Category Archives: bush walking

January 21, 2020 · 2:24 pm

Redemption Rock -prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poetry – Prosery – The Rock Cries Out

Frank at dVerse has invited us to take the line “The rock cries out to us today, You may stand upon me, but do not hide your face.” and use in for a prose piece of 144 words.

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Photo: granite outcrop at Billyacatting with a Sheoak making good with a crevice.

 

“The rock cries out to us today, You may stand upon me, but do not hide your face.”  Maya Angelou

Redemption Rock

We behaved as tourists, observing, consuming, enjoying, but never once holding a sense of belonging or offering something resembling connection even though that space so clearly cried out for it. Now that the tide is turning and ancient forms are slowly taking their leave, we face a new, daunting prospect. Too late to redress the past of our blithe and callow turning away. Indeed, we are no longer at our leisure, no longer possessed of our sure identity, positing who we are and what we might do as if there were no words of opposition or external accountabilities. Gone are our hermetically sealed worlds. We stand at the threshold forced to face ourselves, and even the rock cries out to us today, You may stand upon me, but do not hide your face. Even in the face of death, nature still reconciles us.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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December 26, 2019 · 2:54 pm

The One Called Love – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

RDP – Spiritual

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Photo: looking south-west from Kata Tjuta NT

 

“Religion is for people who’re afraid of going to hell. Spirituality is for those who’ve already been there.”  Vine Deloria Jnr.

 

The One Called Love

Where the shadows shift slowly
and the wind whispers a language
of its own unknown to human ears,
and dust takes on a life of meaning
as it stirs and lifts,
the residue of centuries
residing in all the corners,
while in the quiet
a still small voice,
the one called love,
waiting to be heard.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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Filed under Alt-Religion, bush walking, Country, Free Verse, love, meditation, poem, quote, Spirituality

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December 18, 2019 · 4:07 pm

Birthed By Love – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVErse Poets – Poetics – New Year/New World

Mish at dVerse has invited us to imagine a world that is new ….

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Photo: the upper reaches of the Hardy Inlet, where Blackwood River enters on the left, and the Scott River enters directly opposite. Taken from Flat Rock, an idyllic and peaceful  ‘world.’

 

“We can only know what we can truly imagine. finally what we see comes from ourselves.”  Marge Piercy

 

Birthed By Love

I closed my eyes to take in the world,
to feel the ancient wisdom of the trees,
the river running by, softly speaking a
quiet truth beneath its tempest,
and always the still centre of the breeze,
drawing me intimately closer,
truths I hold within and cherish.
a compass of heart for many roads
of living through the tempests of life,
and as I open my eyes again,
the peace surpassed lingers deep
nourishing my soul.
and once again I know the oft
forgotten truth that the
vey utopia I desire
rests within and is
birthed by love.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann,com

 

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December 16, 2019 · 2:49 pm

Breathing Again – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Pause

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Photo: Bush walking off North Road, Margaret River, so peaceful, and a great place for pausing.

 

It’s a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately filling up space.”  Pema Chodron

 

Breathing Again

Days are full when minutes need counting,
like rear lights on dark rainy nights
life blurs at the edges
and falls into emptiness,
an incomplete memory
trailing and fading, autumnal,
causing a semi colon moment,
a thought arises and time slows
feeding on silence,
holding self motionless with ease,
lost in rabbit holes unconnected,
smiling inwardly,
breathing again,
noticing.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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December 6, 2019 · 3:12 pm

Think On This – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Meeting the Bar – O, Apostrophe

Amaya at dVerse has invited us to consider the creative idea of the apostrophe other than its technical use, rather as its poetic function in creating a change in the poem where the object speaks or is spoken to directly.

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Photo: granite outcrop, Nungarin

 

“No matter how sophisticated you may be, a large granite mountain cannot be denied – it speaks in silence to the very core of your being.”  Ansel Adams

Think On This

In the stillness was the hardness,
a resistance I knew well
of footfall on granite,
what song shall you sing me
I threw, and it rang sharp,
came back the posit,
think on this tenderfoot,
softness cannot abide without
firm boundary,
compassion lies in
strength within,
O that I might be a rock
of such an age of wisdom.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

 

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November 29, 2019 · 3:25 pm

The Herald Of Summer – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Open Link Night

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Photo: Billyacatting Reserve

 

“Leaves are verbs that conjugate the seasons.” Gretel Erlich

 

The Herald Of Summer

There’s a corner of the garden,
a remnant of native bush
that I love to wander,
especially now, as the air is warmer,
but before I even feel that
I know it by the crunch and crackle
of those hardy leaves,
the daily autumnal, the
herald of summer,
and the smell,
yes the smell of eucalypts
in this dry avenue
is to be inhaled as fine whiskey,
and, in the stillness
the quiet is a rarefied sharpness
that carries its own energy
pierced only by cicadas and magpies,
and I float in my senses
past bees and dragonflies
as friends.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

31 Comments

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November 10, 2019 · 4:33 pm

Russet Royal Carpet – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

RDP Sunday – Comprise

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Photo: found on pinterest.com

 

“And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.”  John Muir

Russet Royal Carpet

The herald breezes in and
stirs the russet royal carpet
that crackles under bare foot
like sheaves of crumpled cellophane
through which you follow your
improvised lyrical body,
an atonement for the daily grind
in which only the tall sentinels see
your transparent heart interpreting
the rhythms of life comprised of
your inner compass,
a spirit of music which guides you
to vulnerability and joy,
a dance of pure, liberated soul.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

 

27 Comments

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October 22, 2019 · 2:26 pm

Wrestling Visions – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Quadrille

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Photo: Lake Ballard shore line.

“We are in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us ….”  John Muir

Wrestling Visions

Surely you know a spider’s web
all sheen of gossamer neatly strung
finely tuned to capture,
just like the web
that its my heart
which captures breathless
beauty that escapes words,
quivering with the slightest tremor
of the subtlest emotions,
my body wrestling visions.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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October 3, 2019 · 1:47 pm

Pelicans Align – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Photo: Hardy Inlet, Blackwood River, three pelicans in the shallows.

 

 

“Many pelicans fish by swimming in cooperative groups …”  National Geographic

Pelicans Align

Just a grey October day where
the river reflects its sky so well,
a flash of white dazzles on the
far eastern shoreline
a painter’s bold smudge,
the air murmurs but doesn’t move,
gulls and terns circle and pass,
suddenly the daub of paint moves
and catches my eye,
five birds take to the sky
thermal surfers wheeling and circling,
soon five more, and another,
till forty pelicans align in a
grace that belies their size
and somehow the world seems
to be a better place.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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September 17, 2019 · 2:50 pm

I wonder – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Prosery

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Photo: the majestic Karri trees at Boranup.

The dVerse Prosery is hosted this week by Merril and the line to use is “These memories were left here with the trees.” from ‘How to Write a Poem in a Time of War.” by Jo Harjo. Using that line create a piece of prose of 144 words.

 

I Wonder

I wonder what happened here before I am. This one tree might speak of so much. But what might a forest speak? A grove of knowledge no cloud could carry, a living intelligence that pales Plato, or the vast paucity of philosophy. Each bole a reliquary of life’s passage, each annual ring a repository of a truth greater that the sum of what we call knowledge. O to be grounded in the strength of your heartwood and risk the sky, or to shelter in your caress and know love, to know what you know, to sup from your fount. Evanescent, history passes, held by your compassionate gaze. Of owls and wars, lovers and seasons, for each an ossuary caringly covered by your blankets and, until the one who knows as you know, that only love uncovers, these memories were left here with the trees.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com.

55 Comments

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