Category Archives: Fiction

The Sanctum Tree -a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon (part 6 of the Keeper Series)

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Part Five

 

Part 6

The Sanctum Tree

Through the roiling, boiling mass
I could see faces, places,
and many strange things
surging and swirling,
the Seer raised her hands and
immediately the mass settled
to a sheet of grey,
she invited me to the edge
and I peered in,
she uttered an ancient incantation
and a tree appeared,
the Seer sharply gasped:
“It is the Sanctum Tree”
and with her hands she
manipulated the sheet
to show more,
I could not quite grasp the situation,
the Seer was tense
her brow deeply furrowed
she took my hand firmly
and urgency spoke,
“Keeper, your hour has come,
you must go to her.”

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

31 Comments

Filed under Fiction, Free Verse, Mythology, poem, series

Such Adventures – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

What Do You See? Willow Poetry

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Graphic provided by helenevaillant.com of Willow Poetry

 

Such Adventures

Just this once
he’d walked instead of the bus,
his mind a whirl
since, and ungraciously,
clearing out the spare room,
being immediately distracted
by so much past
but especially, most especially,
his temporarily forgotten
dog-eared and yellowed
‘Tales of Worthington’,
of derring-do
and worlds beyond worlds.
He sighed,
such adventures,
as he rounded the corner
into Brink street
past the old familiar
wasteland of the mill,
he felt drawn to have a look
and before he could find a way in,
he was somehow
already overlooking the wall,
as a ladder of no ordinary type
had appeared and swept him up,
and there it was,
Worthington’s Worlds, all majestic
just as he’d imagined,
and, in the next moment,
as he moved forward
he wondered if Mabel would miss him.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

41 Comments

Filed under challenge, Fiction, Free Verse, life, poem

The Door Opens (part three) – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Part One – How Is It That I Go?

Part Two – The Oracle Warns

Part Three

 

The Door Opens

Struggling to breathe I
managed to pull the bell rope
unseen eyes upon me,
an eternity passed as
the moon descending accentuated
the cold darkness,
alone, I waited without choice
until the door grill was wrenched
and someone bellowed,
“Who calls on Vendell at this hour?”
I rasped out,
“The Keeper.”
and heard his sharp intake of breath,
“Wait” he said less confidently,
eventually the door opened,
as I crossed the threshold
the door closed
and the air changed again and
I breathed easily once more,
Tarvey remained red
a time for wits was upon me,
the unknown beckoned me to follow,
down darkened hallways.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

56 Comments

Filed under Fiction, Free Verse, life, poem, series

The Oracle Warns – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Part 1 can be read here:  How Is It That I Go?

With thanks to Helene Vaillant at Willow Poetry for the original challenge ‘What Do you See?’ And the encouragement of fellow bloggers to add to the story …

Part 2

 

The Oracle Warns

This road disclosed no knowledge,
I could not read it at all,
it held its secrets tightly,
never had I experienced this before
and the castle offered nothing from afar,
it seemed quite ordinary
as castles go
still, I proceeded carefully
though I rested a little
in the knowledge that Tarvey,
my oracle stone,
was alight and blue.
And then the strangest thing happened,
as strange does,
I was caught unawares
in a time slow,
where I felt the air change
just as the oracle turned amber,
a warning,
I shuddered and turned to go back
but the air pressed me onwards
to Vendell, and I held my
resolve to find a way through.
Soon enough Vendell loomed before me
and as I drew to the gatehouse
Tarvey turned blood red,
while the air gripped my throat.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

37 Comments

Filed under Fiction, Free Verse, Mythology, poem

That Dress

Amorous – Word of the Day

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‘The Kiss’ by Gustave Klimt (1862 – 1918), born in Austria, Klimt was part of an era of radical social and cultural challenge, as an artist he was deeply influenced by Freud and became a symbolist painter, though far from subtle. His paintings are deeply erotic. He was a founder of the Vienna Secession movement which was ecclectice – it had no proclaimed style but rather welcomed all to coexist. He was considered ahead of his time.

 

That Dress

So still, the noise has gone, replaced by the beating pulse in my temples. It’s so warm in here, I loosen my tie, anticipation, my breathing shallow. A smile creases my lips. Wow, that dress, a cliche no more. Black, which looks stunning against your pale , soft skin. That alluring dip draws my eyes to the equally glorious rise, how a necklace would grace that. A length to show off your legs … I take your hand, so cool compared to mine. Time is warped, everything a blur, the air is electric, but you say nothing. I’m shaking inside as I reach out and touch your dress, a subtle swish as I graze the fabric. My heart leaps, dizzying, a kiss, surely yes …

“Can I help you sir?” “Wha … What?” I stutter. Jolted, stung, it wasn’t you. Who? My hand leaves yours, a smear of sweat remains, so hot in here. “Can I help you sir?” I blankly stare. “Are you looking for a gift for someone, your wife perhaps?” Noise rushing in, lights, sounds, movement, confused I shake my head. My ardour dampened, I leave the dun, and muted mannequin and retreat, but oh my, that dress.

©Paul Cannon

 

Donna Summer “I Feel Love”

 

Paul,

pvcann.com

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Filed under art, Fiction, history, life, love, romance, Sex