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Wednesday, December 23, 2015

WELL! WELL! WELL!

Published on Dec 31, 2014
** SUBSCRIPTIONS, Thanks** WORDS & LINKS HERE: From a collection of his writings called A BIG BOOK OF HIS OWN Stanly Pacion recites a poem of bitterness and awful heart ache.http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com... contains words/text for all poems, plus other images and poems. "When a child I played, entertained myself with crystal sets, later I became a ham radio operator. The fact that I now have an audience of several thousands and growing, that this audience has become increasingly world-wide, and that it hears and sees me while I read my lyric and prose is nothing short of astounding. I love my YouTube!"
For this poem ..........
Original BLOG LISTING 15 October 2008 http://stanleypacion.blogspot.com/sea... Or Use BLOG SEARCH (upper left corner) to Locate:
WELL, WELL, WELL!
Rewrite
It won't be long now,
Our love, how it plays its final story,
Like all else in worlds glory,
Soon end and be no more.

Perhaps we never meet again.
We learn the awful ache,
What separation means,
When time runs out and we see
Its too late to mend a heart
That has been rendered, torn apart.

Right now I feel its true,
We will never meet again, while
Yet we remain this side of heaven, while
Still we abide earths shore of the river.

Strange, yeah, our fragile hope
That you stop it with your forked tongue,
Abandon your bad habit, and proclaim,

Admit it; you broke the deal,
And, as for me, you know the story,
Surrender, otherwise, forget it,

Just say to all, to one and all,
I am gone, youve done me wrong.
I swear, I dont care, I dont care.
I am gone. Gone, Gone, Gone,

I am through with you in my face.

The hurt is real bad.
You hardly ever told the truth
Employed every kind of subterfuge,
Remember the time when I implored you,
Asked, time and time, again,
A simple request I wanted a few months itinerary,
You pretended not to know the meaning,
You pretended not to know
The meaning of the common English word,
And when you finally succumbed,
Sent me your plans,
Not a word of it proved true,
Awful, actually very sad,
After all the time we had spent together,
Face it! Your miserable fate, lousy life,
All of it predicated upon treachery.
All of it amounts to a pack of lies.

Ive had it! Im really gone! Moved on,
Because you done me wrong!

Sunday, December 20, 2015

HOWTO TEST FOR BAKELITE

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Sunday, November 8, 2015

LOVE POETRY Video Update with Closed Captioning

LOVE  POETRY



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.



http://www.stanleypacion.com/







Tuesday, November 3, 2015

TODAY'S SCENERY [Video Has Closed Captions]

Click the "Captions Icon" to "ON" at the bottom of the video, if not already playing. 20 February 2014, My YouTube Channel, Stanley Pacion, counts 223,000 + Hits, Single Page Visits SUBSCRIBE, Please. Full Text WORDS HERE (Show More) http://stanleypacion.blogspot.in/2014/02/winter-love-melancholy.html ~~ Or ~ http://www.stanleypacion.com  ~~ https://www.facebook.com/stanleypacion ~~ India EveryDay: http://83.170.91.156/video/u/StanleyPacion.htm?ss= 
TODAY'S SCENERY


See the features of the landscape before you.
Delight in the moment. 
Honor all things as fresh and new.
One thing certain,
No matter how far and long you may travel,
Or if for years you just remain
Within the walls of your home and garden,
You will never pass by today's scenery again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wLqini-_mCk

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Saturday, July 4, 2015

IN FLIGHT

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IN FLIGHT 


I saw clouds beneath me.

Above me stars shinned. 
They had an intensity ten times the brightness
Of any star I have ever seen from earth.

I was fifteeen leagues from the moon.
And my swans began to slow.
They were panting and blowing,
Grasping for breath. 




Monday, May 11, 2015

Part 3, OH, CHICAGO, Suite White City


















Part 3. from OH, CHICAGO,
White City Suite


3.

River View, the amusement park, sat down the block
From my first high school, its Ferris Wheel dominated
That side of the North Branch of the Chicago River.
Readers, please, excuse the free thinking.
I go to the time,
The year my great grandfather, John,
Came the one hundred miles from La Salle, Illinois,
To Chicago, he wanted to see the lights, the World's Fair,
The white city, magic, and when he returned, home,
He told tales about the town on Lake Michigan,
How great and many its marvels twenty-years after the Fire.

He, my great grandfather, he returned home,
Home to the dark of the Illinois River valley,
To gas-lit streets, to a wife and children,
Who lit the wicks of single candles
Or kerosene, hurricane lamps to climb
The steps to their bedrooms at night.

When he told the family about alternating current,
Chicago ablaze in the middle of the night,
He ignited in my grandmother lust. 
She wanted a part,
She sought the grandeur;
She was no longer happy at home,
What darkness, the narrow, a woman’s common lot,
The drudgery of hand laundry, the knowledge that,
As often she had openly lamented,
“Yes, I was born too soon.”

No easy task, ironing the household’s apparel
With an implement heated atop a wood-fired stove,
Early to bed, early to arise, the great bore,
Small town life, it was said she would bed the devil
-- And some claimed she had -- she wanted out, escape.
She married my grandfather, an itinerant painter,
Who went from town to town painting church murals.

And following the grand cliche,
Grandpa drank his liquor as others might milk from a jar.
And he added to his cocktail’s already heady mix,
The family’s romance says, he had bad habit,
He moistened the stylist between his lips;
And we know, the paint those days had lead for its base.

Her husband, my grandfather promised my grandmother
Life, incandescent, excitement, magic,
And the possibility of dreams come true,
Right there on the flat lands off the shore of the Lake.
Remember, the new town rose up from the old,
Up from the ashes, why, it was a resurrection!

Please! Do not tell me there was not real truth to the story,
Had not the Whites been rescued? Was it not a miracle?
They had escaped from the Indians,
The massacre at Fort Dearborn.

My grandmother sought energy, electric, the moment,
She wanted a big-time story, no small-town idyll.
She desired city burning, burning bright, resplendent.

Oh Chicago! It is from you that I have my life






Saturday, April 25, 2015

STANLEY PACION

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TO SEE HER AGAIN*

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TO SEE HER AGAIN, April 2015*


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 Creator's bright
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 inbetween the shallow in the farm garden fields,
That now and forever such vision is 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.
Were I to tilt my head upwards and behold,
If today should I have glimpse her in the daylight heavens,
Her smile, her eyes upon me, 
And then to watch her again as she flashes
The moment of her wonderous gait, see her again before
She disappears lost in a sky configured within magic wisps
Which move her, wheel her along 
Against a deep, blue patch of sky, 
Until she vanishes against the vastness of the heaven's vault.

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?
Yes!  She rises above a whirlpool force, 
I see her again over a watery vortex, yes,
She above a swirling ocean power, unsinkable,
Albeit now the 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.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

LOVE WISH*

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LOVE WISH*



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.





*A original love poem which I modelled after a verse by Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, and more popularly in the English-speaking world simply as Rumi. He was a 13th-century Persian poet.

Monday, February 9, 2015

MOST EXCELLENT OF WOMEN

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MOST EXCELLENT OF WOMEN


She was a Lady who never choose to quit me.
I can not count one bad word,
Not so much as a moment of ill humor between us.

At the stroke of the hour marking the time 
Precisely two years after we had been married,
She gave me the birth to a son,
Whose good name was the same as my own.

The baby survived his mother,
And he became my sole devotion.
I nursed him insistantly, never leaving his side.

In the whole-wide-world no ayah could ever be found:
No one matched the ministry of me, this boy's father.
Praise God, Your Will not ours be done.
Within the month of my child's arrival a bad fever killed him.



Mericifull Almighty! 
Thank you for the joy and the glory of your bounty,
For everything You have brought me each day.

She was a lady who never choose to quit me.
I can not count one bad word,
Not so much as a moment of ill humor between us.

Monday, January 26, 2015

REPENTANCE

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REPENTANCE


Darling! Oh my Darling,
What an awful thing I have done.
I have overslept;  made you wait.
Pray. What now my punishment?


Wednesday, January 21, 2015

ONSLAUGHT

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ONSLAUGHT


Too much history,
Decade after decade, year after year,
With me subject to the merciless attack of the clock.

Last night and into the dawn, wide-awake,
Sleepless, watching the walls record the extending bright,
Feeling that I have begun to crack all over, like an antique jar.

Then at noon at last a nap,
I arise again as the magnified voice of a late-day
Call to prayer increasingly pours over the open window sill
And fills the room.

“We all owe death a life.”





Tuesday, January 20, 2015

WHAT HOPE MIRACLE

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 the number one liquid staple.

At first His order seemed inappropriate:
Six great jars filled to the brim (more than a hundred gallons),
Many in the party wondered aloud
How preparations for a ritual bath                       Might pertain to there being no wine for the wedding feast. 

Then Jesus 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 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.
All bounty meaningless,
When nothing left, no vessel remains to contain it,
Yet Mercy attends and announces His ministry.


 
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