under a shattered block of stone,
A child's arm by the look of it.
He remembered being a child once,
Playing with toy cars as his sister cradled her Barbie doll,
"I'm going home in a week" he thought,
Suddenly terrified at something he couldn't remember,
Maybe couldn't bear to remember.
It might happen again back home,
He suddenly knew this even though "what" was only a burning haze,
He knew he couldn't let "it" happen back home,
The tears burst into his eyes along with white hot rage,
Out-burning the sun as he saw a smoldering teddy bear near the arm.
He reached for the gun at his hip,
Pointed it at his face as he thought "I can't let this go back home,"
Flipping off the safety he started to squeeze,
Just like they'd squeeze the truth out of him in horrible ways,
If he let "it" get back home.
Just as he heard the final click before his angels were due,
He woke up in sweat drenched sheets,
Screaming incoherently as his wife looked at him with THAT look in her eyes,
The sickening animal fear that he knew was on his childrens' faces in their room,
The look that made a lie out of their words of hope for "recovery."
There was only one way he would ever recover from something,
But God help him - he couldn't figure out what "it" was,
And as he reached for the pills in the drawer by the bed,
The thought burned his soul all the way to his core.
The teddy bear was familiar...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 06/02/2006
He awoke to heat and thirst and pain,
Not sure where he was in the silence,
Lying torn on burning sands,
Seeing the cloudless blue sky waver and shimmer.
Rolling over with a groan,
He shakily got his feet under him,
Unsteady and drenched in sweat that steamed away instantly.
He raised a hand to shield his eyes,
All the world was sand unbearably bright,
A scorpion crawled by nearly at his feet,
He licked his cracked and bleeding lips and remembered what it was,
Just in time jumping away.
Dizzy with confusion he turned around and followed his own footprints,
They led to a smoldering building in ruins,
An arm lay outstretched from under a shattered block of stone,
A child's arm by the look of it.
He remembered being a child once,
Playing with toy cars as his sister cradled her Barbie doll,
"I'm going home in a week" he thought,
Suddenly terrified at something he couldn't remember,
Maybe couldn't bear to remember.
It might happen again back home,
He suddenly knew this even though "what" was only a burning haze,
He knew he couldn't let "it" happen back home,
The tears burst into his eyes along with white hot rage,
Out-burning the sun as he saw a smoldering teddy bear near the arm.
He reached for the gun at his hip,
Pointed it at his face as he thought "I can't let this go back home,"
Flipping off the safety he started to squeeze,
Just like they'd squeeze the truth out of him in horrible ways,
If he let "it" get back home.
Just as he heard the final click before his angels were due,
He woke up in sweat drenched sheets,
Screaming incoherently as his wife looked at him with THAT look in her eyes,
The sickening animal fear that he knew was on his childrens' faces in their room,
The look that made a lie out of their words of hope for "recovery."
There was only one way he would ever recover from something,
But God help him - he couldn't figure out what "it" was,
And as he reached for the pills in the drawer by the bed,
The thought burned his soul all the way to his core.
The teddy bear was familiar...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 06/02/2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
For announcements SPECIFIC TO PLAINFIELD LIVE POETRY READINGS, Please join the Plainfield Live Poetry Group at:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Plainfield_live_poetry/
All,
We have found a wonderful new place for poetry readings. The location is convenient to poets in Plainfield, Naperville, Aurora, Montgomery, and Oswego.
Poetry readings will be held the first Tuesday of the month from 7pm to 9pm at:
Green Leaf Coffee House
(located in Sun Plaza)
2400 S. Eola Road, Suite G
Aurora, IL 60504
630-851-8410
greenleafcoffee@sbcglobal.net
Attendance is free of charge and all poets are welcome to read.
Contact Dan Stafford at aqmstaffo@mailbag.com or 815-483-8878 or Jillmarie at Green Leaf Coffee House (greenleafcoffee@sbcglobal.net)
Sun Plaza is located on the far Southwestern portion of Eola Road about two miles before it intersects US Hwy 30.
Our first reading will be Tuesday, April 4th starting at 7pm. Please forward this message to anyone you feel would be interested in reading or attending!
Please join Dan Stafford at Green Leaf Coffee House for the kickoff of the new Western suburbs poetry readings, and let's get this off to a wonderful start!
As always, please bring material suitable for a family environment, and let's all show our new hosts how wonderful the spoken word can be!
I'm looking forward to seeing and hearing many talented poets at Green Leaf starting in April!
Sincerely,
Dan Stafford - Emcee
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Plainfield_live_poetry/
All,
We have found a wonderful new place for poetry readings. The location is convenient to poets in Plainfield, Naperville, Aurora, Montgomery, and Oswego.
Poetry readings will be held the first Tuesday of the month from 7pm to 9pm at:
Green Leaf Coffee House
(located in Sun Plaza)
2400 S. Eola Road, Suite G
Aurora, IL 60504
630-851-8410
greenleafcoffee@sbcglobal.net
Attendance is free of charge and all poets are welcome to read.
Contact Dan Stafford at aqmstaffo@mailbag.com or 815-483-8878 or Jillmarie at Green Leaf Coffee House (greenleafcoffee@sbcglobal.net)
Sun Plaza is located on the far Southwestern portion of Eola Road about two miles before it intersects US Hwy 30.
Our first reading will be Tuesday, April 4th starting at 7pm. Please forward this message to anyone you feel would be interested in reading or attending!
Please join Dan Stafford at Green Leaf Coffee House for the kickoff of the new Western suburbs poetry readings, and let's get this off to a wonderful start!
As always, please bring material suitable for a family environment, and let's all show our new hosts how wonderful the spoken word can be!
I'm looking forward to seeing and hearing many talented poets at Green Leaf starting in April!
Sincerely,
Dan Stafford - Emcee
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Bye Bye Black Cloud...
Enough grey skies and rain,
Lightning strikes and pain,
Bring on the wind today,
Blow this low down black cloud away.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Let it dissipate into a blue sky now,
Sweet sunshine come on down,
Softly warm my up-turned face,
A breezy smile I wear in new-found grace.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Like a hawk on the breeze I'm soaring far,
Flying up to touch my lucky star,
A happy song springing from my lips,
Double rainbows at my fingertips.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Love and peace all within my view,
I walk in grace and glory complete and true,
Fortune is my companion at every step,
Harmony wraps my every relationship.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/07/2005
Author's Comments:
A daily prayer. Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Enough grey skies and rain,
Lightning strikes and pain,
Bring on the wind today,
Blow this low down black cloud away.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Let it dissipate into a blue sky now,
Sweet sunshine come on down,
Softly warm my up-turned face,
A breezy smile I wear in new-found grace.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Like a hawk on the breeze I'm soaring far,
Flying up to touch my lucky star,
A happy song springing from my lips,
Double rainbows at my fingertips.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Love and peace all within my view,
I walk in grace and glory complete and true,
Fortune is my companion at every step,
Harmony wraps my every relationship.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
Bye bye black cloud flown away,
Love and fortune are mine from this day,
Sunshine and happiness warm my neighborhood,
In perfect ways my life is blessed for good.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 12/07/2005
Author's Comments:
A daily prayer. Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Monday, November 21, 2005
The Last Of Monowi...
The prairie grass returns,
Covering over fallen homes,
Places only ghosts now roam,
Empty houses and broken streets,
The hopes of generations fallen to ruin,
All at the stroke of the globalization pen,
Farms and factories silent and deserted,
Gone back to what it was before we came,
A white-haired stubborn old lady,
The lone inhabitant of a place that's gone,
No future apocalypse,
Nothing you have to wait until 2100 for,
They say we've never abandoned an American city,
That lie is apparent all over the countryside,
The last lady of Monowi can show it to you today.
http://www.whizzyrds.com/Ghostville.html
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/21/2005
The prairie grass returns,
Covering over fallen homes,
Places only ghosts now roam,
Empty houses and broken streets,
The hopes of generations fallen to ruin,
All at the stroke of the globalization pen,
Farms and factories silent and deserted,
Gone back to what it was before we came,
A white-haired stubborn old lady,
The lone inhabitant of a place that's gone,
No future apocalypse,
Nothing you have to wait until 2100 for,
They say we've never abandoned an American city,
That lie is apparent all over the countryside,
The last lady of Monowi can show it to you today.
http://www.whizzyrds.com/Ghostville.html
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/21/2005
What Exactly IS In A Word?
A word is a discussion all by itself,It holds an image of what it tells,
It's a picture agreed upon by you and me,
It's a contract unspoken we speak every day,
Origins that trace back to the first "what is it,"
"Let's call it this - what do you say?"
In order to understand the nature of this treasure,
We must realize that the universe is built of foundational blocks,
Within or without words shape it because they are the basis,
Given to us by divinity and no other creature we do not teach,
We speak to our God with them whatever name we use,
We often fail to understand that we do not have to address God,
Every word is heard and may result in action from Divinity,
As poets we choose words with care,
Missing the proper understanding perhaps,
Although not necessarily entirely.
Forgive me if it seems presumptuous,
For I know of no other creature,
That speaks to and in front of God,
With every breath or stroke of pen,
As such we poets are more than we know,
We stand closest to this particular gate.
Step through the gate into the parlor,
Read the writing on the walls,
Come back out with an understanding whereof you speak,
Turn - the gate is here:
www.concentric.net/~conure/shinn.shtml
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/20/2005
Saturday, November 19, 2005
An Angel In China...
Wing beats dust bamboo,
Halo shines on rice paper,
Bearing love's soft dreams.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005
Wing beats dust bamboo,
Halo shines on rice paper,
Bearing love's soft dreams.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Snowflake Whispers...
Falling in silence,
White on winds accumulate,
Swirling pearl dreamscape.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005
Falling in silence,
White on winds accumulate,
Swirling pearl dreamscape.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Cherry Blossom Steps...
Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.
Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.
Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.
Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.
Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005
Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.
Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.
Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.
Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.
Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Nursery...
They call him Orion and he hunts the night skies,
Appearing above just as Winter wakes from Summer's heat,
You can see a sword hanging at his belt in the cool nights,
Yet not so many know what it guards,
What drives the hunter to the drawn bow.
A mystery it took Galileo and at least a century to resolve.
Right there,
Tucked away in that sword sheath,
Orion's nursery - a nebula where new stars are forming,
The fires of creation lend their soft glow to our nights,
Gracing Fall nights with a harvest of new light,
I've always wanted to go there.
The first thing I ever pointed a university telescope at.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2005
They call him Orion and he hunts the night skies,
Appearing above just as Winter wakes from Summer's heat,
You can see a sword hanging at his belt in the cool nights,
Yet not so many know what it guards,
What drives the hunter to the drawn bow.
A mystery it took Galileo and at least a century to resolve.
Right there,
Tucked away in that sword sheath,
Orion's nursery - a nebula where new stars are forming,
The fires of creation lend their soft glow to our nights,
Gracing Fall nights with a harvest of new light,
I've always wanted to go there.
The first thing I ever pointed a university telescope at.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/05/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Under Charcoal Skies...
The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.
Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.
The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.
Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.
All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005
The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.
Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.
The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.
Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.
All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Just A Dustin'
Eighteen degrees on a silent night,
Minus eight if Centigrade is your right,
A few fat flakes dancing all about in a swirling breeze,
Two coats with a scarf and ear muffs,
Don't forget the gloves or your fingers will freeze.
It's that time again,
Wishing for Summer a fruitless test,
Yet lest we forget - it's Lady winter who lets life rest,
A cycle we all really need,
Endangered seasons all to meet the need for speed.
When you glide down a slippery road,
Try it with snow shoes all wrapped up in the hush of the night,
Remember all the miracles of icicles and frost,
Adulthood left your Winter magic in ruins you say,
Still it's up to you if your inner child is really that lost.
So even just a dustin' -
It's far better than nothin' -
Let Mother Earth heal a bit before balmy days,
Time enough before Spring showers or harvest to reap,
Gaia is tired and weary - we must let her sleep.
For myself and piece of mind,
I'll throw you a snowball and put a sled under my behind.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005
Eighteen degrees on a silent night,
Minus eight if Centigrade is your right,
A few fat flakes dancing all about in a swirling breeze,
Two coats with a scarf and ear muffs,
Don't forget the gloves or your fingers will freeze.
It's that time again,
Wishing for Summer a fruitless test,
Yet lest we forget - it's Lady winter who lets life rest,
A cycle we all really need,
Endangered seasons all to meet the need for speed.
When you glide down a slippery road,
Try it with snow shoes all wrapped up in the hush of the night,
Remember all the miracles of icicles and frost,
Adulthood left your Winter magic in ruins you say,
Still it's up to you if your inner child is really that lost.
So even just a dustin' -
It's far better than nothin' -
Let Mother Earth heal a bit before balmy days,
Time enough before Spring showers or harvest to reap,
Gaia is tired and weary - we must let her sleep.
For myself and piece of mind,
I'll throw you a snowball and put a sled under my behind.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/17/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
The Bluest Angel...
Tiny Angel, wings so blue-white,
Watch over me as I pray goodnight,
Let Mommy be safe and happy please,
You in your robes so blue, me on my knees.
I watch you fly in God's grace.
Tiny angel, flit down upon my cupped palms,
Smile up at me, singing, with no qualms.
A voice so ethereal and uplifting,
Carry my heart through a life that's shifting.
Thank you for carrying my prayers to heaven so well.
Bluer than the skies,
Angel with the bluest eyes,
Singing and free,
Thank you for loving me.
Fly always in beautiful childhood dreams.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000
Author's Comments:
A dream, from very early childhood in Madison, WI.
This took place when I was three, in the time of the Dinosaur Safari.
I think it may have been inspired by watching a show on
TV about the Navy flying team, the Blue Angels.
You see, to me as a child, airplanes were the grandest
vision in the whole world. We lived off an Air Force base.
I lived in a world of fast jets, heard sonic booms before they
stopped supersonic flight over the continental USA.
I woke up crying because the dream was gone.
*One thing I should note but never have before posting this at Flowing Quills: the entire dream was very vivid, but I dreampt it as if it were a Saturday morning cartoon that I was living in, like I was in the world of comic art. I never really had that piece stand out to me until now. Perhaps that's telling me something I should do...* (I just had a thought - the Fire Angel - I think she is my Bluest Angel from childhood) This was also my first paper-published work.
Tiny Angel, wings so blue-white,
Watch over me as I pray goodnight,
Let Mommy be safe and happy please,
You in your robes so blue, me on my knees.
I watch you fly in God's grace.
Tiny angel, flit down upon my cupped palms,
Smile up at me, singing, with no qualms.
A voice so ethereal and uplifting,
Carry my heart through a life that's shifting.
Thank you for carrying my prayers to heaven so well.
Bluer than the skies,
Angel with the bluest eyes,
Singing and free,
Thank you for loving me.
Fly always in beautiful childhood dreams.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C)2000
Author's Comments:
A dream, from very early childhood in Madison, WI.
This took place when I was three, in the time of the Dinosaur Safari.
I think it may have been inspired by watching a show on
TV about the Navy flying team, the Blue Angels.
You see, to me as a child, airplanes were the grandest
vision in the whole world. We lived off an Air Force base.
I lived in a world of fast jets, heard sonic booms before they
stopped supersonic flight over the continental USA.
I woke up crying because the dream was gone.
*One thing I should note but never have before posting this at Flowing Quills: the entire dream was very vivid, but I dreampt it as if it were a Saturday morning cartoon that I was living in, like I was in the world of comic art. I never really had that piece stand out to me until now. Perhaps that's telling me something I should do...* (I just had a thought - the Fire Angel - I think she is my Bluest Angel from childhood) This was also my first paper-published work.
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
A Day of Peace...
It whispers under the skin like a silent need,
An itch that needs to be scratched,
We all pray we'll find it somewhere,
Under the next law where they snuck in this or that.
"Not a single drop of blood shed today."
Some of us can live and let live,
Maybe that's an excuse not to pay attention,
We think our struggle is too important for all of that,
Pooh-pooh on it all my ostrich friends.
"Peace agreements today were signed in the last conflicts on the globe."
We come home looking for dinner and the TV,
Bathing in a make-believe life instead of our own,
Wandering away from everyday miracles non-chalant,
Dulled by incessant friction like a bug in the ear.
"Poverty finally averted as the last drop of oil was burned."
It's a slick predicament filled with glassy-eyed stares,
The tired Earth is weeping of loneliness,
Her children having fallen to electronic dreams,
Too lazy to even enjoy the beach.
Just once in this life I'd love to read the headlines of a true day of peace...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005
It whispers under the skin like a silent need,
An itch that needs to be scratched,
We all pray we'll find it somewhere,
Under the next law where they snuck in this or that.
"Not a single drop of blood shed today."
Some of us can live and let live,
Maybe that's an excuse not to pay attention,
We think our struggle is too important for all of that,
Pooh-pooh on it all my ostrich friends.
"Peace agreements today were signed in the last conflicts on the globe."
We come home looking for dinner and the TV,
Bathing in a make-believe life instead of our own,
Wandering away from everyday miracles non-chalant,
Dulled by incessant friction like a bug in the ear.
"Poverty finally averted as the last drop of oil was burned."
It's a slick predicament filled with glassy-eyed stares,
The tired Earth is weeping of loneliness,
Her children having fallen to electronic dreams,
Too lazy to even enjoy the beach.
Just once in this life I'd love to read the headlines of a true day of peace...
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/19/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Under Charcoal Skies...
The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.
Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.
The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.
Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.
All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005
The winds are dancing the trees like wild Heathens,
Shuddering the last of their leaves from branches too chill to resist,
Cold rain drops fly down coat necks as we lean into our steps,
Awaiting the hushed blanket of white we're soon promised.
Swirling multicolored leaves tornado in the streets,
Rustling at the door like lost waifs in a magic palette,
Burning with the last wisps of the harvest season,
About to gift the Earth for the new year's growth to come.
The black shapes of geese and sparrows punctuate the dimming light,
Their flowing geometry in flocked flight a sign of abandonment,
The Sun is falling South and so shall they,
Bursting from the cornfields of dimming gold stubble and bare-stick trees.
Bluster faces those who decorate the landscape,
Braving the washed-out light of Autumn's wane,
Seeking the soul secrets within this simple grey space,
Walking the Earth paths under charcoal skies.
All these skies' promises whisper simply of curtains of white.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/14/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Cherry Blossom Steps...
Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.
Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.
Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.
Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.
Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005
All of my currently available poetry Chapbooks are for sale at:
www.lulu.com/Daniel-Stafford
Spring petals soft scent,
Sweet fruit plucked by sun rise,
Petals litter grass.
Pink softness underfoot,
Blooming passion within hearts,
Whispers echo love.
Old monk's walking stick,
Dancing among petals here,
Cherry blossom steps.
Sun sets quietly,
All shadows stretch long and far,
Past life memories.
Spring petals soft scent,
Dancing among petals here,
All jade has faded.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 11/08/2005
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.
All of my currently available poetry Chapbooks are for sale at:
www.lulu.com/Daniel-Stafford
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