Category Archives: bush walking

Trees Know – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: a ‘Red Gum’ which give off a dark red resin (which hopefully you can see down the middle of the tree) as if it were bleeding and pooling at its base.

“Friendship is a sheltering tree.” Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Trees Know

Resin bleeds slowly from the
wound in the heart, staining
its body and pooling at its feet
as life cast down and yet still
standing, full of life, resilient
in the face of threat, even 
death, showing that wounds 
carry their own healing. 
The tree spoke such wisdom 
to my gentle enquire, that I 
was left in silent awe for some
time, and on reflection 
understood that the tree 
knew my heart.

Copyright © 2021 Paul Vincent Cannon 
All Rights reserved®

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Some Need Fire – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Merril is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to write using the word seed.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Seed

Photo: a shot from the Beelu National Park, Mundaring, this section was last control burned about three years ago, thee regrown understory is great to see.

“The heart is like a garden. It can grow compassion or fear, resentment or love. What seeds will you plant there?” Jack Kornfield

Some Need Fire

The magnitude of a seed is mostly 
only noticed in death, in dying it 
rises not once, but many times, 
some need humidity, or damp 
mixed with dark, some need fire
to release their souls, which makes
me wonder what nurtures me to grow.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Way The Sunlight Played a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: domeckopol at pixabay.com

“The light of morning decomposes everything.” Haruki Murukami

The Way The Sunlight Played 

This morning I was captivated
by the way sunlight played so
joyously upon the leaves before me 
and danced with the shadows,
dispelling some while welcoming
others, exposing everything and
inviting all to join the resplendent 
moment, beckoning me to delight
and sing like a bird who has no
concern other than to celebrate life.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The We Of We – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: shutterstock.com – an Echidna

“Hell is truth seen too late.” Thomas Hobbes

The We Of We

I want to tell you that I
love the echidna and the kangaroo,
I love them for them and not for
their objective value or their two
dimensional post card symbolism,
I and they are the we of we,
of life and blood, of oxygen and
spirit, if it were not so I would not 
be here writing this paean.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Which Way? – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Kim is hosting Prosery with an invitation to use a line from the poem ‘The Song of Wandering Aengus’ by William Butler Yeats. The line is: “I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery

Photo: found at juggernautmc.com

“We have to get used to the idea that at the most important crossroads in our life there are no signs.” Ernest Hemingway.

Which Way?

I wanted to take time with my old friends who were welling up in my chest. Where to in my life now, seemed to be the most pressing question stirring my emotions. I sought the pilgrims trail, so I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head and heart. Eventually the walk began to clear my head, and then I came to a crossroad, which I received as a question. What now, do I turn at either side or go on, or even stay where I am? What does this mean for me? The Irish gave a word for this, trasna or crossing place, to cross over. It means choosing a move. This fire in me has brought me to a turning point, and I mean to go on. So, which way will I choose, which path will I take?

©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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Need Never Be Answered – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Taken at Tnorala Nature Reserve near Gosses Bluff, Namatjira Drive, NT.

“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.” Rumi

Need Never Be Answered 

Did you nourish the moment in you,
have you understood the stir of the
east wind and caress of the indifferent 
ocean or touched the inestimable sky,
even when it darkens and the secret 
ceremonies draw us to sacred 
connection, keeping alive the questions
that live under our skin and need never
be answered, or we would silence our
deep quest and miss all that is present,
all that is wise, in the whispers of trees.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Unquenchable – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: vividlife.me

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” C.S. Lewis

Unquenchable

Unquenchable
this song on my lips,
the jive in my hips,
a line of thought,
an idea, at once authentic,
the very vision of reality,
a fork in the trail,
opening a way through the
deliberate hiddenness of
our deepest self, who waits
for this moment to sing
and dance the life trail
from the voice of my heart.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Fragments Of Delight – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: taken on the Jarrah Loop walk near Marranup Ford.

“It brought me to a new understanding of how, unless you’re connected with the land, you’re not really connected with yourself or the nation.” Joan Kirner

Fragments Of Delight

Aleatory fragments floating, spiralling,
dancing downwards as dry rain falling
softly, tenderly touching encounters
until resting, finally, alongs earth's way,
nature's carpet strewn together as
perfectly formed tapestries are, and
crackling underfoot as a gentle sonata,
releasing such a euphoria of eucalyptus 
to fill the senses as to be overcome,
and as I sat beneath it all marvelling,
my breath slowed, speeding my delight
in resting in this place, in this moment.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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An Adventus – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Laura has invited us to choose from eight lines taken from mystic poets and use the line in a poem, perhaps even a form of octave. dVerse Poets – Poetics – Stepping off the Sidewalk

I have chosen the line: “Coming, going, the waterbirds don’t leave a trace.” Dogen who lived in Kyoto in 13th century Japan, and who became a Buddhist monk who was also a writer, poet, philosopher and the founder of Soto Zen.

Photo: Bunbury wetlands, two black swans passing by.

“The lack of mystery in our modern life is our downfall and our poverty.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer

An Adventus

Dappled ripples processed the roughed vestibule of my heart,
an adventitious solace arising in its perpetuated simplicity,
I traced a map in the parchment of my mind of 
all the comings and goings of sentient beings,
an adventus, unsurprisingly surprising, my breath was
captured by the wind of time and carried along for a span and,
knowing that, coming, going, the waterbirds don't leave a trace,
these quiet feathered gods, ever mercurial, are messengers of hope.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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