January 21, 2022 · 10:49 pm

Someone, Something, Somewhere – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: by skitterphoto at pixabay.com

“All choices are fraught with peril, but inaction is the most perilous of all.” Frewin Jones

Someone, Something, Somewhere

Sitting with our eyes closed in a dark mediation,
we're not painting slogans,
not marching or gathering,
we haven't written much at all,
no rallying call lingers on our lips,
just sitting, waiting, hoping
that someone or something,
somewhere, will cause a spark,
meanwhile we're
sitting with our eyes closed in a dark meditation.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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January 21, 2022 · 12:30 am

Wrapping – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: The bark of a Jarrah tree along the Railway Heritage Trail, Mundaring.

“Your personal boundaries protect the inner core of your identity and your right to Choices.” Gerard Manley Hopkins

Wrapping

From my earliest moments of cogito,
the eye of my I, O aye,
I learned to wrap myself against the
cold of an encroaching world and 
the desires of others, while yet 
offering little gaps and holes through
which the mew of you, O true
can slip through.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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January 19, 2022 · 11:38 pm

Writ Large – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: from gcg.net.au asbestos fibres.

“We can’t go on as we have been.” Sir David Attenborough 

Writ Large

Of thalidomide and asbestos,
those roman pipes of lead,
benzine to carbon making
nearly everything so dead,
atomic wet-dreams,
what a gas, or just a 
fracking nuisance and the last,
with plastic sands and bubble
wrapped whales carrying tales
of wasted trees on which the lies
we subscribed are writ large.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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January 19, 2022 · 1:16 am

All I Heard Was Buzzing Drone – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Laura is hosting Poetics and looking at the use of a thesaurus and has invited us to write a poem using words from a set of lists she has prepared.

My choice of words from the list – bellow, drone, clamour, jingle, honeyed, dribble, blabber, cackle.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – The Poet’s Store House

Photo: from virtualspeech.com

“Now I know what a statesman is; he’s a dead politician. We need more statesmen.” Bob Edwards

All I heard Was Buzzing Drone

A crowd would gather to hear him bellow,
though mostly all I heard was buzzing drone
above the clamour of the over excited crowd,
who were all aquiver at his feeble gob-shite.

Though mostly all I heard was buzzing drone,
they were agog at his jingle ridden offering,
who were all aquiver at his feeble gob-shite,
all honeyed to capture the mindless swarm.

They were agog at his jingle ridden offering,
a trojan horse, bereft, all blabber and cackle,
all honeyed to capture the mindless swarm
who were eager to swallow his sugary dribble.

A trojan horse, bereft, all blabber and cackle
above the clamour of the over excited crowd,
who were eager to swallow his sugary dribble,
a crowd would gather to hear him bellow.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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January 18, 2022 · 5:42 am

By The Cascades – prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Ingrid is hosting Prosery (144 words), with an invitation to use a line from Wordsworth’s ‘Lines written at a small distance from my house’ The line is: “Bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Bring no book

Photo: Damn or reservoir originally for the railway when steam was a thing, at Yellowdine.

“Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.” Albert Camus

By The Cascades 

O, to be free of this straightened life, the interminable deadlines and triplications that are required, but no one reads, you can fill wrong, but if you don't submit them, the roof will fall in. And the fact that we dare to talk openly about it means that this is a farce. And the endless grind of the alarm clock, that sentinel of hours, gleefully chiming our days given to some supposed endeavour that will somehow matter.

Today we will escape, we will call in lost, unfound, laughing, pour vivre ma vie. We shall stroll to a brook and sit in the shade, quaff wine until we are not fine but dandy. And bring no books, for this one day, we'll give to idleness, to caviar and water cress sandwiches, to laughter, to tears, to sighs, and the little death, by the cascades.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

Note: pour vivre ma vie = to live my life.

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January 17, 2022 · 7:40 am

In Paticular – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Vitaliy Izonin from Pexels

“If you obey all the rules you miss all the fun.” Katherine Hepburn

In Particular

Sometimes the menu is gentle,
and sometimes it is hot and spicy,
a revolution for the palette,
some menus offer slow food,
tender, dripping with flavours,
the food just melting in your mouth
others offer crisp, crunchy bites,
so tangy and juicy, while others
offer a taste tease with aged,
preserved foods which fill the senses,
one menu in particular is lush and
fulsome and makes me ache for more.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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January 15, 2022 · 11:00 pm

In Rows We Laughed – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

“History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce.” Karl Marx

In Rows We Laughed

In rows we laughed about cromagnon man,
we mocked conquistador's self-righteous,
salvific crusade, we deplored the blindness
of modernity scratched in white across two
wars, we were sickened by greedy monarchs
crushing cultures, aghast at nationalism and
every moral injury belonging to leader and flag,
in rows we laughed taking each other for granted, 
bullying, stealing each other's things, lying, 
misogynising, fighting, shrinking, hiding,
in rows we laughed, without reflecting.



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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January 15, 2022 · 1:54 am

How, Not What – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: by geralt at pixabay.com

“No wonder it comes as a relief to be reminded of your insignificance. It’s the feeling of realising that you’d been holding yourself all this time to standards you couldn’t reasonably be expected to meet.” Oliver Burkeman

How, Not What

Once, long ago, I asked about time,
what was it I wondered, and this was 
solved by a second hand, everything
a chronology, boxed and streamlined,
leaving me dis-eased, feeling disordered,
out of place, yearning for a sacred 
loitering, a soaking of space, awaiting
an unfolding, and I realised my question 
had changed, how was time?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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January 14, 2022 · 12:39 am

Grickle Grackle – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Bjorn is hosting Meet the Bar with an invitation to Narrative Nonsense

dVerse Poets – Meeting The Bar – Narrative Nonsense

Photo: from a stock video by motionarray.com

“From a small seed a mighty trunk may grow.” Aeschylus

Grickle Grackle

Grickle grackle mawn
spreads glow across hills,
all bark and tweet until the
coming of the mungled breath 
of Boreas does break the 
spines of groves, and darks 
the valleys so with the 
pickle packle puddles of
thin hope, shreds of life
crackle and push of green
arrives through the sponge
of this munged quaggle.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®

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January 12, 2022 · 11:35 pm

To Put Away My Eyes – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: one of the many nature reserves around Augusta and the Blackwood River this one has the grand title of No. 8437.

“The earth has music for those who listen.” William Shakespeare

To Put Away My Eyes

To put away my eyes for a moment
and take in the sounds underneath,
to let go the synthesis of shoe and fabric
my internal words so loud and allow the 
trees to soften the noise, making way for 
sounds of life, tinkling water, creaking bows, 
leaves pattering to the ground, birds warbling,
insects buzzing to and fro, all singing into
this moment where meaning is irrelevant but
everything is understood.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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