These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
Showing posts with label cry of the heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cry of the heart. Show all posts
Tweet As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel registers 223,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the termsStanley Pacion YouTube Channelyields a result count of thousands. Please SUBSCRIBE BUTTON
WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY
The
seabirds cry out across the harbor. I
hear from them a high lonesome song.
And
in the distance a fog horn, It,
too, sounds a plaintive note, Repeatedly reviving my sorrow.
The
damp, hard, winter wind frightens me. I
have a bad shiver.
The
nights remain very long. I
no longer seem able to recall how Once
a summer sun had warmed the days.
Even
though I use both my hands And
pull down hard upon my stocking cap, Its
edges fall short of cover for my ears.
I
know that I might never kiss her again.
)
Mercy,
please Mercy!
What
hope have I for life, When Heart has packed her clothes and left me!
Tweet As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel counts 221,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the termsStanley Pacion YouTube Channelyields a result count of thousands. Please SUBSCRIBE BUTTON
HARVEST FESTIVAL, Skördefest, September 2013 Would you but bale the hay, darling, And then put the pumpkin atop So that I might end my search And have signpost to a loving heart. Or better yet! Why not erect a pumpaguben? Tie upon its giant metal frame All the pumpkins and gourds, All the color you can find, Then set its hands and arms askew, And on its uppermost pole Mount a great-big autumn squash as its head With beets for eyes and a carrot for a nose, And fix some purple harvest corn for its teeth. Be sure to arrange straws of hay across the crown So the guben has some hair. Then surely I would have right direction, Know where your table’s set. And having had Ready advertisement to your dishes, baskets and trays I would proceed straight ahead; And once at that place I would have sample of your plenty stores: The pies, the stews and casseroles, The jars of pickled herring, Your cured salmon and your delicately minced whitefish balls, The many kinds of sausages, and patties Made from every kind of meat, domestic and wild, The gooseberry and cherry and the other bottled fruit, The lingonberry jams and the sandwich-style jelly cookies, The kaffebröds and your loaves of breads, bakes Which range from seeded, creamy rye to dark pumpernickel.
And
there before the display of your harvest and kitchen I
might have hope to savor the bounty of your beauty, And
to fill myself with the nourishment of your love,
Feasting
upon this sustenance For
however many the days of my life remain.
Tweet As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel counts 220,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the termsStanley Pacion YouTubeChannelyields a result count of thousands. Please SUBSCRIBE BUTTON
WELL! WELL! WELL! Well, well, well! It won’t be long now, Our love writes out the lines, records its final story, And as in all things possessing world’s glory Ends and soon vanishes without a trace. Perhaps we never meet again. We learn the awful ache, What separation means, Once time runs out, and we see, It’s too late to mend a heart -- Let’s make it plain -- A heart now rendered and torn apart. Right now I feel it’s true, We shall never meet again, while Yet we remain this side of heaven, while We still abide on earth’s shore of the river. Strange, yeah, how fragile my hope (Really quite ridiculous!) That you stop it with your forked tongue, Abandon your bad habit, and proclaim, Just admit it; you broke the deal! And, as for me, you know the story, Surrender, otherwise, forget it. Just tell all, say to one and all, I am gone, you’ve done me wrong. I swear, I don’t care, I don’t care. I am gone, gone, gone, gone! The hurt is bad, real bad. I am through with you in my face. Remember when I begged you, Had to implore, time after time, and again. You had your tickets booked in advance. You always knew when and where you were traveling. It was an easy request; I wanted a few months' itinerary. You pretended not to know the meaning, The meaning of the common, English word, itinerary. And when you had finally answered my supplication, And sent me your plans, you had fabricated a calender. Awful! None of your timings proved true.
Actually, and here speaks the truth of the matter, It was sad, so very sad, After all the time we had spent together, And that we were well-suited in so many ways. Treachery, simplest poetic conceit sums it, It was a game; you played me. You had a pack of lies. I’ve had it! I’m really gone! Moved on, Because you have done me wrong!
Tweet As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 214,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the termsStanley Pacion YouTubeyields a result count of/ in the tens of thousands. Please SUBSCRIBE BUTTON
KNOCK
OUT
Describing
the awful upset, the melancholy, The
force which has struck me so hard That
I have seemingly become unconscious And
have lost all capacity for right direction, Has me contradicting every principle of sacred philosophy.
I am forced to postulate the existence of a physical soul.
Your
absence, the thought of your No
longer being part of my life, has floored my spirit.
I
fear that my vitality has been stopped. My
training in prayer has failed me. I
lack the muscle strength and the great breath, Despite
my belief in the audacity to hope, I
want the stamina to continue the match.
I
have been hit, and I am down. I
bleed, darling, I bleed. I
struggle to my feet, I stand just before the ten-count.
Your
blow has opened a cut above my eye. What
salve, what ointment staunches the blood! The
men in my corner struggle to fix it.
They
will not let me face another round.
The
bell keeps clanging, I
hear the terrible roar of the crowd.
The
referee enters center ring. I have lost the fight.
