AUGUST

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

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


AUGUST




For me it's the cruelest month.

It means a peak in the Anti-Leo jibes.
They get to be a dime a dozen.

The schizoids and the watery types,
The plain old bores, I can not bear them.
Their thousands of worn-out sarcasms
Drive me to exhaustion.

Must I endure the endless generalities?

The taunts, oh how Leos, that they are know-it-alls,
That their personalities possess uncommon pomposity,
That their big-mouths rule them, and
Bossiness and dogmatism underlie their every move.
And all the rest of the quick, cheap shots,
The common aspersions,
With which those born under weaker signs seem to indulge!

See, I mean it … Let me make it clear!
A Lion‘s no teddy bear, No!
Lawdy! No! A Lion is king of the pussy,
And out on the vast African plain he runs free.

SHOUT OUT, Ecstasy Overpowers, edited

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

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


SHOUT OUT,
Ecstasy Overpowers, edited




Uneasy, when it came to sex,
You made me feel
I was doing you wrong.
Your body stiffened,
And, I remember, once you said,
“Too incredibly intimate!”

Later I watched in movies,
Men drop to the knees,
It seemed nothing special,
No more than regular business,
Hollywood does its usual fare.

In a recent film with a Bedouin setting,
North Africa, camels on route,
Over windy hills of sand, oasis to oasis,
Hardly a trend setter,
The lead takes his captive,
Calls her wife number three, and there
Within the walls of village home,
He keels, while camera spies,
He takes love by mouth.

Since I knelt before you,
It is months now.
I wish I might kneel,
As the sheik did!
But you, and health, and work,
And sleep, they have gone,
Fled irrevocably!

I wake in the middle of shouts.

I taste you, still.
The taste, it fills my mouth.
I try to write,
But swoon instead.

Were I not lost, driven to distraction,
Were I able to clear the mind
And gain once again a proper perspective,
This poem might read better by far.

Oh, Oh goodness!
Fetch a chair! ...Never mind,
I’m fine. I’m okay.

It’s the terrible heat!

BIRTHDAY POEM, For the Day, August 11

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

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



BIRTHDAY POEM,
For the Day, August 11



Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye,
Since dawn of humanity, since time immemorial,
Playwrights and poets have oft repeated,
Proclaimed similar sentiment and theme!

I lay no claim to talent, theirs to equal.

I join my verse to this tradition.
Today I make another contribution,
Add a modest chapter to the big-book history of love.

Darling, I believe you have already learned
What it is like to hurry home
Hoping to lean on the one you adore
Instead to find an empty room, waiting and waiting?

Love, shall we deny it when it visits?

Shall we not take what we are given?

In the day light, or beneath the stars,
However daily business overwhelms the hours,
Love: there is only love, all else unreal.

What is life, what more than being near you?

Oh! That I have been given to you and you to me,
How sacred the exchange, how holy the alliance!

ERNIE KOVACS, The Joke Is On Me

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

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

ERNIE KOVACS,
The Joke Is On Me




I have already written
How profound my antipathy for the man called Herb.
As you know, I even dislike repeating his name.
He puffed himself up and postured his frame.
He stood in the way of me being with you.

What is worse, I now realize, he was the kind of guy,
Who wanted to bend the banana straight;
It is something he saw as a benefit for Mankind.

That I was once his friend, I truly regret.

Now I have another problem,
Yes, it has to do with another name!
Will it ever end?
Then you taunt me, remark on your heady past,
Tell me how busy keeping score on all
The many different men’s names might keep me!

I used to enjoy Ernie Kovacs,
I thought him a very funny guy.
He had been a top rank comedian.
Though when I mull it over, I know,
It was his attractive wife who caught my eye.

Now I would confide, even whisper,
Tell you in your ear – I am sure you get my drift --
The negative sentiment that arises in my heart,
What a bad association centers on that name,
I do not want to hear it ever again.

Sorry, I feel I have to speak in code.
It’s better that way, I guess you’ve gathered.

Let’s hope that you not arrive at a wrong conclusion.
Make a snap judgment about my mental health.
No, I have not gone OTT, Over The Top!

Not at all, I am footed on this earth of ours.

You may trust me.
Both my feet stand firmly on the ground.

Remember when we visited that seminary garden.
The time we sat on the cement bench.
We observed the giant oak
And speculated on the years it grew on its spot.

You have an apt analogy. Make no mistake,
I am stable as that tree, my roots are deep.
Nothing really shakes my strength.

Yet the name, Ernie Kovacs, it makes me sore,
Especially when you tell me that you were willing,
And waited for him and wanted more.

Hey, about this information,
The way he treated you,
It gets me really pissed.

And now I am here alone, my bed is empty.
And you, you are off, again, to foreign shores.

You must know, you must have known right along.
It will not be long, no time at all,
Before I shall have to acknowledge
Another name, another problem, and how bad it bothers.

FORGIVE ME

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

http://www.stanleypacion.com/

FORGIVE ME





“Good Bye!”

What do you mean, ‘“Good Bye”’?
But, ….but, you made me do it!

Honey! I’ve got to talk to you!
A minute, let me explain.

Oh, please, just a moment of your time.

I’m buying drinks for everybody in the house!

Whatever I said about your past,
Please, forget it! Truth is I was afraid.

Forgive me!

I’ve got no past;
I feared I wasn’t good enough for you.

Gimme! Gimme! What I cry for,
You know that you made me love you.

VENUS, Rewrite

http://www.abigbookofmyown.com/
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/
VENUS,
Rewrite



How are you to be a great poet,
When you've got no inspiration,
And you're tired, it's late, and
Night after night your mind runs blank?

How do you find yourself stuck,
Fixed in the old, worn-out theme, writer’s block?

Might you recall instead that glorious goddess,
Made human form before your eyes,
With whom you spent yesterday morning, talking,
On the grass, warmed all over, blessed by rays,
An eleven-o’clock summer sun?

And why not read aloud?
What harm is there in letting world to know?
No shame in the telling
That mind awakes, once more, from midnights’ torpor.

She’s got it! Beauty, love, and
She’s fire, she’s my desire.

LOVE POETRY, Lost Without You

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage

http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory

http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

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

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.