Category Archives: Farm

September 19, 2019 · 3:02 pm

Helpless – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

 

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Photo: mattheyeslaw.com

 

“stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts for  ever.”  Mineko Iwasaki

 

Helpless

And you,
will you too take what is not yours
and steal away that which was mine,
and only mine to give,
rendering my giving impotent
and my rights void,
to assume my place
and take my breath as yours
the very pulse of my life
taken for granted,
your laughter echoing in
the chill of my mind,
and the applause of onlookers
so satisfied as
I lay helpless to prevent you.

 

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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August 17, 2019 · 3:06 pm

Sooner -a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

 

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Photo: pixabay.com

 

“Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.”  George Bernard Shaw

Sooner

Perhaps it was the wine
or the small of your back
we left the terrace behind,
your eyes drank my soul
while we waltzed in the shed
our laughter turning to sigh
and sooner, not later,
the long summer grass
caressed our shuddering whole.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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Filed under Country, dance, Farm, Free Verse, love, poem, Quadrille, quote, romance

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August 7, 2019 · 1:53 pm

Good Friends – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Purifying The Mind

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Photo: The breakaway at Jindalee, so still and quiet.

 

“Since all is empty, all is possible.”  Nāgārjuna

Good Friends

I was a younger man then
when I wrestled the kraken of nemesism
and made friends with silence and stillness,
almost by accident it seemed
leaning on the strainer post
looking out across the paddock
at the sunset painting itself,
and everything melted
just fell away,
leaving me light of heart,
ever since
my friends have stayed the course
in various guises,
and wherever I am they are there
a welcome balm
for my cosmogyral mind.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

28 Comments

Filed under bush walking, Country, Farm, Free Verse, life, meditation, mindfulness, poem, quote, Uncategorized

June 17, 2019 · 3:29 pm

Coloured Every Space – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Photo: pixabay.com

Coloured Every Space

There was a time of doldrum days
becalmed in old routines and
repetitious droughts of mind
like harvest fields of crackling grain
and hanging, dry, stringy bark,
when creeks were dry
and summer blazed
with no relief in sight,
until I heard the rustling leaves
and tap, tap, tapping screen door
with a breath of air,
I sensed a change as
you drifted in and
coloured every space.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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March 7, 2019 · 1:50 pm

Bovine Effluent – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Bovine – Word of the Day

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Photo: algoafm.co.za

 

Bovine Effluent

We were drafting cows one afternoon
when Graham
treading in a pat
exclaimed, “Shit!”
And laconically I agreed
noting his tautological tendencies
without so much as a smile.
I said “We’re covered in it mate.”
“What?” He was so utterly confused.
“Well, between the stock agents,
the tax office and the pollies,
We’re up to our necks in bovine effluent.”

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcan.com

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February 24, 2019 · 2:39 pm

Memories – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Photo: agrilife.org

Memories

I’m not sure why I stopped
in the sharp heat of the day
particularly here,
I walked the firebreak for a while
and though I didn’t stir the soil so much,
my shoes were coated in a pale dust
as if the old days wanted to come with me,
those accretions of experience
which stick to the back of the mind
and come in dust.
Hours later,
when I’d arrived home, I
determined that I would not
clean my shoes.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcan.com

20 Comments

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February 8, 2019 · 2:14 pm

And Bags – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Baggage – RDP Friday

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Photo: abcb.gov.au

 

“Just because you have baggage doesn’t mean you have to lug it around”  Richie Norton.

 

And Bags

Sometimes,
I do go back to those days,
of dusty sheds with oily tractors
and bags of grain,
the smell of rust and diesel
pungent phosphate, O
those poor broken saws,
musty canvas,
the bale loader which made us slave,
and wrestling with rams
as we fleeced them.
Endless days of heavy lifting,
good clean muscling
and nights of easy sleep,
but nothing like days of heavy bearing,
where the heart is loaded,
carrying a lifetime of feelings,
that can never be weighed,
but which need tender love
that they might ever be lifted.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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October 19, 2018 · 3:57 pm

These Loathsome Days – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Deplorable – Word of the Day

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Photo: cdn.newspapi.com.au  The current drought in New South Wales.

 

These Loathsome Days

The dust laments its loss of grass
as the wind whips it to and fro,
while the windmill creaks
and groans to turn a drop,
but the rains have never come.
Call came through this afternoon
that Davo’s shooting sheep,
I guess ours will soon be gone.
There’s nothing for the dogs to do,
no money for the list,
hell, we’ve been down this path before,
and we’ve bounced back,
but I guess I’m older now
and I’m less inclined to fight.
This land of my father’s,
this Eden all dead and dry,
will soon be taken by the bank,
and I’ll be roaming on,
but until the last
I’m standing by,
my eyes fixed for a cloud,
hoping the charity of heaven might come,
O these loathsome bloody days.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul,

pvcann.com

33 Comments

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September 25, 2018 · 4:25 pm

The Morning Ritual

Rubric – Word of the Day

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Photo: pexels.com

 

 

The Morning Ritual

It was the same every morning,
he raked the coals
and urged the kettle on.
Forlorn the stained enamel mug waited
for the sacrament of tea,
as he washed over the basin,
knowing the day ahead.
the exact times of fences and sheep.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul,

pvann.com

26 Comments

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September 10, 2018 · 2:40 pm

That Summer

Tempestuous – Word of the Day

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Image: pexels.com

That Summer

As summer progressed
the buffel grass yellowed and the wattle dried,
tinder to a flame.
Our lemon tree shrivelled its fruit
preserving its moisture,
as dust drifted in from far paddocks,
signs of a long dry ahead.
The unrelenting sun burnt into the tin roof
and we sweated every move.
That summer
we dared to start a fire
a tempest like no other.
We could barely speak,
nothing would extinguish it,
pure combustion.
That summer we started a fire,
a tempest like no other kindled our hearts
your hair like flames,
eyes alight,
my lips burned.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul,

pvcann.com

22 Comments

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