STANLEY PACION

Rookie - 4 Points (Chicago, Illinois USA)

Jealous Man - Poem by STANLEY PACION

I have never figured myself a jealous man.
Maybe when I was much younger,
During my teen years, I had a bit of a streak,
And, later, toward the end of the drinking life,
Elements of my character became magnified,
True, especially for the worst parts.

Liquor always brought me to morbidity.

I became lost, crazy, think was upside down.
My bending of the elbow grew to obsession,
That was the mode, coloring my every move.

But you know the story, Honey. Hallelujah!

I was saved. For me, like Saint Paul's,
A miraculous conversion, blinded by the light,
I had been born free, citizen, Roman, holding rank,
Armed upon steed, death squad commander,
Who served at pleasure of god, Caesar,
To whom I pitched incense, and swore
Allegiance, knowing to act otherwise
Would mean pain of exile,
To be banished from Rome forever.






What a story! Knocked from horse, and
When the saint rose up, up from that ground,
From the road outside Damascus,
He had not only raised himself,
But us up, too, making for us all seats together,
Heavenly places, in the church of Christ, Jesus.

Forgive me. I digress, and what I call miracle
May in my case be exaggeration for a more pedestrian,
Every day experience, I fell to panic attack, seizure,
Or was it alcoholic psychosis? Simply put, I went nuts.

Liebchen, Ich bin ganz verrueckt geworden!

However the therapies label, it certainly stopped
My practice of daily imbibing,
And freed me from the terrible habit
And set me on steps toward character improvement.

Yet, here, once more, although you know my count,
The score of years during which I labored,
Made every effort to set myself aright,
Thanks. Sure I no longer succumb to the bottle's allure.
Still my mind hosts that other awful zealotry,
Whenever I think about you, dear,
The green-eyed monster despoils me.

It eats me alive!

When your stockings lay in bedroom bureau,
When you lived with me here in our home,
I would open the drawer and look upon them,
The pang I would feel lay in what I could not…
For unlike them, I could not caress your entire leg!

Then I grew jealous of your buttons and zippers.

You might say, using strongest intonation, "Stanley!
"How can you be jealous of innocent items?
"How can you be jealous of objects,
"Please, things like my own buttons and zippers? "

But I must retort, not so innocent at all!
For they hold you in many intimate places,
And stay with you the whole day long, even now,
Now, when you are gone, utterly absent from my side!

The devil possesses me. My ardor so extreme
That I have become jealous of your shoes, because
(And here you must have guessed the reason)
They hold your feet and take you away from me.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 29, 2013



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