YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM

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YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM

Who do you love the best

Me or one of the other boys,

The others who have been part of your life?

I believe you love me for my poems,

And the other guys because of their good looks.

Excuse me! I am sure that I know

How those former lovers write.

I would wager, their compositions stink!

They are schoolboys at their lessons.

Their vocabulary weak and grammar amiss.

Their voice never amounts to truth

For they have not learned,

They are not practiced in language of the heart.

A girl like you would never fall,

Never give herself over to some inconsequential chap,

Even were his house rich in goods,

Or if he had a ton of money in the bank.

Honestly, I doubt that it would be worth

Any man's while to court you, useless, I would say,

Unless he had verse at his command.

You will have poetry in your life, and soulful adventure.

You will have love, above all else, love! No!

Not artful, not postures of love, but absolute love,

All-out, heedless, besotted, running a muck,

Head over heels, love, as if, you were God-struck.

You will have an ardency whose heart-beat mirrors

The atomic steady of electrons about a nucleus,

An affection which possesses an endurance

Beyond any artifact of marble, any work of bronze,

And puts to shame the pretense of those ancients,

The builders of the pyramids of Egypt, or those others

Who had disguised their vanity by erecting stone and rock

Into monuments of heights and circles,

What sophistry they practiced,

As if they staked a claim of victory over time!

The love you will have, its heart has a color and brightness,

Same as those beacons from the farthest reaches of space-time,

A light by which all other lights are measured,

Yes, an endurance which has its match in the starry images

Travelling since just those few moments after Creation,

So lovely, so lasting, though all else around it, dark and foreboding.

Too bad, honey! Too bad for you!

You must know, and would you, please,

Tell the other suitors, please, think on it a bit,

Who is the man, who may compare, or even place

A reasonable second in the ultimate competition,

Who but me might win the race for your heart?

Sorry! But it's over, no choice,

It is just the luck, the fate which has befallen you.

Its story line, no earthly origin, not an everyday script,

The author knows when the sparrow falls,

He has count of the hairs upon your head.

He has conceived the architecture of the heavens.

Understand, accept, and willingly embrace Wisdom,

Let me call it, Destiny, and proclaim,

You have won the election.

A bright new day floods the horizon.

Mercy on whom mercy has has been granted, and

Compassion on whom compassion has been bestowed,

Not by any act or exercise of human volition.

But by the power of heaven and its justice.

FIRE IN THE BRAIN

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FIRE IN THE BRAIN

Children watch me run through the streets,

And wonder, what is it all about, my hurrying.

My eyes push forward,

Cause me to squint.

Then all at once I break into a smile.

And night after night in steady flow

Ideas collect, press fierce,

Hard against my brow.

The pressure makes for heat;

There is fire in the brain.

I hear words march with noise

Akin to soldiers' boots slapping on pavement.

I see your gaze upon me.

The beauty of your large brown eyes

Engulfs my neural circuitry.

Oh I smell wheat grass!

It's being blended with fresh strawberries and oranges.

I love the juices' heady odor,

When ever I breathe it in --

I am reminded of you.

We looked out the window.

We sat upon stools at a Formica bar,

A long, plate-glass window provided unobstructed view,

And we people watched the intersection,

Corners at avenue and street, the sidewalk before us,

They became our theater, and we agreed;

It was pleasant evening’s entertainment.

Pressed, cardboard cartons contained our suppers.

We ate our meals with plastic forks and knives;

The napkins were brown, recycled paper.

Believe me, no irony intended. Honest!

Every memory, every instant

My being with you, every occasion was lovely!

I shall die a happy man.

Die a happy man?

Here's my defense.

However I may wonder,

Whether ultimately I write fact or fiction.

Do I possess truth or fall to illusion?

I know that those two forces bind me,

As is the case with Siamese Twins,

Who are born to share common cerebrum.

In a language plain, common to us all,

Here I stand and bear witness,

Though that I am mere flesh and born to perish,

Spirit informs me and grants me friends,

Friends who are awaiting worship,

And friends of friends who celebrate the light,

A priesthood of all believers who patiently gather

Filling the rows of benches in the meeting hall.

And one by one this church affirms a new covenant --

God is love and death has no power,

The kingdom lives within us, our souls eternal.

FOX RIVER LOVE SONG

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FOX RIVER LOVE SONG

Sky, rain, wind, and the moon's glory when full,
Yet while it sits low to the horizon,

And washes world in silvery light …

Eyes, lips, ears and hair,
Glorious limbs, the well-defined hand,
Feet with pretty toes ...

All Nature's children are beautiful,
Its works abound with care and great love.

But she, she was blessed with beauty, exceedingly so,
The sun himself, though he encountered her often,
He would be caught unawares.
She surprised the sun himself,
Whenever she had come into his presence.

She surpassed all items of creation
Not only in feature and proportion,
But in wit and spirit, too.

Her breasts were full and she wore a long skirt,

Which clung to her hips and girdled her below the belly.

The Whites brought us, the Chippewa,
The Two Books, their sacred wisdom and stories.
Their priests had translated these works into our language,

Then taught us how to read them.

Right off, the people feared that a demon spell

Had been loosened amongst them.

Elders worried for the safety of the children.

These preacher men carried furniture and possessed

Other requisites for them to celebrate their magic,

Yet they were often out of meat and scant of clothes.

The braves had refused to attend Sunday service.

The medicine man said that the two volumes bore a pox.
The moment he touched them, he cast them to the ground.

Her hair was as black as the raven's,

And reached down to her shoulders.

She had her tresses styled in ringlets.

We knew no other force to match her power.
We knew hers was the face,
Which could launch a thousand war canoes at once.
So to honor her the topless sentry towers would tumble,

Her face would level the high fences;
It would vanquish the alien command,
A thick, wood fort on the bank of the River,
A sacrilege to all that was natural and good.

The promise went that once she step out from her tent,

The sun would acquiesce, do her wish,

And burn the invader's barracks.

Fire would justify his great love and devotion.

And were her consort to experience a thousand women,
Have them in his life, she would remain his favorite.

A BIG BOOK OF MY OWN, Prologue

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PROLOGUE, A Big Book of My Own


PROLOGUE, A Big Book of My Own

These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o'clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. I was blind. Yet, although I could no longer physically see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching. By the time I had reached the storm-cellar doors and stepped beneath into the center of a crawl space, sirens were screaming! Fear and humidity had had me soaked to the bone.

FIRE IN THE BRAIN

http://abigbookofmyown.blogspot.com/

http://sites.google.com/site/stanleypacion/homepage

 http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/

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As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 207,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 400,000.
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FIRE IN THE BRAIN

Children watch me run through the streets,

And wonder, what is it all about, my hurrying.

My eyes push forward,

Cause me to squint.

Then all at once I break into a smile.

And night after night in steady flow

Ideas collect, press fierce,

Hard against my brow.

The pressure makes for heat;

There is fire in the brain.

I hear words march with noise

Akin to soldiers' boots slapping on pavement.

I see your gaze upon me.

The beauty of your large brown eyes

Engulfs my neural circuitry.

Oh I smell wheat grass!

It's being blended with fresh strawberries and oranges.

I love the juices' heady odor,

When ever I breathe it in --

I am reminded of you.

We looked out the window.

We sat upon stools at a Formica bar,

A long, plate-glass window provided unobstructed view,

And we people watched the intersection,

Corners at avenue and street, the sidewalk before us,

They became our theater, and we agreed;

It was pleasant evening’s entertainment.

Pressed, cardboard cartons contained our suppers.

We ate our meals with plastic forks and knives;

The napkins were brown, recycled paper.

Believe me, no irony intended. Honest!

Every memory, every instant

My being with you, every occasion was lovely!

I shall die a happy man.

Die a happy man?

Here's my defense.

However I may wonder,

Whether ultimately I write fact or fiction.

Do I possess truth or fall to illusion?

I know that those two forces bind me,

As is the case with Siamese Twins,

Who are born to share common cerebrum.

In a language plain, common to us all,

Here I stand and bear witness,

Though that I am flesh and born to perish,

Spirit informs me and grants me friends,

Friends who are awaiting worship,

And friends of friends who celebrate the light,

A priesthood of all believers who patiently gathers

Filling the rows of benches in the meeting hall.

And one by one this church affirms a new covenant --

God is love and death has no power,

The kingdom lives within us, our souls immortal.