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Saturday, April 20, 2013

LOVE WISH, After Rumi

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LOVE WISH, After Rumi

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 to while away the hours adoring you.

Friday, April 19, 2013


As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 203,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 400,000. 


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?

Sunday, April 14, 2013

ETTA, 1958

As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 202,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 400,000. 

ETTA, 1958

He had twisted his ankle.
His foot was swollen and it ached.
It hurt to the degree that he could no longer concentrate.
He had lost the capacity to figure.
His mind no longer able to grasp even very simple things,
His eyes appeared vacant, as if in a trance.

He was young and he kissed the back of her hand,
He kissed her about the face,
He kissed her eyelids,
And he rested his lips at the base of her neck.

He had kissed the skin all-over both her shoulders.

He and she were minors, and their ardency,
Its possible consequence worried their parents.

There was no question about the boy being strong.

Underneath a sky possessing countless bodies of light,
They stood next to a Sycamore,
The tree grew along a muddy creek,
Which emptied west into a river,
A river the early French settlers had named Des Plaines.

He thought that they might sail away upon the waters.

The Milky Way seemed to stretch out across
The vault of deep space more like some
Will-o-wisp patch of terrestrial weather
Than the starry edge of our own galaxy.

Yet more, much more than the taste of salt
From the tiny sweat along her brow, more than how
Moisture had collected and now had formed
Fetchingly to glisten upon her shoulders,

It was a night whose such awesome, absolute clarity
Enhanced a once-in-a-life-time, white light streak,
At its end a mighty, bright flash erased the sky.
Though now near midnight, all nature cast a quick shadow.

Within the warmth of a very late, August evening,
Beside the trunk of a Sycamore tree,
Upon the bank of a muddy creek, a small water,
A nameless feed to the river,
The early French settlers had named Des Plaines,
In a momentary all-over illumination,
The youths saw their silhouette,
They were merged as one,
They saw themselves fused into a single shade.

A low thunder followed, and, there, in the instant,
All of heavenly influence fell upon their embrace.

And when they turned and gazed upon each other,
Before either of them had spoken a word,
They had come to believe that the memory of this event
And its retelling had made a place for them in immortality.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 202,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 400,000. 


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 presents 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 his village home,
He keels. While camera spies,
He takes love by mouth.

Since I last had knelt before you,
Months have passed.
I wish I might kneel now,
Just as does the sheik in the movie!

But you, you are gone.
And with you, too, went
Health, and work, and sleep,
They have fled irrevocably!

I wake in the middle of shouts.
I picture you and our last night at dinner.
I see you there sitting before the table,
And in a fleeting glimpse I recall your delight,
How you savor and chew upon your meal.


 I rise up from my bed and return to my desk.
I try to write,
But swoon instead.
My night shirt has the wet of perspiration,
Down my back and well below
The neckline binding at its front.

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

'Oh, Oh goodness!'

Though I am up and about,
Ready to write before the computer screen,
I feel a faint. My stomach is turning,

'Fetch a chair!' I say aloud in my empty home office.

'Never mind.  I’m fine.  I’m okay.'
(As if somebody here bothers to listen.)

'It’s just this summer's terrible heat!'

Sunday, April 7, 2013


As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 202,000 + Single Page Visits, Video Views! A Google Search of the terms Stanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 400,000. 

Love Lockdown,

I miss you, honey.

I miss going to dinner with you.

Where ever I turn,
Whenever I look up and down the streets,
I keep thinking I see you.
It’s the damnedest thing!

By the way, I’ve decided to discard,
Throw out some of the poetry.
Of course, you must know why!
It has me loving you too much.

Oh! Those notes I took,
The notes of all our telephone conversations,
Sister, that’s a painful lot!

I documented all your promises, your assurances,
As if it mattered, or had real weight,
I transcribed them, then asked you to repeat them.
I hoped thereby you might remember
How many times you had given me your word.

I wrote them all down, my questions, your answers.

I can look back, should anyone have interest,
And figure the exact dates of those, your pledges.

But the exercise would require work,
Because in the record of those,
Our long-distance dialogues,
I reckoned time according to lunar calendar.
They read, for instance, first, Monday, December.
Across one sheet I found it significant that
You had telephoned me from Florida this last October,
A day which directly followed the second,
The so-called Harvest Moon, a moon whose rise
The previous night I had sighted over Forest Avenue.

Upon those paper records I sometimes drew,
(The right term here might be doodled.)
Regular zodiac signs. Silly guy, huh?
I pretended knowledge.
I played the role of old-time astrologer,
Someone who predicated life’s lot on planetary whirl,
Who posited ill or good fortune from an abstract,
The ups and downs of a human individual's existence
Based upon the conjunction of remote bodies,
How everyday events fit within a starry belt
And could be known and actually foretold.

I was dream-wishing.
It was make-believe, pathetic.

Might your last satellite communication, I wondered,
Be housed on a plane
Where moon rises into constellation, Leo?

It all gets very primitive when dealing with you.


When I concentrate,
Concentrate on my abandon, on my love,
Take the time and thoroughly examine
The range, the extent of my feelings for you,
My heart wells, fills up like a balloon, ready to burst.

Overwhelmed, stretched to utmost circumference,
Its membrane reaches thinnest extreme,
It helps to explain
Just how sensitive I am to your every desire.

If I remember to relax,
Should I try to stop holding on,
Just simply let you go,
Then I can not help but feel gratitude,
Give thanks for the moment,
The every hour afforded me to share with you.

At other times I fall to absolute delusion,
And believe that I write great poetry,
The words I pen immortal,
Celebrate you and me for the ages,
That future readers might pine and swoon, as I do here,
And then wonder what great grace sanctioned lyric,
Allowed it to express the sentiment that ours was destiny, 
And yes, permitted me to publish the story, –
How deep and far our love ranged.

I guess that I believe we are constantly being reborn.
I go through all these thoughts, again – again,
Hoping against hope,
Seeking a glimmer, some glimmer,
Fingers crossed for incredible stroke of luck,
Trust your return to my arms once more.


I have a real problem;
It’s when I look about.
I see other couples, pairs, tight,
Together for the afternoon, daylight upon their faces,
All lovey-dovey, they walk along the avenues.

It bothers me seeing them; they sit in cafes and read
Newspapers and books, and sip from bottles of water.

I envy them. I do not have you.

World seems happier place
When people have each other to depend on,
And romance animates their bodies and faces.

I am sorry to conclude, you’re a mean person.

You went away; my sole companion now my work.


Am I making this up as I go along?

But the fact remains
That you have gone and I am home alone.
You left me all by myself with my freedom.
I fear that I have fallen prey to mine own emptiness.

Were you to belong to me, I swear, I wouldn’t,
I wouldn’t share you with any one, with anything.

Time and place reduced to you and me,
You at center of it all!

Dream comes true!

It would feel more like love, sweet love,
Than me, here, sitting lost,
Trying to figure the situation, or
How I might say it proper,
Finally to convince you, love too precious a thing,
Often once in a life-time event,
And ought never be willfully discarded, thrown away.
Hope I haven’t upset you.

Maybe that’s the real difficulty,
The source of us being driven apart,
I am just too romantic.

You, you seek something else.
Perhaps you are simply more practical, reasonable.
My flights of fancy and over-heated emotion,
Not things you have in mind.

Do not worry!
I have the capability of living with my beliefs.

But, darling, you must take pity,
Open your heart -- for you say you still love me.
Mercy please! Forgive me, I lack resolve.

I am unable to start anew, to make life without you.

I am still not over this thing of ours.

I haven’t gotten over it, the beauty,
All the wondrous times,
I haven’t gotten over my being with you.

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