Category Archives: awareness

We Walk Together – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: found on quora.com

“Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see from the centre.” Kurt Vonnegut

We Walk Together

I didn't set out to be different or
to speak plainly, or set myself apart but,
the people and places I inhabit are the
geographies of the borderlands, life at the 
margins, where camel hair is fashionable
and locust with wild honey is a delicacy,
and truth pales to insignificance where
unspoken trust is second nature and no
one is judged for being themselves
because, although we walk in different 
directions, we walk together on the 
fringes of life.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Below The Culture Line – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Black Cockatoo Reserve, Mundaring

“Without stories, the land turns to real estate.” Mark Abley

Below The Culture Line

When time was local the land had a story
rich in the beautiful greys of paradox,
carefully nurtured in mutual surrender,
we touched under the pulsing canopy.

Rich in the beautiful greys of paradox
we slipped below the culture line,
we touched under the pulsing canopy,
a language unspoken so openly felt.

We slipped below the culture line,
searching ourselves for beginnings,
a language unspoken so openly felt
as to be present in each other.

Searching ourselves for beginnings,
carefully nurtured in mutual surrender
as to be present in each other,
when time was local the land had a story.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Note: The concept of time shifted in the mid 1800s to a broader sense of time as universal, prior to that time was local.

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And I Float – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – What pulls on your soul?

Photo: pixabay.com

“You are an aperture through which the universe is looking at and exploring itself.” Alan Watts

And I Float

Where the wild iris blooms by itself,
in the deep forest of my unmask,
where my heart runs white water,
my mind surrenders to gladsome song.

In the deep forest of my unmask
all attachment falls to the ground,
my mind surrenders to gladsome song,
and I float as a peace dove sails.

All attachment falls to the ground,
its redemption uncertain in this humous,
and I float as a peace dove sails,
a feathered turtle in the sands of time.

Its redemption uncertain in this humous
where my heart runs white water,
a feathered turtle in the sands of time
where the wild iris blooms by itself.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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To See – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: perfectness.ca

“Look in the mirror. The face that pins you with its double gaze reveals a chastening secret.” Diane Ackerman

To See

The mirror sets up a silent but knowing
conversation of self, a soap opera thinly
disguised as drama now exposed to all
of myself to see what others see beyond
the image of heavily invested self-deception,
masking myself to self, but the mirror shifts,
begging the eternal question, what is good, 
what is bad, to which I have no answer,
knowing only that things just are and I just 
am and not only today, this is somehow a 
moment, an epiphany, that sustains.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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I Remember – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lillian is hosting Haibun with an invitation to write about something personal in regards to a new beginning, and to include a seasonal reference in the Haiku. dVerse Poets – https://dversepoets.com/2021/01/04/happy-new-year-2/

Photo: Jasmin Sessler – pixabay.com

“Gardening is an instrument of grace.” May Sarton

I Remember

Sometimes old tricks return, seemingly of their own volition. The mind puts on front, suggesting that it never forgets, but it does. Sometimes old tricks are left in dark corners simply because their pleasure faded. And sometimes old tricks return, not by will, but by motion rooted in embodied memory. To once again pick up spade and shears, to don hat and gloves and fold into the joy of memories turning soil.

The joy of a garden is so primal, so simple, yet so profoundly felt. To rejoin my elders in time honoured pleasure is a rediscovery that refreshes my soul. Sanatorium, health-spa, surgery, clinic, call it what you will, it is healing in every way.

And that’s the thing, remembering. Remembering is a strange thing, a rebuilding, putting back together what has been lost though not forgotten. It’s in the word itself. To remember is to re-member, to narratively, even practically, put that past back together in some semblance of knowing. There’s a host of saints in my collection of dearly departed who taught me to garden and impassioned my green spirit. And, as I lift my spade and plunge in rhythmic moves, I fondly recall them one by one in this eden.

Chocolate tilth sits
fertile in my memory,
transcending seedtime.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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That feeling – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Geralt – Nerve cells – pixabay.com

“Take every breath as an event.” Arzum Uzun

That Feeling

Blustery wind rolled off the ocean
into my skin with whispers of cool
hauntingly possessing me to the full,
and I carried it all day wrapped up as
electric juice sluicing through my
pulsing veins in rhythms of blue,
while the sky shone paisley and I
was iridescently alive to everything.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Those Who Are Awake -a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: soulvibe.com

“You were born with wings, why prefer to crawl through life?” Rumi

Those Who Are Awake

Awareness comes to those who are awake,
to those who refuse to be imprisoned to
beliefs and the rightness of certain actions,
and to those who have befriended death.

To those who refuse to be imprisoned to,
by the expectations of popular diatribes,
to those who have befriended death
and who stare down life's insoluble foibles.

By the expectations of popular diatribes
one could live one's inner darkness,
and who stare down life's insoluble foibles,
are those who are uncertain winners.

One could live one's inner darkness,
beliefs and the rightness of certain actions
are those who are uncertain winners,
awareness comes to those who are awake.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Failing To See – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: unsplash.com

“We wake if we ever wake at all, to mystery, to rumours of death, beauty, violence ….” Annie Dillard

Failing To See

When did mystery become anxious
that it needed something by way of
self-denial to be acceptable, and who
decided to strip you naked that we 
might see you clearly through the
murky mist of time, and ponder
your meanings. Did we need to 
break down your door, claiming 
your space as our own, becoming
so familiar as to have no illusions,
failing to see how our thirst for 
certainty becomes a cabinet filled
with conclusions which has emptied
us of longing.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Swimming – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: collective-evolution.com

“The greatest danger in times of turbulence is not the turbulence; it is to act with yesterday’s logic.” Peter Drucker

Swimming 

It's hard swimming against the
title fight of culture, so many 
stop signs and no go zones,
just the coup de gras, a tragic
K O to box cutters, where
thoughts are herded and 
trapped, taped and wrapped,
no light to entertain a view,
other than a room with no 
room, just praying for some
silverfish to tunnel us out of
this closed space that constricts
my independent thought of
throwing everything to the
wind and just letting go
to the centre of pure joy,
where I can swim with 
such ease as to not care
about who cares about
the things that just don't
matter anymore.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Question – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: found on pinterest.com.au

“I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to se me.” Ralph Ellison

The Question

When did someone last 
speak to you in sounds of love,
with eyes of invitation
and tones of welcome
that broke the dam of your
invisibility that overwhelms,
when did you last tell your 
story outside of yourself to
a world of someone who
listened to your deep?

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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