NOW VOYAGER, A Poem in Two Parts, I

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lz88bLZ3FWc
**NEED SUBSCRIPTIONS, , Rate, Comment, PLEASE ** WORDS & LINKS HERE: From an original poetic entry in his collected writings, entitled A BIG BOOK OF HIS OWN, Stanley Pacion reads verse which describes a long dream sequence. Its centers on the meaning of life.
"When a child I played, entertained myself with crystal sets, later I became a ham radio operator. The fact that I now have an audience of several thousands and growing, that this audience has become increasingly world-wide, and that it hears and sees me while I read my lyric and prose is nothing short of astounding. I love my YouTube!" For this POEM ....Original BLOG LISTING 3 December 2008. http://stanleypacion.blogspot.com/search?q=NOW+VOYAGER%2C+A+Poem+in+Two+Parts... Or Use BLOG SEARCH (upper left corner) to Locate:

NOW VOYAGER,
A Poem in Two Parts



I.


Were I a gentleman true, gallant,
The kind if chap with plumage in his hat,
Whose cape readies for damsel's distress,
I would say let's end it now; you're
Too young or, even better put,

I'm too old for love with a beauty your age.

But lets face it!
No two-bit convention possesses me.

Long ago,
It was in the woods of Western Massachusetts,
I saw time tunnel down the trail before me.
I saw the nature of things,
The whirl into which all we know disappears.

And tonight faces of the dead startle me awake.
Family and friends float before me.

Oh the calamity!
Death holds both young and old alike!

Darling, the air in my bedroom
It drops to the temperature of ice.

I envision my aunt, Helene, and see her
When she says to the child, who is me,
'Stanley! Go ahead! Touch her!'
My cousin, Barbara, lies in her coffin
Before the age of six, she was a year older than I.

My buddy, Burton, cut down well before prime;
Thought of him occupies my every day.

Revelry brings me to Joey who cried
'Whitney's dead!' And right there
On Fifth Avenue, opposite the Public Library,
He placed his gun on the glass of the showcase
Counter top. I was in the jewelry shop.
I dream a slip back to former ways, the drinking life;
I could taste the whiskey shots, the beverage
Dispensed that afternoon, it was Johnnie Walker Black.

The haunting goes on;
The dead, more of them parade before me.

Omar, tall, dark, forgive me here for I know
No better than the honest truth, handsome,
The child, Spencer, my son's best friend,
My high-school sweethearts, Arlene and Lynn,
All taken, all unwitting emblems, as if to prove,
Life bears no promise of continuance.

Nightmare arms with disembodied hands,
Wag imaginary fingers
As if to demand I pick up pen and write.

But before one dream ceases another appears.
I see the birds of the air keep still.
Those who were eating did not eat,
And those who were conveying material to make nest,
Did not convey it, and before me opens a scene
Of low surf beaches upon which are long ships,
Vessels whose hulls have center masts
With single, rectangular sails, blood red,
And from gar boards up are stakes, broad-axed
Hewed, each board a color its own,
And each board nailed one upon the other,
The sides of those ships appear




Like the bands of rainbows, red, orange, yellow,
Green, blue, indigo and regal violet.
Color upon color runs the length of keels,
Which themselves are crowned gold
Each has its own fierce, dragon-head prow.

Rudders are mounted at right, and within each craft
Upon rows and rows of chests sit oars men.

The ships are set to sail,
Yet the entire assembled host
Seems as if stuck in stone,
Like sculpture done in high relief. Nothing moves.
The waves have stopped, they break not.

What a night! It is,
It really is, what a remarkable night!

Never before have I beheld,
Have I seen such Technicolor panorama.
The closed world of family and friends
It falls to vision from other time and place.
My bedroom warms. And a seemingly true,
But sixth sense intimates Spring,
I seem to bear witness to a prelude,
The dream carries me and I sense the long days,
The glory of Scandinavian summer awakens before me.

Light, bright, bright day dawns, and it thrills me.
I ready for adventure. I am happy,
I am exhilarated beyond normal human confines.

And, then, a bearded visage looms before me.
It is strange, it wears a helmet,
The likes of which I had never before encountered,
A four part iron dome with a sharp spike atop,
A braided chain surrounds its eye sockets,
It gives a spectacle-like appearance to the visor.

Down the back of this visages neck,
Mounted from the edge of his helmet,
A chain-mail curtain falls
Directly to the shoulder of a thick, hide tunic.
A strap from ear guard to ear guard
Runs behind his beard, holds his helmet in place.

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Tags:

• poetry
• epic
• personals
• Viking
• dream
• interpretation
• Stanley
• Pacion
• vision
• love
• rapture

[StanleyPacion]

Thanks fro keeping in active communication with me. I appreciate the time and effort. I recently republished, uploaded NOW VOYAGER, and brok it into four parts for easier digestion. Trust you are well and that everything at home goes good.

[Yatukih001]

Really fun video.

Probably the funnest and most enlightening video for me to watch this year!!

[StanleyPacion]

Wow! Well thank you. It took me a year to write this poem. I had a sort of Viking vision out of nowhere and wanted to get it down. Hey pal, I am listen to that Gothic Techno Video you have posted on your channel and enjoying it much. Keep me posted and if you can try to get that poem around Iceland. Thanks, i really appreciate your enthusiam.

[StanleyPacion]

Thanks, again, for your way too kind words. You are a source of encouragement. You have no idea of how much I value your comments and now --a bit of local chauvinism --

now that I know you too are from the great Midwest, I am able to appreciate your comments doubly. Yours, Stanley

[StanleyPacion]

Hey David, LaSalle Il is my family home, great, great grandmother, great grandmother, and grand mother, Providence --her friends callled her,Tina -- was married there in a horse and buggy in 1907. The whole family, though some of the graves are lost, remain there in their plots. I had family members killed in the Cherry Creek Mining Disaster.

I cleaning up some verse for a response to your poem which alludes to Keith Moon, mine has more Chicago to it. Small World, made smaller through Utube

[Nicatroubadour]

up to 7:03. after seeing part 1 - in lively anticipation i am saving the rest to mull over properly when i have more time

[jabalaya]

You must have good weed connects.

[DavidRandallCurtis]

How did this one sneak past me??? You're from the great Midwest -- I just got done with a seven year stint in LaSalle, IL...

Anyhoo... 5*