Category Archives: awareness

Blue Tongue Holding The Sun – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Kim is hosting poetics and inviting us to write in the first person comparing a trait of ours with something animal.

dVerse Poets – Poetics

Photo: a young “Bobtail” goanna, one of Australia’s Blue Tongue lizards.

“Everything in nature invites us constantly to be what we are.” Gretel Erlich

Blue Tongue Holding The Sun

There you were,
Blue tongue holding the sun,
your hiss warned that I had surprised you
and yet you didn't scuttle away, you stood
your ground and held my gaze, wary,
so like the corners of the world behind my
eyes where the unrelenting suspicion of 
strangers has cauterised the world against
joy, the hiss of distrust thrust against 
possibility with open mouthed disdain,
besides, when did the giants of this world 
care for the small ones, that they could
merely bask in the sun of wholeness
without fear of looming shadows of deceit?
And there you were holding trust.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Dreamer – Prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lillian is hosting Prosery where we are invited to write a piece of prose of 144 words including the line of poem offered by the host. Grace has invited us to work with the line ” If you are a dreamer, come in” which is from Shel Silverstein’s poem ‘Invitation’

dVerse Poets – Prosery

Photo: theculturaldictionary.com

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs, ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go and do that. Because what the world needs are people who are alive.” Howard Thurman

The Dreamer

I was walking along, multi-thinking, moving my mind to the end of the day so that I could get there quicker. I’m sure you’ve done that sometime. I wasn’t paying particular attention to anyone or anything. So I was surprised when a voice called out, a voice that was so unusual it. I didn’t think it was anyone calling to me but I looked around because I wanted to see who owned such an unusual voice. I was thinking hippy, free spirited, all tie-dyed, but there was Mr Business Suit beaming a smile. I stared at him and he gestured to the door “if you are a dreamer, come in.” Am I a dreamer? Yes I’m a dreamer, but I’m not coming in, I have my own dreams, I’m not buying yours, no way! They cost the earth, literally.” I walked away.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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And One More Thing – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at hbwsk.hbs.edu

“Many a calm river begins as a turbulent waterfall, yet none hurtles and farms all the way to the sea.” Mikhail Lermontov

And One More Thing 

And one more thing,
the unravelling strands of
life frayed and stressed
the length of my spine,
about to disconnect my
inner world, destroy the
fruitfulness of my life's joy,
those compulsory lies of
overwork are the violence
of those voices of the self
who would see us dead
for the sake of one more 
thing to be resolved, 
and then another, the 
constant staccato of the
driven mind must one day
find its sea.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Little Dark Corner – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: ‘Free Photos’ on pixabay.com

“There is a correlation between the severity of a person’s moods and a lack of self-knowledge.” Jill Alexander Essbaum

Little Dark Corner

The mood of a moment is so fragile,
like a cloud momentarily covering the
sun, and everything changes in an
instance, confusing the very heart of
us with lingering uncertainties, that
sense of something unresolved, 
something wrong, not right, the 
feeling of an accusing little dark 
corner tucked in the back of the
mind, deservedly waiting to rain
down on any joy.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Flesh Of My Flesh – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Grace is hosting Meeting the Bar with an invitation to consider the body, our body, in writing.

dVerse Poets – Meeting The Bar – The Body And Poetry

Image: thoughtfulminds.org

“To be whole. To be complete. Wildness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connected to rather than what we are separate from.” Terry Tempest

Flesh Of My flesh 

The wound I carry is not just 
for me, I feel its pain when I 
feel the earth speaking in my
flesh, when I hear the ocean's 
voice as my voice, as a child 
crying, or the wind, unconsoled,
recoiling at the violence of the 
rend that bleeds from my side,
but I just cannot unwind the
tourniquet of my addiction and
once again, I float to my heavens
as the wound remains in my 
anaesthesia of indulgence.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Imperfectly Perfect – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Nesting

Photo: Yellow Throated Honeyeater with young. Found at animal.memozee.com

“Where thou art, that is home.” Emily Dickinson

Imperfectly Perfect

She takes the very strands of life and
weaves them carefully to a harmonic of 
held space for everyone who arises, or 
ventures here of a warm welcome to the 
heart of the journey, enfolded in the 
energy of her love lived in collaborative
purpose, that all may one day follow her
weave, imperfectly perfect, with just a 
hint of gold thread and where there are
no locks or chains.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Take Off Your Shoes – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon





Photo: images.medicaldaily.com

“Our relationships live in the space between us which is sacred.” Martin Buber

Take Off Your Shoes

I sense that my very ordinary shoes
would soil this place where angels
seldom wander, this place which scoops 
me up in its beauty, where nothing can
be separated out and where we tried to 
assemble our beliefs into small pieces
of approval, not realising that we are 
gentle enough to lift the dark weight
dividing us, and float together beyond
the leaden mantle of thought required
to make real what is unreal, when all 
that is necessary is to accept that 
the space between us is sacred.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Where Ideas Land – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lillian is hosting Open Link Night, the night we are invited to post a poem of our own choice.

dVerse Poets – Open Link Night

Photo: https://media.istockphoto.com

“My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.” Anais Nin

Where Ideas Land

It flapped in like a hyper bee
and landed on the dry edge,
just over there, catching my 
attention, I saw it then lost 
sight of it thinking it gone,
or so I thought, I searched
and searched, and there 
it was hidden in the lee of 
bracken fern and ivy strands,
a nest for bigger things.
This was my decisive turn,
the seminal, pivotal moment,
that fringe of the mind where 
ideas land.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Subtle Shades – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Peter is hosting Meeting the Bar with an invitation to circular and repeating forms of poetry.

dVerse Poets – Meeting the Bar – Coming Full Circle

Photo: found at overnature.com

“I like the night. Without the dark we ‘d never see the stars.” Stephanie Meyer

Subtle Shades

Time carries a vulnerability within itself,
especially where night evolves the ground livens
in ways unlike the transparency of day,
where all is documentary for perception.

Especially where night evolves the ground livens,
all is mystery, or at the very least, uncertain,
where all is documentary for perception
of all that is unseen and released imagination.

All is mystery or at the very least uncertain,
less familiar in the subtle shades of shadow,
of all that is unseen and released imagination,
the things of darkness are so heartfelt.

Less familiar in the subtle shades of shadow,
in ways unlike the the transparency of day,
the things of darkness are so heartfelt,
time carries a vulnerability within itself.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Where Are The Stories? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: givingcrowd.co

“And suddenly you know: it’s time to start something new and trust the magic of new beginnings.” Meister Eckhart

Where Are The Stories?

Where are the stories of your beginnings?
Do you know the place where they reside?
Are they black and white or many colours?
Where do the go late into the night?

Do you know the place where they reside?
Surely they are sacred treasures of heart,
where do they go late into the night
when all is quiet in the shining darkness?

Surely they are sacred treasures of heart
so neatly scattered in chaotic patterns,
when all is quiet in the shining darkness,
except the loud constellations of love.

So neatly scattered in chaotic patterns,
are they black and white or many colours?
Except the loud constellations of love,
where are the stories of your beginnings?

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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