Category Archives: Forest

The Tree – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Taken in the State Forest at Kirrup, Jarrah saplings, blackened by fire.

“Ancient trees are precious. There is little else on earth that plays host to such a rich community of life within a single living organism.” Sir David Attenborough

The Tree

In you so much lives and finds its place,
black beetle hiding in bark's gap,
jumping spider sitting tight,
some tiny creature on my leg,
ants, as always, industrious
building a super highway along your roots,
diverting around scats,
gifts to feed your soul,
the wrens have found morsels in your folds,
ring-necks perch your boughs,
when the wind speaks you rustle an answer,
your gaps and folds,
your roots and boughs,
door, lounge and porch,
home for nearly everything
within your generous eaves.


Copyright 2023 ©️Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Tomorrow Looking Back – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: the saturdaypaper.com.au

“If Helms is not protected for these birds, we’re going to end up losing the species.” Dee Patterson (Jamarri Rehab Centre & Rescue)

Tomorrow Looking Back

Back rooms, sheds, trunks,
places for future rediscovery of 
things past, things forgotten,
she wandered in with a feather
jet black with a red tip,
my eyes teared,
"What is this?" she asked.

I said,
"let me begin at the ending,
where it all began,
when you were little
we worshipped mining companies,
trusted our governments,
believed our corporate leaders,
listened to their lies,
repeated their rhetoric mantras,
we sat round fires,
sipped our wine,
laughed and made merry,
while the habitat disappeared,
the beautiful black cockatoos all died
leaving only traces,
feathers for the backroom,
a shrine to their memory."


Copyright 2023 ©️Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 


Note 1: In the Quote - Helms - refers to a forest block in Western Australia's south west, home to the three species of black cockatoo. Helms is only one block of state forest, there are dozens under threat across the southern half of the state.

Note 2: There are three species of black cockatoo in Western Australia: the Forest Red Tailed, Carnaby's (white tailed) and, Baudin's (white tailed). All three are endangered, Baudin's are on the critical list (estimated at only 4,000 in the wild). The decline rate is predicted to accelerate as further logging and land clearing continue and their food and water sources disappear.

Note 3: Causes of decline are - agricultural spraying, urban development, mining, increased number of bushfires, illegal shooting (by farmers, orchardists, vignerons), vehicle collision (the roads are a source of cereal grains at harvest time as the trucks are not sealed). 

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Not Alone – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse De is hosting the Quadrille with an invitation to write using some form of the word scared.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Let’s Scare Up Some Poems

Image by Jordan Stimpson from Pixabay

“There is something waiting for us at the edge of the woods, and it is our fate to meet it.” Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Not Alone

Walking,
alone,
not alone,
tone imperceptible,
feelings shifting,
a movement peripheral
makes my saliva coppery,
narrowed eyes darting,
alert,
the sound of nothing,
spine creeps scared,
skittering leaves startle,
distant urban shrill,
nerves on edge as my mind
traverses fluid shadows
watching me.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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In The Forest – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

In this poem I have riffed on a line from ‘Sometimes’ by David Whyte the line is: “Sometimes if you move carefully through the forest.”

Photo: Beelup National Park, Mundaring.

“If you go off into a far, far, forest and get very quiet, you’ll come to understand that you’re connected to everything.” Alan Watts

In The Forest

Sometimes 
if you move carefully through the forest,
you might just hear your own dreamings
in the wind rustled leaves,
or see the loud beauty of a dew drop
preserved in such silence,
it is pristine at noon,
perhaps too the interventions 
of the raven's musings might 
raise resonance of feeling,
like the touch of damp humous
to the nose, or moss to the skin,
eucalyptus flavoured rain drops
splattering from leaves,
sending memories,
inspiring ideas,
leading me onwards.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 


Below is Whyte's poem:



Sometimes   by David Whyte

Sometimes
if you move carefully
through the forest

breathing
like the ones
in the old stories

who could cross
a shimmering bed of dry leaves
without a sound, 

you come
to a place
whose only task

is to trouble you
with tiny
but frightening requests

conceived out of nowhere
but in this place
beginning to lead everywhere.

Requests to stop what
you are doing right now,
and

to stop what you
are becoming
while you do it,

questions
that can make
or unmake
a life,

questions
that have patiently
waited for you,

questions
that have no right
to go away.

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So I’ll Say It Again – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Video: Beedelup State Forrest, Mundaring, there’s always something more, rain, sound, birds, wind, feelings, smells ….

“For me, the opposite of scarcity is not abundance. It’s enough.” Brene Brown

So I'll Say It Again

Perhaps it hasn't been said
or, if it has, then too quietly
under the roar of everything,
and not-with-standing all 
that is ill round about us, 
right down to the wire of
possible despair, whether
we're counting moments or
holding the long view of it,
is knowing that this is not
all there is, there is always
something more.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Life, Death, Life – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: one of many trails I walk in the Beelu Forest, Mundaring.

“Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.” Elizabeth Lawrence

Life, Death, Life

Did you notice the first leaf fading,
did you feel its dry, necrous, flesh,
and did you see it fall so gently to
the warm bosom of the earth
who drew it tenderly into herself,
knowing that their embrace would
bring life in a mysterious unfolding.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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The Wound Is Old – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: a fallen trunk of a Jarrah tree, taken at Jarrah Loop Walks, between Bridgetown and Nannup.

“Masculine and feminine roles are not biologically fixed but socially constructed.” Judith Butler

The Wound Is Old

The wound is old, though not 
completely grown over,
showing its dark promise
through the soft, feathered edge,
trying to rejuvenate its center,
the turn from shame and the 
imposition of guilt, which down
the long grain of time has
squandered the meeting of 
masculine and feminine, a 
denial of possibility, the loss of
a trust barely formed in myths of 
carefully constructed obscurantism,
those fictions of favour cemented
in the decline of life.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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What Do You See – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: section of the scenery along Lesmurdie Falls.

“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.” Henry David Thoreau

What Do You See? 

What do you see 
behind the moon,
beyond the sun,
under a mountain,
along a stream,
among the trees,
can you see it,
do you see it at all,
hidden clearly as 
nature's call to your 
heart of hearts to go
deeper, ignoring the
obvious and entering
your moment of 
understanding in the 
forest clearing,
can you hear its silence,
its unrestrained acceptance,
the song sung for you
from before the womb of
your consciousness?
Fall, fold into it, feel its breath
as your breath.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Did We Forget Ourselves Again? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Stylidium – Trigger Plant – at Beelu National Park.

“The first law of ecology is that everything is related to everything else.” Barry Commoner

Did We Forget Ourselves Again?

Did we forget ourselves for the umpteenth time today,
dislocating our circularity of existence in favour of a myth,
that we are refugees from our own interconnectivity,
an ignorance of our interdependence with all that breathes.

Dislocating our circularity of existence in favour of a myth,
the long held shadow of self-deception celebrating plenty,
an ignorance of our interdependence with all that breathes,
ironically diminishing the circle of life that sustains all things.

The long held shadow of self-deception celebrating plenty,
the smoke and mirror of self-congratulatory independence,
ironically diminishing the circle of life that sustains all things,
in favour of a fleeting feeling of euphoria vested in ego.

The smoke and mirror of self-congratulatory independence,
that we are refugees from our own interconnectivity,
in favour of a fleeting feeling of euphoria vested in ego,
did we forget ourselves for the umpteenth time today?

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Beyond – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: State Forest, Mundaring.

“If you go into a far, far forest and get very quiet, you’ll come to understand that you’re connected with everything.” Alan Watts

Beyond

The forest edges to newness and I want to 
run into it, roll, sit, walk stand in it,
embody the quiet growth as the dry 
relinquishes to life renewed, breathing
after breath too long held, to fill my 
senses to an ecstasy beyond the big O
as every sound, smell and sensation
rushes through my desiccated soul,
till finally, overcome, I want to sleep
with her silence.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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