“He who knows others is clever, he who knows himself has discernment.” Lao Tzu
The One Road I've often wondered as life goes on, if there are as many journeys as there are roads to take and, how does one discern a road when the road runs out and the map is somewhat confused? To love and be loved, to let go and to go, to know and not know, and to be less judging of the self, trusting the one road, the interior road that knows. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
Filed under awareness, Country, Free Verse, life, mindfulness, poem, quote
At dVerse Merril is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to write using the word seed.
dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Seed
“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
“Wrens are well known for picking up and leaving whenever they feel the need.” Bernadette King
The Freedom To Dance Tiny, delicate, insignificant wrens, skittering oblivious past our feet, dancing, looking for crumbs ∽ of excitement leading to life ∼ which they unwittingly offer to us through their significant testimony to the freedom to dance into life. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
“Delicious Autumn! My very soul is wedded to it.” George Eliot
Finally Autumn finally arrived, although it was already quietly lurking in the corner of my eyes, having slept in, ignoring summer's alarm well past the expected, slowly disrobing to bare limbs and those austere, rosy tones, precursors to winter's grey wilds, and cosy, snug hibernation. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
“If my decomposing carcass helps nourish the roots of a juniper tree or the wings of a vulture – that is immortality enough for me.” Edward Abbey
Thoughts On A Decomposition Still, as dead today, hide glistening in the sun, unmoved by summer's straight glare, no more to roam this land now laid on this roadside bier for all to mourn tomorrow, as the days are counted and flesh and blood decompose into the hungered soil where nothing is ever lost, even immortalised, in the great giving back. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
Filed under Country, death, Elegy, environment, Free Verse, life, nature, poem, quote
“Railway termini are our gates to the glorious and the unknown.” E. M. Forster
That Train The train of creative questions pulled into the station, disbursing openness and opportunity like spilt milk, offering succour for those ready to drink its ideas and embrace a future soon to be remembered. disbursing oppenness and opportunity like spilt milk, parting the mists of close indifference and fear, and embrace a future soon to be remembered, untelling the stories that limit and hold us prisoner. Parting the mist of close indifference and fear, to face the near reality our naked selves, untelling the stories that limit and hold us prisoner, knowing that love is unconditionally ours. To face the near reality of our naked selves, offering succour for those ready to drink its ideas, knowing that love is unconditionally ours, the train of creative questions pulled into the station. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Poetics and exploring the poetic genre looking at the verse epistle.
dVerse Poets – Poetics – Verse Epistle
“Once wealth and beauty are gone, there is always rural life.” Mason Cooley
Shooting The Breeze Dear Jacko, it's been a while, I do hope you and yours are well, still fencing out dingoes I suppose, last we spoke the windmill was like the townies here, lost its bearings, and fallen beyond the pale, I wish I was out there with you, chasing roos and watching twenty-eights, eating wild plums and swimming at the water hole, instead I'm stuck here, it's gone to shit what with all the rules and vacuous fools, galahs, who run the place, oily bastards who bleed that old disease of privilege built on plastic lies and unicorns, like we're entering the promised land, but all we have is alarm clocks, deadlines and rising costs strewn down the asphalt of insane hope, lost in the cobwebs of my mind. I'd love to go on a bit more but I must go mate, I'll let you know when we're coming, just so you can lock up the .22, I might well cock the hammer and shoot the plasma screen. I can hear you laughing, "Silly bugger", let's shoot the breeze instead and, of course, some beers. Well mate, must go, that's stirred me up no end. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
Filed under Country, Farm, Free Verse, life, poem, quote, Verse Epistle
“Softly the evening came with the sunset.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Fire So Soft The sun, now tired, slowly declined, but desired to paint a masterpiece, brushing a glow that kissed the river's silken skin with fire so soft it burned beauty into such a feeling where words of meaning were meaningless, could never be offered as pale praise and were quietly swallowed in favour of receiving, knowing there was nothing I could add. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
“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
Filed under bush walking, camping, Country, Free Verse, life, poem, quote, Whistleblowing
“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
Filed under awareness, bush walking, Country, Free Verse, life, nature, poem, quote
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