Category Archives: art

Be It Pen, Key Or Brush a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse De is hosting the Quadrille with an invitation to write using the word or its form – dab.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Dabbling In Poetry

Photo: pixabay.com

“Creativity takes courage.” Henri Matisse

Be It Pen, Key or Brush

Not everything must be real for its own sake,
licence is better in every art in the telling of a
story, more colour, or less, provokes a reaction,
a narrative of broad strokes and dabs be it pen,
key or brush, touches me deeply.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Shaping – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Soft

Photo: lakesidepottery.com

“You have to be in tune with the clay and react to what state it’s in to work with it.” John Shepperd

Shaping

He hewed the clay
and mellowed it with a little sand,
his wet hands moulding, teasing,
seeking its soft tone, rolling,
pinching, shaping every delicate
coil to a vase that blossomed before 
him with a purposed strength 
most useful in its vulnerable void 
awaiting colour.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Process – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

5 Lines – Discovery

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Image: ‘Vox Angelica’ by Max Ernst – artnet.com

“Painting is not for me either decorative amusement, or the plastic invention of felt reality; it must be every time: invention, discovery, revelation.”  Max Ernst

 

The Process

The giant bird and I became friends
though sometimes she left me alone far
from home and, no matter my peregrinations,
I was always only ever myself, discovery
was never the end it was the process.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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The One Hidden – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetic Pop Art

At dVerse Poets Victoria has invited us to take Pop Art as inspiration for a poem.

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Image: ‘In Search Of History’ Alexander Kosolapov, 1982 – Sotsart

Note: SOTS-ART Soviet political art, a journey friend of Pop Art which, due to Soviet censorship of the 1970s – 80s, was mostly underground work.

 

“I’m afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.”  Andy Warhol

The One Hidden

The conspiracy of words and time
melds colour to a constancy of grey
like ever present winter clouds
brooding over truth
whatever that might be,
and indeed,
that is the question Pilate asked
non the wiser for a reply,
that certainty as a non-event is,
in truth, a certainty,
where facts like curbs
eventually erode and fritter
revealing the naked and bold-faced
lies of our fathers,
a constructed history by numbers,
O how we walked those grey blocks
seeking lucent hope,
just a glimmer of colour,
a taste of the real,
no, not that capitalist lie, freedom,
it is the one hidden in my breast.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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Filed under art, Free Verse, history, life, philosophy, poem, politics, prose, quote

The Meat – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Spontaneous – Word of the Day

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Photo: One segment of the Northcliffe Art Walk, sculptures in the bush, quite striking when you get such colour randomly appearing. We went on a whim.

 

“Why not seize the pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation.!”  Jane Austen, Emma.

The Meat

All the grids of the world
only ever speak of disorganisation,
cages occasion freedom
while structure poses random,
so stand where you will
where you feel drawn,
the choice is yours,
but mark my words,
of segue, impulse and whim,
well, that’s where the meat is.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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Of Promise – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Meet Jackie Hulbert

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Art Work: Jackie Hurlbert by permission, via dVerse Poets and Linda Lee Lyberg.

 

Of Promise

She, as many do,
was moving through the doors
of her life and not with ease
so much as a quiet confidence
that was easily torn at the edges
when things went wrong,
and, of course,
too quickly for it to be true
she would blame herself
often referring to a multitude
of lack by some
meaningless comparison;
she was puzzled at how others
would affirm her creative zest
and her beauty,
but when she looked in the mirror
she only saw and ordinary woman
with messy hair,
where others saw
a beautiful, wild garden
of promise.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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Smudge – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Sunset – 5 Lines

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Smudge

They were all there, Durer, Monet, Picasso
and a host of others who carefully
constructed random reflections on canvas,
but God strode in and stole the show with
one esoteric smudge across the sky.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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Beautiful Again – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Spray – RDP Monday

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Photo: pixabay.com

Beautiful Again

Bricks thirsty
the building dejected, lonely,
divorced from the life once given
in architectural matrimony
a fidelity now forsaken as
adultery claims newer, younger designs,
so, she tries
and puts on some makeup
over the tired foundation
offending some with her
bold and gaudy style,
while others tut-tut
complaining that she hasn’t
done it right,
too random,
too modern,
reckless,
uncouth,
some smile warm, welcome smiles
and greet her as an old friend
refreshed, lively, and
beautiful again.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Note: I think I might be alone in the world but I applaud Graffiti, sanctioned or otherwise, I find art anarchy refreshing. But there is a distinction between graffiti and tagging. Tagging is simply names, numbers and codes for those claiming a tag challenge on public property and it is not art, whereas Graffiti is art.

Paul, pvcann.com

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Speak From Me – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Create – Word of the Daypainting-911804__480.jpg

Photo: pixabay.com

If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.”  Émile Zola

 

Speak From Me

The inner dualities,
centuries old,
rage within,
threatening emptiness, nakedness,
sadness,
if I pick up my brush or my pen,
or maybe my spade,
my mind asks that striving question,
will it be profound?
Which is really a question of
will it matter?
Yet a more timid urge,
the one that seems less in the world,
at least, until the work is done,
is when the heart says,
speak from me.
There, at my very centre,
arises the profound,
my profound,
in all its authentic glory.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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Filed under art, creativity, Free Verse, life, mindfulness, poem, Uncategorized

Oracle of Love

Enigmatic – Word of the Day

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John Collier’s ‘The Delphic Oracle’ (1891) The Delphic Oracle were priestesses highly valued, who offered divination at the temples, including that of Apollo in the locale of Phocis at the foot of the south slope of Mt. Parnassos, in Greece. The Oracle would sit on a tripod over a fissure in the floor where vapours arose which induced trance and utterance.

 

Oracle of Love

There you sat,
midst the herbs and vapours,
in the place that caused you to sway and swoon,
to speak in ecstatic utterance,
bending your tongue in language unknown,
contorting, writhing,
while unveiling ancient truths,
as you divined that enigma of Delphi,
the oracle, that spoke of our undying love.
It was there you held me
priestess of love,
and I was overcome.

©Paul Vincent

 

Paul Cannon,

pvcann.com

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