Monthly Archives: November 2018

Under The Lunacy Moon – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Lunacy – Word of the Day



My mother, and many others, often used that phrase, “It must be a full moon tonight” to explain various odd behaviours which seemed to occur around a full moon. There are lots of urban myths and tall tales, along with superstition, associated with a full moon. In Europe in the Middle Ages the belief persisted in the “lunar lunacy effect” or “Transylvania effect” where at a full moon humans could change/transmogrify into werewolves or vampires. Luna was the the Roman goddess of the moon, and Luna forms the prefix for the word lunatic.

Shakespeare wrote: “It is the very error of the moon. She comes more near the earth than she was wont. And makes men mad.” Othello


Under The Lunacy Moon

Just a little transmogrify,
I’m feeling pleasantly odd,
a little unhinged,
it’s electric,
I’m wild,
please, let me bite you,
a taste so sweet;
my veins are boiling,
let’s run through the streets,
sing anthems and rhymes,
climb a mountain
and howl a rabid canine tune.
Just this one night,
under the lunacy moon.

©Paul Vincent Cannon




Filed under astronomy, Free Verse, Mythology, poem

Adventure Calls – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Malarkey – Word of the Day


Photo: found at among others.



Adventure Calls

The Cheshire cat did once say;
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go”∗,
but for me it matters that I go,
and seek what may be found;
Tomfoolery, Shenanigans, and Malarkey
are my friends, and
we journey out beyond the pale,
well, past Dullsville at least,
and find our colour there,
Serious and mature will find us Tuesday,
till then,
adventure calls.

©Paul Vincent Cannon


∗Lewis Carroll “Alice in Wonderland”



Filed under Free Verse, life, poem

Down-Payment – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Sequester – Word of the Day


Windy Harbour, looking westward along the south coast.


Slowly fast we went
and sequestered time,
and left the rush of real life,
where devices twitter perched on data trees,
and slamming doors and ring tones
signal anxious rush to drudge.
We put a down-payment on us,
and floated to the sea,
to taste the salt in the air,
to feel the sand between our toes,
to smell the wattle and friends,
make garlands of seaweed,
and listen to the wisdom of birds,
and wonder, is water the same
yesterday, today and tomorrow?
It was only a day,
but it felt like more,
and I feel younger now,
O to drown in that sea.

©Paul Vincent Cannon



Filed under beach, bush walking, Free Verse, poem

That Old Self-talk – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Soliloquy – Word of the Day




That Old Self-talk

I’m harder on myself than you are,
yet your judgement somehow wounds me more –
how can you possibly say that?
I say to myself.
And you say what I have been avoiding.
Yet I think I make sense of myself,
and I measure your integrity by that,
which means,
I measure myself by your commitment to me.
Whoever said this was objective?
So don’t make me laugh,
tis but a game,
a self deceit,
of looking for love, for self,
in all the wrong places,
and the damage we do to ourselves,
by talking,
but not listening.

©Paul Vincent Cannon




Filed under Free Verse, mindfulness, poem, psychology

Capitol Freeze – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Freeze – Word of the Day


Taken a few years ago at a previous house, ice not uncommon inland in winter. I decided it was too thick for the birds to break through, so I gave them a little help.

Capitol Freeze

There’s an ill wind in the north,
as springtide fades and darkness descends,
and a sharp chill fills the air.
Leaves of all denomination are blown about
without a thought or a care,
while ice has taken the ground once warm with hope,
and is now possessed by unwelcome forces
that seem to be here to stay.
When will it go away? We ask.
When spring returns, of course,
two years hence,
and Jack Frost is no longer,
then the Capitol freeze will thaw,
and the bulbs of hope,
though battered by the cold,
are yet hardened survivors,
ready to rise up and show their colours.

©Paul Vincent Cannon



Filed under Free Verse, nature, poem

Do You Remember When? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Fret – 5 Lines



I have many memories, and many of those memories are located by music of the time, I’m sure many of you will know that experience for yourself.



Do You Remember When?

When fret is a board life takes a different tune,
from trouvere to the gods of rock,
the manipulated gut over brass
sometimes announced by a subtle, inescapable squeak,
where vibration becomes memory.

©Paul Vincent Cannon




Filed under Five Lines, Free Verse, music, poem

Quench Me – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Ragtag Daily Prompt120308-F-WN211-007.jpg



Quench Me

We met in a tempest
and kindled a furnace of love,
I drank of her deeply,
yet my thirst was unquenched,
and I knew that I must drink of her again.

©Paul Vincent Cannon




Filed under Five Lines, Free Verse, love, poem, Uncategorized

My Mind Was Unmade – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Listless – Word of the Day




My Mind Was Unmade

My inertia sailed in on a full spinnaker
on a Sunday afternoon,
of course I had other things to do,
but my mind was unmade
and my limbs undirected.
So I took a moment,
and toasted the afternoon,
and I thought,
for the briefest of moments,
that I might just sail back again,
but instead I stayed and talked to the dolphins.

©Paul Vincent Cannon




Filed under Free Verse, life, poem

Who Speaks? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Castigation – Word of the Day




Who Speaks?

When it’s wrong it’s wrong,
but it’s never wrong when we say it is,
as soon as the words are spoken
their foolishness becomes apparent.
Who might cast the first subjective stone?
You see,
an immaculate deception
colonises the mind of a wounded ego,
to create the perfect world,
in our own image.
Well trained horses don’t bridle,
so, ergo,
go we,
to offer silence
as our only rebuke,
of the fractures in our mind
we’d dare project
as a fantasy of singular truth.

©Paul Vincent Cannon




Filed under Free Verse, life, poem, psychology

What Can I Say? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Finesse – Word of the Day




What Can I Say?

You were always highly strung,
tense to a C,
higher than my G,
your tailpiece was sure fine,
and your finger board?
Well, what can I say?
When my bow struck your strings
your F holes resounded
as I played you with such finesse.

©Paul Vincent Cannon




Filed under Free Verse, music, poem, Quadrille