Category Archives: bush walking

August 23, 2020 · 2:59 pm

Off The Rails – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – What A sight

Photo: Old rail line near Bonnie Rock

“Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence.” Lin Yutang 

Off The Rails

What a sight this happenchance,
no more the corporate sea of
smoke and steam or voices echoing 
through this once vale of life in
this distant place of hardships
now erased as nature grips the
demons of steel by the throat,
all the while laughing at the thought
of progress in a place so fragile
where life so quickly goes
off the rails.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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August 3, 2020 · 1:17 pm

Fleeting – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.” Walt Whitman 

Fleeting

It happened,
as I once noticed
while traversing a 
field or two or so,
that grass was fleeting,
it came and went
so momentary was 
this simple blanket
of springs joy,
its gloss soon enough
a desicated paper,
and in its brief passage,
there I stood. 

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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July 30, 2020 · 1:52 pm

Less Carefully – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: a road through the nature reserve Talgomine, near Nukarni.

“We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life.” Carl Jung

Less Carefully 

The soul of language
speaks my path into being as
I stand in my innermost self
seeking an image, words,
that I might transcend my
bolstered corner, that thwart
of life layered deeply,
that I might walk it
less carefully,
more with fiery blaze.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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July 29, 2020 · 3:16 pm

Again – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Daisies at Leda Nature Reserve, Wialki

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression it much come completely undone.” Cynthia Occe 






Again

In a moment, it seemed,
the daisies arrived,
bright, luminous and
alive in colour that 
lifted my heart,
I sat with them long
as they flourished until,
just as suddenly, 
they faded and died,
and I grieved their loss
wondering what it was 
I had forgotten,
but then, just as quickly,
I remembered,
they would rise again.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

			

	
	

		
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		July 15, 2020 · 2:12 pm	


	
At Kaltukatjara – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
	

		

dVerse celebrates eight years of poetics and co-founder Brian Miller and host Grace have invited a poem that paints or creates a picture that we can see, smell, feel or hear. dVerse Poets – Poetics










 





At Kaltukatjara

The crisp morning air
hung with bacon
long consumed,
so too the brew
with joyous banter
and reveries of starlight,
while I wandered 
softly on the land
seeking space for 
thoughts that could
not surface in the fray,
yet made no sense 
in the silence,
only the fallen mallee
nuts made any effort
to speak into my day.

©Paul Vincent Cannon






Note: Kaltukatjara known also as Docker River, Northern Territory. Wonderful to see the original indigenous names being used more and more these past years by government and traveller alike.

			

	
	

		
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		July 5, 2020 · 3:03 pm	


	
To Trace – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
	

		

Photo: http://www.habitsforwellbeing.com










“A carefree letting go of oneself, not a caution, but a wise blindness.” Rainer Maria Rilke










To Trace

To trace the colours of feeling,
the very flowers of poetry,
through psychic fonts, those
heralds of incomplete meaning
interrupted only by exceptions,
the dispossession of intention
swallowed in the jouissance of hope
lurking in the shadow edge
of the sun's haunting and delicious 
space in that uncrowded halycon hour.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

			

	
	

		
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		June 21, 2020 · 3:28 pm	


	
Beware, The Magpies Are Singing – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
	

		

Corvid – 2020 Weekly Challenge 13 (Final)










Photo: http://www.birdwallpapers.com










“There are many rhymes about magpies, but none of them is very reliable because they are not the ones that the magpies know themselves.”  Terry Pratchett










Beware, The Magpies Are Singing

Like the sound of a drunken black cockatoo,
the windmill squeaks its grinding rotation,
tail flapping in the breeze
which cools the sweated skin,
it's early, but it's hotter than hell,
a sinister augury of the day's endurance
that only cold beer will quell at its end,
right now the magpies are singing their song,
carolling their advent of spring's enterprise
and the need to stay out of their range,
for they've hatched a plot for a geography
they intend to defend.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

			

	
	

		
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		June 18, 2020 · 1:52 pm	


	
I Might Not Have – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
	

		

VJs Weekly Challenge – Pause








Video: A creek in Mundaring.






“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”  Lao Tze





I Might Not Have

I might not have,
urgency possessed me,
my veins electric,
the hands of time at my throat,
unconscious of everything,
until the running water
captured my heart's ears,
I touched the red gum
and felt its skin,
a soft roughness
feathered me,
I took a draft of musk air,
right down to my beginning,
and paused for life,
I might not have.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

			

	
	

		
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		May 23, 2020 · 3:31 pm	


	
All In A Moment – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
	

		
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Photo: northerndailyreader.com.au


 


“The wind whispered secrets in its own incomprehensible way.”  Tracy Rees


All In A Moment


I noticed the way

the wind whipped across the paddock,

barley dancing playfully,

swaying this way and that,

at once catching the light,

now becoming shadows,

swirling, bowing, rising

to the applause of the stringybark

and squeaked approval of mudlarks,

all in a moment,

as if just for me.


©Paul Vincent Cannon


Paul, pvcann.com

			

	
	

		
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		May 20, 2020 · 4:33 pm	


	
Of Yesterday – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
	

		
dVerse Poets – Poetics – Portals


Anmol at dVerse has invited us to consider portals for our poem in Poetics.


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Photo: Ormiston Gorge, NT. A fabulous place just to be.


 


“Holding on is believing that there’s only a past; letting go is knowing that there’s a future.”  Daphne Rose Kingma


Of Yesterday


 


Quiet,

said the silence,

let the air be thin,

nothing will fly,

only the grace of birds,

no words will form

for a traverse

of yesterday,

wear nothing dark,

for though tomorrow

we bury the past,

it is the mystery of

the future we grieve.


©Paul Vincent Cannon


Paul, pvcann.com

			

	
	

		
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