Category Archives: carefree

The Day’s Joyful Decay – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: by Artem Beliakin at pexels.com

“To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment.” Jane Austen

The Day's Joyful Decay

Languorous days like thin batter 
smoothly poured, filling the crevices
and cracks of an otherwise ordinary 
hazy day with lazy pleasures now
piled up in the sink, an upturned book, 
a pack of cards, and chilled white wine
warming in the rosewater light of 
autumn swoon, the stillness undisturbed
in the day's joyful decay.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Who Says? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: boaphotostudio at pixabay.com

“Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.” Mae West

Who Says?

Opprobrium comes with threes,
while four is forbidden,
only one is welcome
and half is applauded,
two might be tolerated
depending on the day,
while some say none
others sway to occasional,
there's a science and a view,
vituperation comes easy
when someone disbelieves
and follows their nose 
or palate.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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If A Day Can Be – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at perfectposture.co.uk

“Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted.” John Lennon

If A Day Can Be 

If a day can be, then just let it be,
let it evolve without synthetic control,
without saccharine precision or that
timetabled conscience ingrained,
the day is just a day, why force yourself
upon it for the sake of producing
something meaningful, that cold press
of identity that withers at sunset,
let the day just be.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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How, Not What – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: by geralt at pixabay.com

“No wonder it comes as a relief to be reminded of your insignificance. It’s the feeling of realising that you’d been holding yourself all this time to standards you couldn’t reasonably be expected to meet.” Oliver Burkeman

How, Not What

Once, long ago, I asked about time,
what was it I wondered, and this was 
solved by a second hand, everything
a chronology, boxed and streamlined,
leaving me dis-eased, feeling disordered,
out of place, yearning for a sacred 
loitering, a soaking of space, awaiting
an unfolding, and I realised my question 
had changed, how was time?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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I Wonder – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: 1tamara2 at pixabay.com

“Keep floating in the waves of your dreams till they rise up in your reality.” Hiral Nagda

I Wonder

I wonder what I will see as I 
float along this day of glories,
sifting through the ghosts of
my perceptions, without a
logical mind, speaking only 
in metaphors of curiosity and
kindness, not wanting,  but
rather, happily just receiving
the fulness of everything.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Unframed – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Kim is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write a poem using the verse “This being human is …” from a poem by Rumi and to use it as the first line or start.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – The Art of Being Human

Photo: found at lolwot.com

“I have fallen in love with the imagination. And if you fall in love with the imagination, you understand that it is a free spirit. It will go anywhere, and it can do anything.” Alice Walker

Unframed

This being human is more shades than pastels,
though one should never deny the textures or
even the subtlety of brush strokes that paint 
us into surprising vignettes in the corners of
the broader canvas, woven together with gesso
and primaries, themes, and understated meanings
that form a palette of feelings rising through
bold statements and the wash of background time,
but one thing I'd leave off is the frame, this 
being human is paradoxical and bears no frame 
at all in an unframed abstract life.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Savouring – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: The Hardy Inlet, Augusta.

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” Jacques Cousteau

Savouring

The water slowly, gently,
washes over my feet,
more of a splish than splash
from the lazy tide departing
the quiet of the inlet for the sea,
its bubbles and froth blinking
in the sun, then becoming one 
with the sands of time,
eventually I wandered home,
not washing, but rather, 
savouring the sticky, salty
feeling, and the smell of the
sea on my skin.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Opening – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: Michael Gaida, pixabay.com

“I like the unreality of your mind; the whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd.” Virginia Woolf

Opening 

Opening the window wide
reality flew in like an albatross,
all flustered and no direction,
shattering all my pieces,
pretending to be something while
spectacularly embarrassing itself
with saturated deathly excuses
emptying from its smirking life,
and so completely removed,
"who's the dissociative now?"
I asked, as I closed the door on
my way out to creative futures.

©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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I Heard An Echo – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

image: found on pixabay.com

“The only real radicalism in out time will come as it always has – from people who insist on thinking for themselves.” Christopher Hitchens

I Heard An Echo

I heard an echo,
we were talking about the old days 
which were neither here nor there,
just indifferent to moral pigeons
holed up in some minds making
meaning from loosely connected
thoughts often called memories,
which had lost their way in the
construction of truth and broken
loose to free-range as experience,
rather than surrender to become
caged convictions.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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