Stanley Pacion A BIG BOOK OF MY OWN

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

JUNIOR SAYS, He loves You

http://abigbookofmyown.blogspot.com/

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

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

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

http://www.indiaeveryday.in/video/u/StanleyPacion.htm?ss=true

As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 171,000 + Single Page Uploads, Visits! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 4,560,00.

JUNIOR SAYS,
He Loves You

Honey, remember,
Remember that girl friend of yours,
Your old friend? Remember, you once had told me,
That she had abandoned all hope of love.

A boyfriend had ditched her;
He had dropped her hard, real hard.

She felt awful, bitter, and
Whenever she referred to him,
In what amounted to a peculiarity of her despair,
She called him,
Instead of using his own real name,
She nicknamed him “boy”.

Sadness had run her down.
Your friend confessed that
She could not imagine world without him,
That that "boy" had been all she had ever wanted.

I told you, then, were you to leave,
Quit our home, break your solemn vow,
And go into world without me that
I too would desire sobriquet. I said,

I no longer could imagine life
Under my own given name.
My first name, the one you used to call me,
The one upon your lips every early morning,
Now, whenever I hear it,
Can you imagine, yes, my own forename,
It only serves to increase my anguish.

Darling, might you now call me Junior?

Junior says,
He is lonesome.
He misses you terribly.

He awaits your return to his arms.
He knows your love is right.
You remain his heart.
He can not feel a thing without you.

That you had once called him “dear”
Makes him think himself
One of the luckiest men alive!

You alone possess his soul.
You rule his mind.
You trigger his every emotion.
You, his goddess,
You center his prayers.

He sees you as dream come true.

You are the love of his life.

Monday, May 21, 2012

POOR SHELL OF EARTH

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!

Monday, May 14, 2012

HER GRANDMOTHER, Early Morning Refrain

HER GRANDMOTHER,

Early Morning Refrain

Was not handsome, or was she particularly wise,

No one ever claimed that she was brilliant,

But she painted well, an artist.

Today her family treasures and enjoys,

Landscapes and still lifes,

Wonderful evidence of her output and gift.

She applied the oils heavily, used both trowel and brush,

And captured wood and river, and rural architecture

All around her north New Jersey home;

She also rendered, remarkably, the wonder,

The special furl and spray of Atlantic waves

Which lapped upon her state’s southern shore.

And following the common adage,

Different time and place, who knows the fame,

The renown she might have attained?

She dressed her grandchild, a girl, in pricey sets,

And family and neighbors seem to appreciate it,

“Oh isn’t Elsie wonderful!” They often said.

For all intents and purposes,

The infant miss was orphaned.

Her Mother was sick,

And was to spend a long-time in sanatorium,

Dad was gone.

He had run off and then started another family.

Two other girls, her older sisters, likewise deserted,

They stayed with paternal grandparents.

She, the baby girl, was separated,

And went to her mother’s mother and father.

Dad wandered off, then started another family.

Jealousy reigned; the new wife kept their father away,

He never went to see their mother,

And rarely visited the three girls he had left behind.

Grandma's girl was tall with curly blonde hair,

And cheek bones high enough to make for real beauty.

Possessing natural, happy disposition,

Her eyes beamed, and when all-dressed-up,

She looked as though,

She might catalog-model for children’s magazines.

But Elsie, she did have her ways.

(I am told to put it nicely!)

She paid no heed to the child's underwear,

Only interested in outward appearance,

Think on this a moment, for who could see it?

Though it might be tattered and dirty,

And Lord knows should have been replaced,

Especially when one considers the small expense,

She cared not the dollar amount of any outfit’s cost.

She was a master seamstress,

Favoring subtle, flower prints, nothing garish.

Grandmother used her talent to dress the girl like a doll.

A healthy woman, who loved her cats,

Fed those both inside and outside the house,

And took in every kind of stray, animal and human.

A former dancer who partook of chorus,

Had her training at LUNA PARK,

And, all who knew her swear,

She practiced kicks, over head, when

She had already celebrated birthdays past seventy.

Did she swap a place for her star on the walk,

Take lead role in gilded cage instead?

No way, she was tough and worked hard,

Created a wonderful home and with natural talent,

She cultivated a big garden, a green-thumb delight.

And guess what? To top it off,

She married well, a union man, a good provider,

A leader, he was respected and adored by all.

Sure he was a hard-nosed guy.

He had his trouble with the Schuberts and the mob,

No easy matter getting a salary for men,

Who changed the bulbs on marquee boards,

Who hauled wire, and painted the sets,

And whose days involved many other chores,

Which meant going up and down ladders.

Her grandpa made sure there was a decent wage

For the man whose job it was

To clean and bag after circus elephants.

Over the years, testimony holds,

-- Here we have no mean feat --

They fostered twenty-five kids, adopted four,

And then wound up having a girl of their own.

But something went amiss;

Grandpa went upstairs to bed,

Grandma slathered in wintergreen and liniment

Slept on living-room couch at night,

Hard to believe,

How long a time they spent their lives that way.

And after her Mom was finally released from hospital,

Grandmother balked when time came to return

The girl to whom she had grown attached,

The girl she helped to educate and rear.

She pretended the child were her own.

She used every kind of conceivable excuse;

Grandma tied to keep the mother and daughter away.

It was very late; sun had begun to signal new day.

Four decades had passed,

Separating the adult from events of her early tale,

I heard the woman, the granddaughter said,

We sat at the kitchen table, we had been up all night.

I heard her wax on the refrain,

Though she said it quiet and was ashamed,

“I can not wish she were here.

“I do not wish she were here today.'

BY LOVE BEGUILED

Don't get me wrong.

If I appear distracted,
Look knocked out by the light,

You make a very strong performance,
A singularity into whose axis my mind spins.

I remember once, years ago,
When I landed in New York,
After living a year and half in Europe,
How the neon of America,
It appeared so awesomely garish, and bright.
Yet, when I close my eyes and picture it,

All seems pale before the radiance of your face.

That two people would meet for morning breakfast,
Look out the café's window at the steady rain,
Walk here and there along avenues of
Inviting store fronts, and before the day is over
Fall into grand attachment one for the other,

As though there were something in the air,
Perhaps some electromagnetic charge,
So the occasional electricity might overwhelm us.

Or perhaps it was cupid who stole

Behind fixtures of the thoroughfares?
I thought I had spied him crouched near a mailbox,
At start of our walk on Main Street in Point Pleasant!

The winged child pulled from his quiver, arrows,
Their heads were dipped in love potion,

I was thinking along the lines of the ancient story,

That once he aimed and shot them,

Grievously would they tear mortal flesh
To make for a ruckus extraordinaire.

I felt that expectations were suddenly turning great.

This romance presses hard upon me.
It is a love I am compelled to profess.

To gain your confidence,
To prove my mind sound, not at loss to reason,
I couch my verse

In a mood commonly called the subjunctive.

Though the posing of this frame of mind

Has little usage in today's English,

I try its grammar, or, is it, pretend to use it, so to temper

My over-wrought affection and to quiet,
Soften my immodest and elevated parlance.

Were I not to employ this principle of language,
One might believe my love for you be shameless.

The mood, also, provides proper relief
For the all, too-far-out attitude, the conceit,
Whose command animates my senses,
That I have come to possess a gift, as it were,

That Higher Power had granted me prophetic mantle.

Understand. I solely express my own wish and desire,
That all I say remain contingent --
Of mind still hypothetical and dependent.
I do not use the imperative, I make no demand.
I have no special outcome in mind.
I dwell in fortress called Zion,
And come from it in the Pilgrims' coat and hat.
I look in the mirror and see their collar and tie.
And, like those passengers on board the Mayflower,
I know the Lord to be my helper. I fear not.

Who among your former friends has ever said it better?

And were you to live a long and hearty life
As all actuaries predict, what future friend

Might ever phrase it near as well as I have put it?

And if you ask the source of this lyric

That it arrive, transcending the usual,

Everyday phrase and common syntax, I must rejoin

That Sentiment Supreme, Him, the real pilot,

That when we drove in the white, Ford van and crossed
Jersey's North shore highways, while the soft brown,

Oh that magic, dream-like, living, pale, ethereal,

And somewhat golden light accented the downpours,
Whose constant unleashed falling, more
Like rain the Lord had promised Noah,
Than any explicable, temporary phenomenon of weather.

Wie es eigentlich gewesen.

“The carriage held but just us -- and immortality.”

That when we traveled our first day together,
Though it is months ago, and now becomes the years,
All the time which has passed, I suggest

That it would feel shorter than the day, that day
I first surmised the engine's mounts
Were tied to point, and that we, too, were belted,
Hurled straight ahead in solemn league with Eternity.

Mercy, let it be known, Mercy freely bestowed,

Not for this, the one earthly moment,

But for our children’s children,

Drawn and signed, delivered,

A grant for us and them, settled in this verse,

Sure as Word once promised Abraham.

I hear the text my grandmother spoke.

I see her at work while she ironed and folded,

Stoop to lay the laundry

Into the oval wicker basket at her feet,

And I, the child, I watch her nod the affirmative nod,

Repeat to you what she said to me,

“And I will bless them that bless you,

And curse him that curses you...”

And then the line which revealed for me

How the stanza means,

That in you, I mean in you my darling, “... in you

“Shall all the families of the earth be blessed.”

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

LOVE, LOVELY, LOVE

LOVE, LOVELY, LOVE

When it comes to love
We are all in the dark.
No scientist
Has ever been able to measure its quality,

Figure affection using a calculus.
No high-powered lens,
Though we see the architecture,
The starry clouds which make the heavens,
And, what if, electronics power our sight
So to reckon the slightest parts of elemental makeup,
Still no common tool exists whereby
The transit or deep-spin of my heart and soul
Becomes explicable to vision or mathematics.

I know it would be no easy task.

Yet now how I wish we could be together,
Go back to the farm-land fields
And pick strawberries from the rows,

Return to the way things were last summer.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

BEAT IT! Canal Street Lessons

Canal Street Lessons.

Let me comment on our Western tradition;

Money talks, all else, why it walks!

Now, in this, mine, particular scene,

Sam is key. He’s the boss;

Get it, the king of the thing.

But conduct, also, counts.

Say “Hello! Good morning, ma’am!”

Do not forget, “Hey babe, how you doing?”

And behind this deportment, be doctrinaire.

Remember, keep matters simple.

Talk three topics in one person:

Pussy, the weather and always include

A word or two about sports,

Otherwise masculinity might open to question.

And let us say what things soever the law says,

Get an invoice,

And make sure to write it all in carbon.

Fair and square, it’s hard to trick in duplicate.

I believe, was it not, Saint Simon, who teaches?

“To each according to his need, and

From each get a copy, every transaction.”

Careful with Leo; he is hooked up,

High as a kite and looking for trouble,

He may not remember

Or how he spoke one day or the other.

And Bernie, he’s the intellectual type.

Figure, a perverse will,

Which easily collects oddball systems,

All kinds schemes and fast notions,

A knavery prone to ruse,

And comfortable when others feel a moral obliquity.

Don't be surprised if he pulls a scan,

Runs your torso with some sort of electromagnetic wand,
Checks and sees, whether you're wearing a wire.

With him, it's best to show that you are thinking,

Try to offer a course of action,

Good for today and having potential for tomorrow.

Bernie values clever

Far more the than actual accrual of dollars.

That basement desk with the single light bulb above it,

A hanging one-switch receptacle on a wire,

No shade, what reason to adorn it?

Send the lawsuits down the wooden, threadbare steps,

Another time's forgotten space,

To the bottom, the barely paved, beaten concrete floor.

Let them see the worn out cushion,

The damaged seat of the metal chair,

The desk at a tilt, one leg broken,

And, then, let them contemplate,

If even for a moment,

The awful empty, the cement,

The unadorned cellar's walls.

Have a laugh at process servers’ expense,

What a nasty drollery Bernie had authored!

And should you go out for a drink,

Keep an eye on Bob whose favored fun,

Slip you a Mickey and laugh while you fall,

Knock your head on the barroom floor.

And Georgie, why he carries a box blade,

He might act to settle a score,

Good Lawd, what a whore!

Sell! Sell! Keep ends tight! And sell!

Today we have diamonds, tomorrow the world!

Say hey, Willie Mays, you’re the greatest,

And now the world knows it!

Sunday, May 6, 2012

JEALOUS MAN

As of this date, August 16, 2013, my YOUTUBE Channel has received 211,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 400,000.
Please SUBSCRIBE BUTTON

JEALOUS MAN

I have never figured myself a jealous man.

Maybe when I was much younger,

During my teen years, I had a bit of a streak,

And, later, toward the end of the drinking life,

Elements of my character became magnified,

True, especially for the worst parts.

Liquor always brought me to morbidity.

I became lost, crazy, think was upside down.

My bending of the elbow grew to obsession,

That was the mode, coloring my every move.

But you know the story, Honey. Hallelujah!

I was saved. For me, like Saint Paul’s,

A miraculous conversion, blinded by the light,

I had been born free, citizen, Roman, holding rank,

Armed upon steed, death squad commander,

Who served at pleasure of god, Caesar,

To whom I pitched incense, and swore

Allegiance, knowing to act otherwise

Would mean pain of exile,

To be banished from Rome forever.

What a story! Knocked from horse, and

When the saint rose up, up from that ground,

From the road outside Damascus,

He had not only raised himself,

But us up, too, making for us all seats together,

Heavenly places, in the church of Christ, Jesus.

Forgive me. I digress, and what I call miracle

May in my case be exaggeration for a more pedestrian,

Every day experience, I fell to panic attack, seizure,

Or was it alcoholic psychosis? Simply put, I went nuts.

Liebchen, Ich bin ganz verrueckt geworden!

However the therapies label, it certainly stopped

My practice of daily imbibing,

And freed me from the terrible habit

And set me on steps toward character improvement.

Yet, here, once more, although you know my count,

The score of years during which I labored,

Made every effort to set myself aright,

Thanks. Sure I no longer succumb to the bottle's allure.

Still my mind hosts that other awful zealotry,

Whenever I think about you, dear,

The green-eyed monster despoils me.

It eats me alive!

When your stockings lay in bedroom bureau,

When you lived with me here in our home,

I would open the drawer and look upon them,

The pang I would feel lay in what I could not…

For unlike them, I could not caress your entire leg!

Then I grew jealous of your buttons and zippers.

You might say, using strongest intonation, “Stanley!

“How can you be jealous of innocent items?

“How can you be jealous of objects,

“Please, things like my own buttons and zippers?”

But I must retort, not so innocent at all!

For they hold you in many intimate places,

And stay with you the whole day long, even now,

Now, when you are gone, utterly absent from my side!

The devil possesses me. My ardor so extreme

That I have become jealous of your shoes, because

(And here you must have guessed the reason)

They hold your feet and take you away from me.