YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM

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YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM

Who do you love the best

Me or one of the other boys,

The others who have been part of your life?

I believe you love me for my poems,

And the other guys because of their good looks.

Excuse me! I am sure that I know

How those former lovers write.

I would wager, their compositions stink!

They are schoolboys at their lessons.

Their vocabulary weak and grammar amiss.

Their voice never amounts to truth

For they have not learned,

They are not practiced in language of the heart.

A girl like you would never fall,

Never give herself over to some inconsequential chap,

Even were his house rich in goods,

Or if he had a ton of money in the bank.

Honestly, I doubt that it would be worth

Any man's while to court you, useless, I would say,

Unless he had verse at his command.

You will have poetry in your life, and soulful adventure.

You will have love, above all else, love! No!

Not artful, not postures of love, but absolute love,

All-out, heedless, besotted, running a muck,

Head over heels, love, as if, you were God-struck.

You will have an ardency whose heart-beat mirrors

The atomic steady of electrons about a nucleus,

An affection which possesses an endurance

Beyond any artifact of marble, any work of bronze,

And puts to shame the pretense of those ancients,

The builders of the pyramids of Egypt, or those others

Who had disguised their vanity by erecting stone and rock

Into monuments of heights and circles,

What sophistry they practiced,

As if they staked a claim of victory over time!

The love you will have, its heart has a color and brightness,

Same as those beacons from the farthest reaches of space-time,

A light by which all other lights are measured,

Yes, an endurance which has its match in the starry images

Travelling since just those few moments after Creation,

So lovely, so lasting, though all else around it, dark and foreboding.

Too bad, honey! Too bad for you!

You must know, and would you, please,

Tell the other suitors, please, think on it a bit,

Who is the man, who may compare, or even place

A reasonable second in the ultimate competition,

Who but me might win the race for your heart?

Sorry! But it's over, no choice,

It is just the luck, the fate which has befallen you.

Its story line, no earthly origin, not an everyday script,

The author knows when the sparrow falls,

He has count of the hairs upon your head.

He has conceived the architecture of the heavens.

Understand, accept, and willingly embrace Wisdom,

Let me call it, Destiny, and proclaim,

You have won the election.

A bright new day floods the horizon.

Mercy on whom mercy has has been granted, and

Compassion on whom compassion has been bestowed,

Not by any act or exercise of human volition.

But by the power of heaven and its justice.

WILD IN MY PAIN

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WILD IN MY PAIN

Darling, it's just a heart, not a brick or a stone.

How do you fail to understand then

That it hurts and bleeds like any mortal thing?

And what pleasure have you,

What delight when you scourge me?

You must hear me crying,

My begging for mercy a thousand times and again.

Why, oh why do you want to treat me

Deaf and uncaring while I wild in my pain?

DENAIN

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DENAIN



You were born a Catholic and God cherished you.
But your having forgotten His Mercy --
That all outcome of human endeavor,
His Will, not your own -- angered the Almighty.
He delivered you into the hands of the Heretics.
You suffered at Hochstedt and at Ramilles.
Yet when you returned to the Lord,
Thanking Him for all that He visits upon you,
The Lord saw your gratitude,
And knew that you had been restored to wisdom.
He blessed your courage at Denain.

YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM

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YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM


Who do you love the best
Me or one of the other boys,
The others who have been part of your life?

I believe you love me for my poems,
And the other guys because of their good looks.

Excuse me! I am sure that I know
How those former lovers write.
I would wager, their compositions stink!

They are schoolboys at their lessons.
Their vocabulary weak and grammar amiss.
Their voice never amounts to truth
For they have not learned,
They are not practiced in language of the heart.

A girl like you would never fall,
Never give herself over to some inconsequential chap,
Even were his house rich in goods,
Or he had. a ton of money in the bank.
Honestly, I doubt that it would be worth
Any man's while to court you, useless, I would say,
Unless he had verse at his command. 

You will have poetry in your life, and soulful adventure.

You will have love, above all else, love!  No!
Not artful, not postures of love, but absolute love,
All-out, heedless, besotted, running a muck,
Head over heels, love, as if, you were God-struck.

You will have an ardency whose heart-beat mirrors
The atomic steady of electrons about a nucleus,
An affection which possesses an endurance
Beyond any artifact of marble, any work of bronze,
And puts to shame the pretense of those,                
The ancient pyramids of Egypt or the other monuments,
Heights and circles of stone and rock,
Which seek to stake their own claim to victory over time.

The love you will have, its heart has a color and brightness,
A beacon from the farthest reaches of space-time,
A light by which all other lights are measured.

 
Too bad, honey!  Too bad for you!
You must know, and would you, please,
Tell the other suitors, oh just think on it a bit,
Who is the man, who may compare, or even place
A reasonable second in the ultimate competition,
Who but me might win the race for your heart? 

Sorry!  But it’s over, no choice,
It is just the luck, the fate which has befallen you.
Its story line, no earthly origin, not an everyday script,
The author knows when the sparrow falls,
He has count of the hairs upon your head,
Understand, accept, and embrace wisdom,
Let me call it, Destiny, and proclaim,
You have won the election.
A bright new day floods the horizon.

Mercy on whom mercy has has been granted, and
Compassion on whom compassion has been bestowed,
Not by any human will or its exertion,

But by the power of heaven and its justice.

BY LOVE BEGUILED, Edited Version 2012

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BY LOVE BEGUILED, Edited Version 2012

Don't get me wrong.

If I appear distracted,

Look knocked out by the light,

You make a very strong appearance,

A singularity into whose inexplicable center 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 we, two people, would meet for morning breakfast,

Look out the café's windows at the steady rain,

Then, under the cover of our umbrellas,

Walk here and there, along avenues of inviting store fronts,

Have an early coffee and tea,

Or do I have the hour wrong,

Might the time better be described as brunch,

Or was it at an hour still later, and in another place,

In the afternoon, say somewhere on the Turnpike,

Or when we stopped at a crossroad to check our map,

At first I thought it might be vapors, something in the air,

Then I mulled the question over once again, and figured,

It must have been an electromagnetic charge, and I wondered,

Had a fluke momentary electricity overwhelmed 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,

– My thinking ran to the lines of the ancient story --

That once he aimed and shot them,

Grievously their tear into our mortal flesh.

I knew his wound would make for a ruckus extraordinaire.

I felt that expectations were suddenly turning great.

This romance presses hard upon me.

I find myself bound up, an affection drives me

It barks a claim beyond everyday physical experience.

I am being compelled to express it.

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 emotion 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,

Which has me begging

The suspension of common sense and natural order

In order to pose an audacious proposition

As having a semblance of truth,

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 remains contingent,

The frame of mind here 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, as I propose, transcending the usual,

Everyday manner 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 feels shorter than the day, that day

I first surmised the engine's mounts

Were tied to point, and that we, too, were belted, on board,

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, and at once delivered,

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

And from where, you might ask, derives this trust,

Sure as Word once promised Abraham?

I hear the text my grandmother spoke.

I see her at work when she ironed and folded,

Yet while she stooped to lay the laundry

Into the wicker oval basket at her feet,

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

I saw that as she smiled a light had joined her face,

Today I repeat to you what she said to me,

“And I shall bless them that bless you,

And curse him that curses you...”

And then the line which revealed,

She told me how the stanza means,

I hear the words my grandmother said,

That in you, I say through you, my darling, “... in you

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


 

BY LOVE BEGUILED

http://abigbookofmyown.blogspot.com/

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

 http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion

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

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BY LOVE BEGUILED

Don't get me wrong.

If I appear distracted,

Look knocked out by the light,

You make a very strong appearance,

A singularity into whose inexplicable center 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 we, two people, would meet for morning breakfast,

Look out the café's windows at the steady rain,

Then, under the cover of our umbrellas,

Walk here and there, along avenues of inviting store fronts,

Have an early coffee and tea,

Or do I have the hour wrong,

Might the time better be described as brunch,

Or was it at an hour still later, and in another place,

In the afternoon, say somewhere on the Turnpike,

Or when we stopped at a crossroad to check our map,

At first I thought it might be vapors, something in the air,

Then I mulled the question over once again, and figured,

It must have been an electromagnetic charge, and I wondered,

Had a fluke momentary electricity overwhelmed 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,

– My thinking ran to the lines of the ancient story --

That once he aimed and shot them,

Grievously their tear into our mortal flesh.

I knew his wound would make for a ruckus extraordinaire.

I felt that expectations were suddenly turning great.

This romance presses hard upon me.

I find myself bound up, an affection drives me

It barks a claim beyond everyday physical experience.

I am being compelled to express it.

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 emotion 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 overwhelms all good sense,

And allows me the audacity to hope

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 remains contingent,

The frame of mind here 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 manner 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 feels shorter than the day, that day

I first surmised the engine's mounts

Were tied to point, and that we, too, were belted, on board,

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, and at once delivered,

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

And from where, you might ask, derives this trust,

Sure as Word once promised Abraham?

I hear the text my grandmother spoke.

I see her at work when she ironed and folded,

Yet while she stooped to lay the laundry

Into the oval wicker basket at her feet,

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

I saw that as she smiled a light had joined her face,

Today I 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,

She told me how the stanza means,

I hear the words my grandmother said,

That in you, I say through you, my darling, “... in you

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

BY LOVE BEGUILED

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
Tweet
As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 170,000 + Single Page Uploads, Visits! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 4,560,00.
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.”