TO
SEE HER AGAIN* [February 2014]
And
never, never more to see her form,
Not
even a glimpse of her,
Not
in the nights filled with trembling stars,
Or
at noon when the bright light
Feeds
and graces every living thing,
How
do I believe that I may never see her again?
Never,
never, again, to witness her walking,
Her
walking with me on the hard, fast dirt of the bridle path,
Along
the river, underneath the shadow of trees,
Her
leaping up over the embankment
Then
hastening away upon
The
white-washed stones of the causeway,
How
now might I accept that I may never see her again?
I
wonder if she remembers the bridge, the one
Topping
the low-rise concrete dam there at New Hope?
I
told her as we looked to the river below
That
nothing had sufficient strength,
That
no material exists to control the overflow,
Is
there nothing to contain my flood of feelings for her?
How
else might I relate my mood?
Ask
the pertinent question?
Never,
never, again, to eye her fleshly presence,
Entangled,
standing in the tresses of the forest,
Or
stooped, gathering strawberries, picking them
One
by one from the plants, her, the image of her,
Her
out between the raised earth rows
And
the troughs in the field of the farm garden,
That
now and forever such visions are no more,
How
am I ever to conclude so terrible a destiny?
And
here at home I walk the big-city sidewalks,
Remain
alone while the night, the late hours envelop me.
My
cries echo, repeat my anguish.
Through
the empty parking lots and off the brick walls,
Against
building after building,
My
voice carries, yet seemingly I am not heard,
Though
occasionally some one person may look,
Shake
a head from side to side at my sorry spectacle,
Most
people hurry past, eyes down, as if I do not exist,
But
what about the reality of my situation?
Over
and over, I hear myself implore her to return to me.
Should
I not, and is it not better to forget her?
Oh,
no! To see her again,
It
does not matter when
Not
important, makes no difference, where,
If
today should I glimpse her in the heavens,
Were
I to tilt my head upwards and behold
Her
smile, her eyes upon me, watch again her wonderful walk,
Up
there before me configured within a magic wisp of cloud,
Moving,
wheeling along against a deep, blue patch of sky,
Mercy
grant my wish!
Or
perhaps tomorrow I chance a vision.
Imagine
a ship going down, and all its glory sinks,
Down,
down into the Sailors’ Locker,
Would
it be possible that she still surfaces,
That
I have sight of her, no matter what all else disappears,
She
rises above a whirlpool force,
I
see her again over a watery vortex, yes,
She
above a swirling ocean power, unsinkable,
Albeit
sun has set,
And
moon's light is the scene's sole illuminate?
Oh,
no! To see her again, and to view her in the moment
When
the volcano opens
And
I am on the edge before the lurid, red hell-mouth,
And
witness its demons’ roaring spew of steam and ash,
Yet
even though such terror-instant befalls me,
I
do not flinch. I am steadfast.
I
have no fear of misadventure.
I
look into the conflagration.
I
do not plug my ears, I listen,
And
from within earth’s deep, far-away core,
Amidst
the Hurley burly of all the explosions,
Within
the lightning claps and clamor,
The
mad noise of boulders being thrown,
I
hear it! I hear her name, Etta, Etta!
I
see her face and lovely shape,
She,
she dances above the fires!
Yes,
I admit her deviltry besets me.
And
to be with her in all the spring times,
And
in all the winters,
Entwined
in paroxysm of mighty-muscle clench,
While
I suck up the blood from her neck,
And
spot her flesh all over,
Make
it black and blue with the power of my caresses,
Should
I ever hold her in my arms,
Might
Hope let me see her again.
*After
Gabriela Mistral's Love Poem -- The Chilean and Noble Prize for
Literature, poet, Gabriela Mistral had entitled her poem, "Volverlo a
Ver," or, "To See Him Again." I do not hope to translate her great verse.
Rather its spirit was the inspiration for my own.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
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.”
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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.”
Sunday, August 10, 2014
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.
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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.
Monday, August 4, 2014
DIANA AND ACTAEON
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DIANA AND ACTAEON [Video with Subtitiles Follows Below]
The man was exhausted from the hunt.
During much of the day he had run furiously.
Now even his dogs welcomed the rest.
His bag was empty. He had not caught a thing.
Worse yet, his family expected bounty upon his return.
He stopped at a grove, and saw that within it
There was a pond and at its nearest edge
A bed of turf and some shade. He sat.
He was sorry for himself, piqued,
And wondered how he had failed, that he had no game.
Absentmindedly plucking single blades of grass,
Now half-asleep, he reclined,
Hoping time would restore his breath.
The splash, the Naiad, she startled him,
When he refocused his eyes, he saw her green helmet,
And a moment later he spied two more, sister-divinities.
It seemed to him that they had joined together
In order to preside over the waters.
He thought that he heard their laughter.
He perceived from somewhere in the distance
The playing of a well-piped tune;
The magic of the scene overcame him.
Then all at once another marvel befell him.
He witnessed a bright, white light,
A radiance at the opposite side of the pond.
Although forced to shade his eyes,
He soon discerned maidens at the bath, who,
With pail after pail of water, showered a naked woman.
She and her servant companions stood in the shallows.
Her tresses had been released.
Her hair dropped to her waist.
From his vantage he enjoyed an unobstructed view.
He could measure her exact physical proportions,
And was able to consider for his delight
What are usually a woman's secret places.
He gazed upon the absolute symmetry of her face,
A skin without fault, and he noted the way
She diverted her eyes,
Seeming to look upon the world askance .
She was posed to her left side.
Her hip was slightly raised.
Her knee was bent and she had her elbow set
Akimbo with her palm pressed at the waist.
He sensed that before him was immortal beauty.
The air carried a soft scent of rose.
He was ravenous. He did not chew his food,
Rather he wildly stuffed his mouth.
His eyes devoured the meal.
In a fantasy run of his hands,
He tore at the meat of the feast.
He saw upset tankards of red wine,
Whose contents stained the top of the table,
And on the ground were silver bowls,
Which had fallen and were smashed,
Ice and fruit were scattered about the earthen floor.
His feet wildly tapped to the airy music.
His sense of smell had left him.
It nestled in the flowers that now floated about
Her ankles at the other end of the pool.
He paid no heed to his hounds,
He did not notice that their slumber turned to ferocity.
Not until after the first dog had bit,
When he recognized that his flesh was hide,
That his head had horns,
Only after he heard his torment,
That his screams, his cries transformed into
Awful, narrow screech over his out-stretched tongue,
And he saw that blood ran
Within the snorts which belched up through his nostrils,
That were once his limbs, his feet and hands,
Cloven hooves vainly kicking and thrashing, wild thumps,
The mad noise of his dogs snapping and snarling,
Then he realized that he was prey,
That he was feast and being eaten alive.
And within the glory at the other end of the pond,
Nothing closed upon the rapture.
The mad dash, the cacophony, the every noise,
All that terrible frenzy of ravenous dogs at their meal,
The wild within every heart beat in the animal kingdom,
Complemented the harmony of the goddess at her bath.
And, as if it were a signal of Zeus's approbation,
The pleasure of the Olympian king
That justice had been done,
– The virtue of his daughter preserved --
A great, lone wolf appeared behind the woodland regalia.
For a while he ran along the shore,
Occasionally lapping upon the waters of the pond,
Then the creature abruptly stopped,
Stretched his neck towards the heavens and howled,
The entire scene seemed basked in a silvery moon,
All of nature bore a feel of triumphant delight.
By the way, the hunter's family and friends,
His whole community had searched for weeks,
Yet neither the place of the man's demise,
Nor was one scintilla of his remains ever found.
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DIANA AND ACTAEON [Video with Subtitiles Follows Below]
The man was exhausted from the hunt.
During much of the day he had run furiously.
Now even his dogs welcomed the rest.
His bag was empty. He had not caught a thing.
Worse yet, his family expected bounty upon his return.
He stopped at a grove, and saw that within it
There was a pond and at its nearest edge
A bed of turf and some shade. He sat.
He was sorry for himself, piqued,
And wondered how he had failed, that he had no game.
Absentmindedly plucking single blades of grass,
Now half-asleep, he reclined,
Hoping time would restore his breath.
The splash, the Naiad, she startled him,
When he refocused his eyes, he saw her green helmet,
And a moment later he spied two more, sister-divinities.
It seemed to him that they had joined together
In order to preside over the waters.
He thought that he heard their laughter.
He perceived from somewhere in the distance
The playing of a well-piped tune;
The magic of the scene overcame him.
Then all at once another marvel befell him.
He witnessed a bright, white light,
A radiance at the opposite side of the pond.
Although forced to shade his eyes,
He soon discerned maidens at the bath, who,
With pail after pail of water, showered a naked woman.
She and her servant companions stood in the shallows.
Her tresses had been released.
Her hair dropped to her waist.
From his vantage he enjoyed an unobstructed view.
He could measure her exact physical proportions,
And was able to consider for his delight
What are usually a woman's secret places.
He gazed upon the absolute symmetry of her face,
A skin without fault, and he noted the way
She diverted her eyes,
Seeming to look upon the world askance .
She was posed to her left side.
Her hip was slightly raised.
Her knee was bent and she had her elbow set
Akimbo with her palm pressed at the waist.
He sensed that before him was immortal beauty.
The air carried a soft scent of rose.
He was ravenous. He did not chew his food,
Rather he wildly stuffed his mouth.
His eyes devoured the meal.
In a fantasy run of his hands,
He tore at the meat of the feast.
He saw upset tankards of red wine,
Whose contents stained the top of the table,
And on the ground were silver bowls,
Which had fallen and were smashed,
Ice and fruit were scattered about the earthen floor.
His feet wildly tapped to the airy music.
His sense of smell had left him.
It nestled in the flowers that now floated about
Her ankles at the other end of the pool.
He paid no heed to his hounds,
He did not notice that their slumber turned to ferocity.
Not until after the first dog had bit,
When he recognized that his flesh was hide,
That his head had horns,
Only after he heard his torment,
That his screams, his cries transformed into
Awful, narrow screech over his out-stretched tongue,
And he saw that blood ran
Within the snorts which belched up through his nostrils,
That were once his limbs, his feet and hands,
Cloven hooves vainly kicking and thrashing, wild thumps,
The mad noise of his dogs snapping and snarling,
Then he realized that he was prey,
That he was feast and being eaten alive.
And within the glory at the other end of the pond,
Nothing closed upon the rapture.
The mad dash, the cacophony, the every noise,
All that terrible frenzy of ravenous dogs at their meal,
The wild within every heart beat in the animal kingdom,
Complemented the harmony of the goddess at her bath.
And, as if it were a signal of Zeus's approbation,
The pleasure of the Olympian king
That justice had been done,
– The virtue of his daughter preserved --
A great, lone wolf appeared behind the woodland regalia.
For a while he ran along the shore,
Occasionally lapping upon the waters of the pond,
Then the creature abruptly stopped,
Stretched his neck towards the heavens and howled,
The entire scene seemed basked in a silvery moon,
All of nature bore a feel of triumphant delight.
By the way, the hunter's family and friends,
His whole community had searched for weeks,
Yet neither the place of the man's demise,
Nor was one scintilla of his remains ever found.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
LOVE WISH
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LOVE WISH, After Rumi
I see the light coming out from your eyes.
What sacred wonder illuminates your face?
Wish I had the time and nothing else to do,
But while away the hours adoring you.
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LOVE WISH, After Rumi
I see the light coming out from your eyes.
What sacred wonder illuminates your face?
Wish I had the time and nothing else to do,
But while away the hours adoring you.
Monday, July 28, 2014
WHAT HOPE MIRACLE
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WHAT HOPE OF MIRACLE!
Darling, can it really be true?
Had we been so wanton in our disorder?
All I remember – it was a Tuesday,
And very warm for the end of January.
In our house we smashed all the crystal goblets
And then proceeded to break each and every bottle.
The vintage spilled out on the floor;
It stained and then sunk into the old wooden boards.
And at this point what does it matter?
Remember the story when Jesus at the wedding feast in Cana
Honored His mother’s request and turned water into wine.
The party had run out of its most important beverage.
Six great jars filled to the brim (more than a hundred gallons),
Then He told the servants, ‘Now draw some out...”
He had them take the draft to the chief steward for tasting.
And lo and behold now the new question.
Instead of first,
Why had the vineyard’s best been served last?
Would such miracle do us any good?
Look around. Shards of glass surround us,
Just shattered cups, and bottles whose necks are broken.
What bounty now possible, where would Mercy abide,
When not a vessel remains to contain it,
Yet Lord Almighty attends and announces His ministry?
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WHAT HOPE OF MIRACLE!
Darling, can it really be true?
Had we been so wanton in our disorder?
All I remember – it was a Tuesday,
And very warm for the end of January.
In our house we smashed all the crystal goblets
And then proceeded to break each and every bottle.
The vintage spilled out on the floor;
It stained and then sunk into the old wooden boards.
And at this point what does it matter?
Remember the story when Jesus at the wedding feast in Cana
Honored His mother’s request and turned water into wine.
The party had run out of its most important beverage.
Six great jars filled to the brim (more than a hundred gallons),
Then He told the servants, ‘Now draw some out...”
He had them take the draft to the chief steward for tasting.
And lo and behold now the new question.
Instead of first,
Why had the vineyard’s best been served last?
Would such miracle do us any good?
Look around. Shards of glass surround us,
Just shattered cups, and bottles whose necks are broken.
What bounty now possible, where would Mercy abide,
When not a vessel remains to contain it,
Yet Lord Almighty attends and announces His ministry?
Thursday, July 24, 2014
LOVE POETRY, Lost Without You
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LOVE POETRY, Lost Without You
How about some love poetry?
Right now I am so desperate for your touch
That I can barely speak, let alone write a thing.
I could walk out the door into the hallway
And scream with such ferocity
The neighbors might think
I have taken leave of my senses.
When I think of food,
Nothing compares to how I savor you.
When I contemplate delightful vision,
You are the only vision in my eyes.
I love all music,
But no sound is better than your voice.
I await every telephone call,
And lead you with questions,
Just to hear the timbre of your talk, which I adore.
Nothing makes me sadder than a bad connection.
Oh! Baby! I love your smell.
Intoxicated and pathetic, I make the bed,
And fluff the pillows,
I do so expecting the redolence of you.
And when you are gone,
Even after a day or two,
And your aroma is lost, I am lost, too.
At wits end, I circle the bed,
And pace the bedroom floor, like some pet
Whose master has not returned home.
I am frantic without the fresh smell of you.
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LOVE POETRY, Lost Without You
How about some love poetry?
Right now I am so desperate for your touch
That I can barely speak, let alone write a thing.
I could walk out the door into the hallway
And scream with such ferocity
The neighbors might think
I have taken leave of my senses.
When I think of food,
Nothing compares to how I savor you.
When I contemplate delightful vision,
You are the only vision in my eyes.
I love all music,
But no sound is better than your voice.
I await every telephone call,
And lead you with questions,
Just to hear the timbre of your talk, which I adore.
Nothing makes me sadder than a bad connection.
Oh! Baby! I love your smell.
Intoxicated and pathetic, I make the bed,
And fluff the pillows,
I do so expecting the redolence of you.
And when you are gone,
Even after a day or two,
And your aroma is lost, I am lost, too.
At wits end, I circle the bed,
And pace the bedroom floor, like some pet
Whose master has not returned home.
I am frantic without the fresh smell of you.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Allow me to use my Google Blog to congratulate to my son, Alexander Pacion, for his MTV 2014 Video Music Award nomination --
BEST ART DIRECTION EMINEM "Rap God" Alex Pacion, art director
www.alexanderpacion.com/
BEST ART DIRECTION EMINEM "Rap God" Alex Pacion, art director
www.alexanderpacion.com/
Friday, July 18, 2014
A DREAM OF YOU, Desert Vision, Parts 3, 4 & 5
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A DREAM OF YOU, Desert Vision,
Parts 3, 4 & 5
3.
I remember Central Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona,
Danny’s store packed with Native American silver,
All properly displayed: bracelets, necklaces and rings,
On racks, in trays, locked within showcases,
And on clear glass shelves, velvet pads, and boxed trays,
Hosting jewelry of turquoise, coral, and black onyx
Along with mother of pearl, abalone,
Plus agates mined and cut to display their fire,
And Alexander, my son, maybe eight, no more than ten,
His years of age at the time, playing behind the counters,
Next to the shotguns, diagonally propped,
On the floor twelve-gauge shells in open boxes,
Ready, should there be an extended engagement.
I share with you the times when, flying in
From Dallas, the grand noise, engines’ reversal
To land at Sky Harbor, the ground crew,
How they scrambled, and then,
Wheeled up the staircase,
The platform for debarkation, and me, I would descend
The steps full-tilt straight onto the tarmac,
Fahrenheit, ninety-five degrees in early morning,
A rental car awaited me, and I was off over to Dog Track,
To the swap meet that was unfolding and I sought
The cowboy named, Roadrunner, who always had
Tons of loot, the goods, every Sunday he brought a haul.
Though at his point, it, more dream than reality,
I recall the very special meeting, when traders
Lined up, raised hands, and one after the other,
Volunteered to say that jewelry great here and
Declared that whosoever is welcomed into
The lounge camper, who greets the Navajo,
Both the man and wife and acts with propriety,
Slights his eyes and keeps in camera in the holster,
And the traders at the meeting continued their delaration
Saying that the person who watches the children playing,
Their running across the white gravel parking lot,
Left and right, up and down, then unto the asphalt sidewalk,
Who enjoys those moments
When the young ones stop
And form a line to refresh themselves from
The water-cooled, stainless steel, floor-pedal fountain,
(It stood next to the right side of the pari-mutuel windows)
Who knows that the bright-sparkling, that eye of the desert,
Quenches every human thirst and brings joy to the moment,
Upon that person, who has witnessed design,
Who has abstracted anagram from within
All the children’s scurry, who traces,
Out upon the open parking space, meaning,
Who divines new vision,
Who is able to see within the minds’ eye, the dance,
The dance the holy ones once danced in godly regalia,
That person, who hears within the youngsters' feet
The drums, the rhythms which ancestors had orchestrated,
So to let go, leave this material world,
And find entrance to separate reality,
The traders at the meeting, in-order, one-by-one,
Both arms raised up on high, heads flung back,
Palms stretched and fingers spread wide apart,
As though they reached and pressed upon the sky,
Called upon Great Talking God to sanctify their wish.
It was at that moment, the glory of it all,
They stopped and asked if one such person was present,
There at assembly of Sunday traders at the swap meet
The question became would there be any one to step forward,
Would anyone acknowledge the gift?
And when I answered, yeah
They bestowed their most precious title upon me,
And between the ghosts and the human beings
The word rang and cemented the union, ‘Friend’.
4.
Later that Sunday morning, I felt good magic
When a child ran up behind me,
He quickly, then, touched the back of my hand,
and laughing aloud he scurried away.
At noon, I met a Mexican friend up on South Mountain.
His house was painted a bright, distinctive blue.
I bought more jewelry and got into my car,
I took the Express Way North, exited at Bell Road,
And headed to way out west of the city.
At one point, I passed the shopping mall,
I thought about Monday’s appointments,
How a salesman's lot means he sits,
Marks time to wait his turn with buyers.
Late that afternoon on the concrete patio,
The one surrounding
The big swimming pool at the Community Center,
I buck-danced to the beat, which played
On the rock an’ roll, radio station.
Although it was already that Sunday’s dusk,
And the day’s high temperature had receded,
It still was ninety, over ninety degrees,
When I pulled up a lounge chair, sat back
And watched Alexander practice dives off the high board.
5.
Even then, it was long ago, and in Phoenix,
It was you! Darling, I had been waiting for you;
The desert air brought me a waking vision,
The shimmering, the uplifts, the vertical lines,
Up, upward, shafts of heat rising
Out across the desert vista,
Now I recognize it was a dream of you,
And this, my verse was racing,
I flashed on a fast and mighty steed;
I road atop a beast, it galloped through my mind,
Yet I had command --
I managed to pull in the reins,
Halted its furious run, tied the horse up to the rail at the tip,
I hitched the reins to the post at the tip of my tongue.
While I watched the colors of the sunset, as I heard
The splash of the practiced head-first dives,
I was reciting poetry, not out loud, but to myself,
Though I knew not its power, no idea of the prophecy,
I knew not the meaning of that woman,
Who I glimpsed,
Whose image I caught from from the corner of my eye,
Who walked out among the columns of earth fever,
And stood next to the Saguaros in the twilight,
Who appeared in an instant out on the horizon,
Seemingly, her feet upon the hard scrub of the desert,
Yet before she disappeared, she nodded,
It was as if she had sanctioned the voice,
The true heart of these lines,
The cadences and syntax I repeat from once upon a time
And now so long ago, she blessed me
And today at the keyboard, she grants me
These words, this lyric I use to describe a dream of you.
Long before I had ever made your actual acquaintance,
A figure in the landscape,
I saw you, your form, at a time prior to when you were born.
At the airport, upon my once-again departure
From the Valley of the Sun to my New-York-City market,
Security stopped me, I stood
In a booth whose sliding curtains dropped to the floor,
The jewelry I carried in my on-board luggage,
X ray showed a concentrated jumble of metal,
And as I awaited the woos and ahs of personnel,
When they inspected my bags before I boarded the aircraft,
It was then that I began to wonder, and it remains
Fresh today, as clear in my mind as events
Which might have happened only yesterday.
It was then I began to wonder, when you,
When your love might saunter in, and make life complete.
http://www.stanleypacion.com
https://www.facebook.com/stanleypacion
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistoryhttps://www.facebook.com/stanleypacion
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.indiaeveryday.in/video/u/StanleyPacion.htm?ss=true
As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel registers 232,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube yields a result count of thousands.
Please SUBSCRIBE BUTTON
A DREAM OF YOU, Desert Vision,
Parts 3, 4 & 5
3.
I remember Central Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona,
Danny’s store packed with Native American silver,
All properly displayed: bracelets, necklaces and rings,
On racks, in trays, locked within showcases,
And on clear glass shelves, velvet pads, and boxed trays,
Hosting jewelry of turquoise, coral, and black onyx
Along with mother of pearl, abalone,
Plus agates mined and cut to display their fire,
And Alexander, my son, maybe eight, no more than ten,
His years of age at the time, playing behind the counters,
Next to the shotguns, diagonally propped,
On the floor twelve-gauge shells in open boxes,
Ready, should there be an extended engagement.
I share with you the times when, flying in
From Dallas, the grand noise, engines’ reversal
To land at Sky Harbor, the ground crew,
How they scrambled, and then,
Wheeled up the staircase,
The platform for debarkation, and me, I would descend
The steps full-tilt straight onto the tarmac,
Fahrenheit, ninety-five degrees in early morning,
A rental car awaited me, and I was off over to Dog Track,
To the swap meet that was unfolding and I sought
The cowboy named, Roadrunner, who always had
Tons of loot, the goods, every Sunday he brought a haul.
Though at his point, it, more dream than reality,
I recall the very special meeting, when traders
Lined up, raised hands, and one after the other,
Volunteered to say that jewelry great here and
Declared that whosoever is welcomed into
The lounge camper, who greets the Navajo,
Both the man and wife and acts with propriety,
Slights his eyes and keeps in camera in the holster,
And the traders at the meeting continued their delaration
Saying that the person who watches the children playing,
Their running across the white gravel parking lot,
Left and right, up and down, then unto the asphalt sidewalk,
Who enjoys those moments
When the young ones stop
And form a line to refresh themselves from
The water-cooled, stainless steel, floor-pedal fountain,
(It stood next to the right side of the pari-mutuel windows)
Who knows that the bright-sparkling, that eye of the desert,
Quenches every human thirst and brings joy to the moment,
Upon that person, who has witnessed design,
Who has abstracted anagram from within
All the children’s scurry, who traces,
Out upon the open parking space, meaning,
Who divines new vision,
Who is able to see within the minds’ eye, the dance,
The dance the holy ones once danced in godly regalia,
That person, who hears within the youngsters' feet
The drums, the rhythms which ancestors had orchestrated,
So to let go, leave this material world,
And find entrance to separate reality,
The traders at the meeting, in-order, one-by-one,
Both arms raised up on high, heads flung back,
Palms stretched and fingers spread wide apart,
As though they reached and pressed upon the sky,
Called upon Great Talking God to sanctify their wish.
It was at that moment, the glory of it all,
They stopped and asked if one such person was present,
There at assembly of Sunday traders at the swap meet
The question became would there be any one to step forward,
Would anyone acknowledge the gift?
And when I answered, yeah
They bestowed their most precious title upon me,
And between the ghosts and the human beings
The word rang and cemented the union, ‘Friend’.
4.
Later that Sunday morning, I felt good magic
When a child ran up behind me,
He quickly, then, touched the back of my hand,
and laughing aloud he scurried away.
At noon, I met a Mexican friend up on South Mountain.
His house was painted a bright, distinctive blue.
I bought more jewelry and got into my car,
I took the Express Way North, exited at Bell Road,
And headed to way out west of the city.
At one point, I passed the shopping mall,
I thought about Monday’s appointments,
How a salesman's lot means he sits,
Marks time to wait his turn with buyers.
Late that afternoon on the concrete patio,
The one surrounding
The big swimming pool at the Community Center,
I buck-danced to the beat, which played
On the rock an’ roll, radio station.
Although it was already that Sunday’s dusk,
And the day’s high temperature had receded,
It still was ninety, over ninety degrees,
When I pulled up a lounge chair, sat back
And watched Alexander practice dives off the high board.
5.
Even then, it was long ago, and in Phoenix,
It was you! Darling, I had been waiting for you;
The desert air brought me a waking vision,
The shimmering, the uplifts, the vertical lines,
Up, upward, shafts of heat rising
Out across the desert vista,
Now I recognize it was a dream of you,
And this, my verse was racing,
I flashed on a fast and mighty steed;
I road atop a beast, it galloped through my mind,
Yet I had command --
I managed to pull in the reins,
Halted its furious run, tied the horse up to the rail at the tip,
I hitched the reins to the post at the tip of my tongue.
While I watched the colors of the sunset, as I heard
The splash of the practiced head-first dives,
I was reciting poetry, not out loud, but to myself,
Though I knew not its power, no idea of the prophecy,
I knew not the meaning of that woman,
Who I glimpsed,
Whose image I caught from from the corner of my eye,
Who walked out among the columns of earth fever,
And stood next to the Saguaros in the twilight,
Who appeared in an instant out on the horizon,
Seemingly, her feet upon the hard scrub of the desert,
Yet before she disappeared, she nodded,
It was as if she had sanctioned the voice,
The true heart of these lines,
The cadences and syntax I repeat from once upon a time
And now so long ago, she blessed me
And today at the keyboard, she grants me
These words, this lyric I use to describe a dream of you.
Long before I had ever made your actual acquaintance,
A figure in the landscape,
I saw you, your form, at a time prior to when you were born.
At the airport, upon my once-again departure
From the Valley of the Sun to my New-York-City market,
Security stopped me, I stood
In a booth whose sliding curtains dropped to the floor,
The jewelry I carried in my on-board luggage,
X ray showed a concentrated jumble of metal,
And as I awaited the woos and ahs of personnel,
When they inspected my bags before I boarded the aircraft,
It was then that I began to wonder, and it remains
Fresh today, as clear in my mind as events
Which might have happened only yesterday.
It was then I began to wonder, when you,
When your love might saunter in, and make life complete.
Monday, July 14, 2014
POOR SHELL OF EARTH!
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage
http://www.indiaeveryday.in/video/u/StanleyPacion.htm?ss=true
Tweet
As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel registers 232,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube yields a result count of thousands.
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POOR SHELL OF EARTH
Within a day the whole matter sours,
We are left with nothing,
All that remains is what we wish to be rid of,
The thing to bury or burn from sight.
Oh, unsearchable way and counsel of God!
Oh, blindness of hope and expectation!
http://www.stanleypacion.com
https://www.facebook.com/stanleypacion
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistoryhttps://www.facebook.com/stanleypacion
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.indiaeveryday.in/video/u/StanleyPacion.htm?ss=true
As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel registers 232,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube yields a result count of thousands.
Please SUBSCRIBE BUTTON
POOR SHELL OF EARTH
Within a day the whole matter sours,
We are left with nothing,
All that remains is what we wish to be rid of,
The thing to bury or burn from sight.
Oh, unsearchable way and counsel of God!
Oh, blindness of hope and expectation!
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