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Thursday, August 29, 2013

HAD I BEEN BORN PERFECT

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HAD I BEEN BORN PERFECT 


Remember I told you how I handled Gregory?
He was a bad case, eh,
What with his doing 8 bags o' dust at a time,
And then visiting local bars, so sick,
Upchucking right on the patrons' jackets,
While they sat there, all innocent,
People on their stools were having a drink!


I didn't talk to him for years,
Refused all contact, I was afraid,
People had not realized how great my fear.
He occupied my thoughts night and day.


I thought he might wind up in jail,
Or dead, or a victim hooked up,
Like some medical experiment,
Doctors without options, practicing
Last resort medicine, wires and tubes,
And a parent witness to nightmare,
The nasty ordeal when intervention
Takes place during hospital emergency.


It's not death, for death is but a word.
It is the way of it. I feared.


I called it love, my having nothing,
Absolutely nothing to do with him,
Until he went for help, because he seemed
Unable to help himself, and cease
The shit with which he played.


I did not know what else to do.


Once he called me and said,
'Dad, I've got the monkey off my back!'
But I hung up the receiver,
Didn't let him explain.
I couldn't take it, no more rot!,
I knew he was still in the circus.


And Billy, a surrogate son,
You know the story, I … I treated him the same,
The same cold shoulder, not talking to him
Months on end, until he realized our friendship
Depended on his treating his own two boys,
Like a proper father. I wanted him to put
His children first in life, and I meant it.


Forget about my smile and easy charm,
It's never smart to test my resolve.




2.


But, darling, when it comes to dealing with you,
I find no form of human love prevails.
No mere earthly style or mode of affection works!


Oh, the poetry!
Look to the poetry I write for you.
My heart wells up, the warmest regard,
Right up to the breaking point,
In poem after poem I tried to portray
How great, how utter the abandon,
I declared, were fate to bring us to a terrible juncture,
A crossroad where all choice reduces
To either my life, or yours,


Gladly would I give up mine, I would die for you.


To proclaim the veracity of your physical beauty
I wrote, RED ROOF INN.


I spent a year and wrote, NOW VOYAGER for you.


The time, when in Brooklyn I found you,
That early, that rainy morning,
I knew you were treasure.
You, the reason, I wrote, SERENDIPITY!


And that I might attest to your strength of character,
Express my fondest feelings for you,
I wrote, then, over and again, I rewrote,
DREAM CHILDREN, verse which pictured you
In future time the mother of our two children.


How tender and constant the thoughts! You on my mind
Beseeching you, and ever so softly, so gently
I sought to play upon the strings of your heart.


And the letters, they are all love letters,
And we have a pile of them.


When in this correspondence, I said it wrong,
Overstepped the line, wanted propriety,
And for those errors in judgment and phrase,
The anger, when I fell, put my own bruised feelings
Before yours, did not consider your own hurt first,
And failed to acknowledge the great gift,
Your being in my life that day.

I implore you please forgive.


Whenever I lacked intellectual power,
Whatever defect of moral character foiled me from
Exercising both the restraint of my tongue
And the rush of my fingers upon the keyboard,
Where had been my even basic sense of compassion?
Still it was you -- your well being foremost in my life.
My intent was proper, though my behavior poor,
My expression amiss, my communications hasty,
And ultimately for my behaviors there are no excuses,
However I had meant the best for you.


Yet today as well as it had been then,
I wish you forever well.


Still I doubt all my love allows you any easier a sleep.
I wonder what technique,
What kind of human love might lessen
The pain, the disorder troubling you,
And calm the upset, which at end has us delivered
To this grisly end, the final stages of our romance?


Here I pray to God.


I fall to my knees -- such the will to believe --
Ask that Munificence be granted,
The Almighty do, on earth,
All those things that I had failed to do for you.
God's will be done.




3.


Had I been born perfect.


How I now regret, when as a child,
I wasted time playing with crystal sets,
And in the basement of my parents' home,
Spent hours profligately upon
Imaginary laboratory tables with chemistry,
Meaningless experiments with liquids and powders.


Had I been born a man wise enough,
The kind of guy who might do you real good,
I would have had you in mind right from the start,
I would have abandoned my attempts at writing.
I would have turned about,
Learned the illusionist’s trade,
And trained until I possessed every trick in the book.


Then I could live within the mirror,
Work the conjurer's art so that when you went to look,
When you fixed a gaze upon your own mirror image,
Instead of you, the reflection staring back,
My picture of you, the way I see you,
The enchantment, my awe, which is you,
Whenever you stand before me,
The image of you so bountiful and pure,
You, the brilliance at center of my sight.


Had I been able to practice real magic.


There would be light, love, and just approval,
And it would be my voice ringing through
The reflecting glass, no more whisper of doubt,
My wizardly spell, the timbre of my incantations,


Banishing any word of fear and sadness, an end to frailty,
Now instead in your head the lyrics to hymns of all courage.


I would rid the mirror's display of fault and distortion.
We would come to see a world without poverty,
And know only hugs, freedom and peace.


Were that the case,
Had fate conspired to have me born
A man capable of grand devotion,
The kind of guy who might do you real good,
I would have abandoned my attempts at writing,
Wasted no time upon fruitless experiments
I would have turned about, set myself on right course,
Learned the illusionist’s trade,
And trained until I possessed every trick in the book.
Then I could live within the mirror,
I could dispel all bad images from from its surface,
Let you see how great your love's delight.


Monday, August 26, 2013

KISS ME ONCE, Kiss Me Twice

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KISS ME ONCE, 
Kiss Me Twice…


I sing tonight. It's the ol' babalu.
Though tired and drawn, I am called.

I hear the knock at the door.

The prophecy takes hold.
The school lessons progress.
The command of language strengthens.
The student seems eager.
Dimension gains hold.
Dreams of tomorrow grow.
Wishes come true.
New life looms on the horizon.
Fantasy becomes reality.
The promises burgeon.
There is pregnancy of parts,
Ocean of delight lies before us!

Hello! Darling, hello!

“Kiss me once, kiss me twice.
Then kiss me once again.”
I want your lips on mine.

“It's been a long, long time.” 

Thursday, August 22, 2013

COFFEE-HOUSE LOVE POEM

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COFFEE-HOUSE LOVE POEM


Another early Sunday evening has arrived.

You, you are gone, abroad;
I sit here by myself and drink coffee.


Tonight, instead of us sharing our dinner together,
I write verse about how much I miss you.


The notion, that adage about absence making
The heart grow fonder is nonsense,
To me, it amounts to no more than a hill of beans!*


I am no fonder, no fonder of you than I was
Ten minutes ago at the start of this poem.


Today I am no fonder of you than I was yesterday,
No fonder of you than I was last week,
Than I was seven weeks ago,
When you departed on business,
Left me in this big, old town, alone.
During that time, since then, my love,
My love for you has not grown even an iota.


Tonight I am simply sad.
I am lonely.
I feel terrible without you.


*A colloquial American expression as in “it ain’t worth a hill of beans,” Humphrey Bogart says it to Ingrid Bergman at the end of the film Casablanca. The phrase then gained world-wide notice. “Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world”.


Monday, August 19, 2013

YOU TUBE CHANNEL INTRODUCTION, Featuring LOVE HURTS, Love Email, 3

YOU TUBE CHANNEL INTRODUCTION, Featuring LOVE HURTS, Love Email, 3 

Hello. I am Stanley Pacion. My written work and videos have received world-wide recognition and some acclaim. The basis of My YouTube Channel is the written word, poetry and prose. I read my own poetry, modern and hip, classical, yet everyday, both lyrical and narrative in style. My Channel, Stanley Pacion, is a V blog, somewhat autobiographical, though filed with flights of fancy, and all kinds of fanciful, romantic imagery. Although My Channel is a series of video uploads, it represents a literary effort entitled, A BIG BOOK OF MY OWN. Written text accompanies all my uploads. Also, My Channel is eclectic, featuring “how-to-do-it” videos, and informative travelogues from my home base here in India. I have also included several “love letters.” Those, too, have enjoyed warm critical response. I am a former history professor. You will find a few historical essays on ancient Greece and Rome. There is an account of how Julius Caesar used his marriages to advance his power, only to find himself undone by bringing the Egyptian Queen, Cleopatra, as his consort to Rome. Don't shy away; stories about Sparta and Nero's Roman court might surprise you. There is also an account of how Julius Caesar used his marriages to advance his power, only to find himself undone by bringing the Egyptian Queen, Cleopatra, as his consort to Rome. I would bet that you will find me interesting and personable, and some fun. Take a look at how I see the world with my words and through my videos. Subscribe

love poems, howto do, travelogues, recitations (readings), topical narrative poems, love letters, sex in history.

Stanley Pacion is an online poet known and published world over. His YouTube Channel has recorded 211,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views!


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LOVE HURTS,
Love Email, 3

Dearest Etta,


I got off the telephone with you about an hour or so ago, and once again a flood of memories and feelings beset me. Our long distance and our long time apart may be the end of me. Poor me! Poor me! Honest, it is very hard for me to pretend I am grown up, a man about this whole separation business. I feel alone. I am more like a child. I suffer terrible separation anxiety. Right this moment I want to scream aloud, and, if it would do me any good at all, I would. I would scream aloud in pain.


Also, I am having a physical reaction. Juices are being released in my stomach, which never happens to me even when I am hungry. This is not just my imagination. No! I am physically afflicted. Longing for you, just to be near to you, causes me ache even in my forearms. My elbows hurt. I swear I feel the ache of this profound longing even in the calves of my legs, in my knee caps. I know you believe me to be exaggerating, but it's true, darling. It is true! I am now in the middle of some devil angst.

Last night I had another bad spell, very bad. I felt an exhaustion overcome me. I lay down in the bed right off my office area, and almost curled up in a ball. I was in the fetal position. I began to swoon. If only I could come up against you. I need only your body warmth. I need only to be up over and against you.

Playing on the TV set at the bottom of the bed was a PBS special, which now had a segment about the Warsaw Ghetto. I did not actually see the video portion, but the mournful sounds, oh, the so sad background music, matched my interior mood. How's that for big-time sacrilege, down right sinful! It is a terrible comparison, I know. I have no right making it. But I try to portray the mood, the dark-cloud mood over me. My pain over missing you tied to the agony of tens of thousands souls living in Hell and then about to be transported to an absolute Hell. Now you know, sweet heart! Now you know! Now you have a glimpse of the pain I am in. I am truly a lost soul.

Yours, S.


Tuesday, August 6, 2013

MAKE BELIEVE

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MAKE BELIEVE*


I have an idea. Why not today,
Even now, this very moment,
However late the hour,
We could act as if
Neither one of us once allowed
The words “I love you” to form upon our lips.

Come on! What's with you?
Given our situation, it's worth a try.


Let's pretend we know not each other,
That within us desire plays no role.
Make believe that soul meeting soul
Is silly stuff, a bit of romantic nonsense.
Might we suppose that memories are absent,
And the tumult of heartache, not a factor at all!

Maybe then, at sunrise tomorrow,
We awake and find that nothing remains between us,
No more happiness or sorrow,
No hint of regret or regard.

Love, what love, love had never been ours.

*Josephine L.A. Ranes' poem, “Let's Pretend,” prompted my own verse version on the topic of make-believe. http://abeautifultragedyjosephine.blogspot.in/
Let's Pretend

We'll act as if
You never said "I love you."
Pretend like we never wanted
One another.
Let's pretend
We just don't care
Today.
Maybe then
We really won't


Tomorrow.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

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WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY, 
Love Email, 5,
Originally composed, 8 January 2008


Dear Etta,

Forgive me. I write, while I wear my heart on my sleeve. The Holidays have come and gone, and the last few days have been ice and wind.

I have no idea what the future holds.

I think of you often. Now we have been apart for three long months. I am anticipating your return home and into my arms again, but have some trepidation because I surely can not read your mind nor really know that you will keep your word.

Still I keep your memory vital. Your voice resides in my ears. The picture of your loveliness is in my mind today, fresh. That image remains the same today as it was yesterday, when I had thought about you throughout the hours, and the same as it was the day before, and so many of the other days, the other days which had gone before yesterday.

I write this poem for you.

WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY


The seabirds cry by the sea,
Their songs are sad,
Their refrains freight my melancholy.

And in the distance a fog horn,
It, too, sounds a plaintive note;
It repeatedly revives my sorrow.

There is a damp, hard, winter wind.
It beats on me, causes terrible chill.

The nights remain very long;
I fear that I may have lost forever 
The memory of how the summer sun warms. 

And now my mind succumbs to the foreboding;
Oh I dread that I might never kiss you again!


I hope to have you here with me, again, shortly, your warmth in my arms, your smile illuminating the depths of my bosom, and the rooms of our house once more.

I am very truly yours, S.


 
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