Monthly Archives: April 2022

And Stopped – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Anastasia Lashkevich on pexels.com

“Almost everything will work if you unplug it for a few minutes … including you.” Anne Lamott

And Stopped

You can keep going,
you really can,
sweating long days,
wringing out your energy,
defeating your body,
pushing,
pushing,
pushing uphill,
against the tide,
against the wind,
the clock always ticking,
mind racing circles,
circles racing minds,
total confusion reigns,
pushing we go,
but, what if
we went anti-clockwise,
wore underwear on our head,
turned down slow street,
blew bubbles,
tapped balloons,
did a handstand in the rain,
laughed,
sat,
and stopped pushing?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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Filed under awareness, Free Verse, life, meditation, mindfulness, poem, quote

Homeless – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Grace is hosting the Open Link Night – the night we choose a poem to post.

dVerse Poets – OLN

Photo: stocksnap at pixabay.com

“Where do you go if you don’t belong anywhere?” Steven Wilson

Homeless

My voice is loud yet silent,
I am visible but unseen,
there is no sanctuary for my way, 
no ritual that offers meaning, 
politics is a bare cupboard that 
mocks my dreams, I cannot see 
myself reflected in any place,
there is no resonance and my
words fall from my mouth into
puddles that people step around;
I keep moving, hoping to find 
some connection, but the truth is
I am homeless in a world of 
meaningless mansions.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Cynic’s Lament – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found on pinterest.com

“Politics is the art of making your selfish desires seem like the national interest.” Thomas Sowell

Cynic's Lament

We decided one quiet rainy day to
quit our boredom and create a 
modern Prometheus , a simple form
recurring, better known today as a 
politician, and so we took a blank,
ironically, and proceeded.

We added one part deception,
two parts lies, three parts bullshit,
four parts hollow words, a dollop
of unreflected ego, some rhino hide,
a sprinkle of facade, along with an
oily smile.

The finished product required, 
we felt, a warning on the side,  
This Product Contains Zero Integrity,
Use With Caution, little did we know 
that this was the dawning of a 
modern horror story, now writ large.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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This Time – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Ingrid is hosting Poetics with an invitation to take from a list of Shakespeare’s plays, one and write about its theme in a poem.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Homage To The Bard

Painting: Ivan Aivazovsky, 1886, The Tempest WikiArt.org

“Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.” William Shakespeare

This Time

To end this isolation I 
summon of the deep a 
portent to divide, a gyre 
dark whose ghosts of torment
always seek to visit misery upon
the unsuspecting sufferers,
leaden with the fate of zephyrs,
too weak to carry a thought
let alone a truth, and yet,
defying the odds, this time
the ship sails and all is well,
except for Caliban, that 
purveyor of lies now banished,
he alone shall not prosper
his schemes.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®



Note: the storm in The Tempest is over in the first act but forms the backdrop to the play and is a metaphor for life. The poem could be a metaphor for a modern Caliban but I really couldn't say 😀

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Rejoice – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun Monday with an invitation to write about bird songs.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Bird Songs

Photo: a cormorant or shag sitting on the boardwalk at Bunbury Wetlands.

“I once asked a bird, how is it that you fly in this gravity of darkness? She responded, ‘love lifts me.'” Hafez

Rejoice

I've never not heard a bird sing. There's never been a moment when bird song has failed to cut through the joy or tragedy of a day, to surmount the ineffable experiences of life or the tumult of blood
rush, some conjured excitement or foreboding feeling.

I've heard magpies in the heat of the night, curlews before a storm, the flit and twit of honeyeaters no matter the rain, the wattle bird's beak snapping through my mind, crows in the haze of bush fire, the beautiful song of the butcher bird in the middle of a wedding.

Birds, those harbingers of joy, care not for our circumstances and yet they conspire to bring us unbridled joy. Their's is a life sung and we are the privileged guests for their performance. There's never been a moment when I haven't rejoiced in the song of a bird.

Musk duck quinks a joy
as rain washes the low reeds
songs part autumn clouds




Note: Quink is the closest onomatopoeia to the sound of the musk duck I could come up with and then I found it is indeed a word - a type of goose!

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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So Too In Life – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: from today.com

“Anger and bitterness can be like weeds.” Connie Rose Porter

So Too In Life

Love for a garden can be devoured 
so easily by its many interlopers,
not least the greedy weed who
masquerades as desired, mimics
for a moment your many plants,
and takes a lion's share of goodness
for itself.

Love for a garden must be strong 
enough to include tough measures
for the removal of weeds at their 
roots, striking at their source and 
strength, eradicating their threat;
as with weeds in the garden, 
so in life.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Across The Line – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: wikihow.com

“In origami the first folding should be done very well, so that the paper can stand.” Kazuko Horiuchi

Across The Line

O how I love your folds,
across the line I go 
following the very crease 
of you, sensing your
essence, holding your form,
seeing your true colour as
we fold and refold, not 
knowing where, or that 
there is, was, a line, now
blurred, lost in each other,
all the while emerging.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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The Cost Of Leaving – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found on pinterest.com

“If you don’t control your mind, someone else will.” John Allston

The Cost Of Leaving

The cost of leaving the defined mundane reality,
that entrapment of manufactured truth comfort,
taking time to see how anaesthetised we are,
noticing how we are so easily formed in a bubble.

That entrapment of manufactured truth comfort
with out willing surrender to the thought police,
noticing how we are so easily formed in a bubble,
the discovery that there is life beyond the machine.

With our willing surrender to the thought police,
we join the herd of sameness, lowing compliance,
the discovery that there is life beyond the machine
is an emancipation, a spark of hope in the darkness.

We join the herd of sameness, lowing compliance,
taking time to see how anaesthetised we are,
is an emancipation, a spark of hope in the darkness,
the cost of leaving the defined mundane reality.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®


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Filed under awareness, Free Verse, injustice, life, Pantoum, philosophy, poem, politics, protest, quote, Uncategorized

Do Not Cave In – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: ThomasWolter at pixabay.com

“Her own contempt for any forms of pressure society might put upon her was so profound and instinctive that she instinctively despised anyone who paid tribute to them.” Doris Lessing

Do Not Cave In

A minute is an hour in the turmoil of 
the necessary energy required for a 
task that is just beyond the effort needed
in the moment before a deadline, set by
those with disinterested power over the
seconds of our needs, in a time when all
is unnecessarily necessary by some 
token, outmoded rule, that all is a must,
a should, a have to, by a childish notion
of fear.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Julia’s Kiss – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Merril is hosting Poetics with an invitation to choose from a list of rose names to write a poem about. I have chosen ‘Julia’s Kiss’

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Naming The Rose

Photo: cottonbro at pexels.com

“Kiss me and you will see how important I am.” Sylvia Plath

Julia's Kiss

She was no child despite her
finger hair curl distraction thing,
her cheesecloth off-the-shoulder
with garlanded hair, and her light,
tinkling brook laughter, she kissed
like a hungry, ravenous lion, like a 
growl, a roar of pleasure, a vibrato 
of the soul; Julia's kisses would
always take us from mere bud to
full bloom, she played strong.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Filed under Free Verse, love, passion, poem, quote