Category Archives: Country

To Feel Again – a Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Kim is hosting Haibun Monday, inviting us to to write about our sense of wonder. dVerse Poets – Haibun Monday

Photo: Grass Tree (Xanthorrhoea), State forest, Mundaring.

“I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.” John Burroughs

To Feel Again

Here in this place there is a sense of hope. To feel nature making her own way with a lush offering is a sensual privilege, to see to touch, to feel, to taste. The divinest of lovers. She is there, waiting, unmarried, mistress to no one. Waiting for all to come and sit alongside her charming soothe.

There is life in this place like no other. Even in that rotting humous, especially there, there is an abundance of life bursting before my eyes. Even in the dry rustling carpet, tenants and squatters alike come to feast, to produce life and to surrender it.

This is a place to be, just that, to be, to feel again, to be me, to be one of, one with, this crowd. Here I can connect, be grounded once more.

Where the grass tree grows
comes spring looking at me
I fly like feathers

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Most Perfect – poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“To me, every hour of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle.” Walt Whitman

Most Perfect

I pitched this tent some time ago,
it was wherever I went, a home, 
of souling unity or fierce divide,
as life is wont to provoke at whim
it sometimes seems, but today
was that day when all was
smooth creamy vermillion, a 
tangerined exquisite joy and
azure carolling, a hearts carillon 
of songbird treasures, my tent
at once restored unblemished,
the tuning fork as lightning
released, today was that day,
the most perfect day.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Emerging – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write about November, which in the north is Autumn while in the south is Spring.

dVerse Poets – Poetics

Photo: ‘Southbourne’ farm, Bakers Hill, the drive to the shearing shed.

“Can words describe the fragrance of the very breath of spring?” Neltje Blanchan

Emerging

Velvet cinnamon nights,
swirl-tongued around feelings
twined with gilt laden stubble
in halo vested fields where
warmth seeps into my bones,
restoring the ravages of winter's
scars once again, nested with 
feathered joy and such vaulted
awakening as if chrysalis like,
taking first breaths in a new
scape novembered almost, 
but not quite as before,
emerging adventitiously 
as no other.


©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Present – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Ormiston Gorge, NT

“From out of all the many particulars comes oneness, and out of oneness comes all the many particulars.” Heraclitus

Present

I sat in paradox and
watched my consolations
wash through me as water
runs through fingers in a 
nothingness of interiority,
a mystical, infused experience
that left me lighter and present
to myself in the lee of my desire
that once dark cloud now
dispersed.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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In A Silence – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Mish at dVerse is hosting Open Link Night when we are invited to submit a poem of our choice. dVerse Poets – Open Link Night

Photo: pxhere.com

“The night is more alive and more richly coloured than the day.” Vincent Van Gogh

In A Silence

I love the quiet place where the trees
meet the water and where the stars are
welcomed as friends who speak in a 
silence felt marrow deep as they search
my dark corners, lessening the dull
concerns of days lost of light and take me
once again colouring outside the lines of 
the narrow, and out, out beyond, to the 
potent throb of life that lives in the veins
of my freedom.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Filed under Country, Free Verse, life, nature, poem, quote, Uncategorized

Here I Am – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Stuff Happens

Photo: Sheoak sapling growing out of a rock. Leda Reserve, Wialki.

“In a mad world, only the mad are sane.” Akiro Kurosawa

Here I Am

Mine was the cinder path and
only later did my child's mind
see the darkness of the struggle
as a tree that never grows
straight as whipped by rain,
chastened by sleet and 
shaped by wind, all the while
deprived in repellent rock
lacking in goodness,
but here I am leaning into 
the wind, smiling at all
life's stuff.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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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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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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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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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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