Category Archives: Free Verse

She Was – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Laura is hosting Poetics with an invitation to paradox using inspiration from two sources, my choice is Paul Dunbar.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Beyond Meaning or The Resolution of Opposites

Photo: st2.depositphotos.com

“I am the fool in the morning, thou art my slave in the night.” Paul Dunbar (The Paradox)

She Was

Dressed of innocence in the light
she revelled as mistress by dark,
when maxis gave way to minis in taxis,
water surrendered to whiskey, and
walk gave way to strut and swagger
of rounded hips, explicit though hidden,
between cotton and leather, though
lace was ambivalent and undecided,
her breathtaking purity as decadence
or sultry vamp as coy as a maiden,
she was as enigmatic as any code
yet unbroken though known.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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To Go – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse De is hosting Quadrille with an invitation to use some form of the word Go!

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Going, Going, Gone Poeming

Photo: Sam Carter, at unsplash.com

“Without reflection we go blindly on our way ….” Margaret J. Wheatley

To Go

To be or to go,
do I need to go,
do I want to go
anywhere at all,
the mountains in the 
distance called me to 
their high places, but I 
preferred to go to the 
valleys of my heart
and dwell in presence.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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What Of Imagination? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo found at coydavidson.com

“There are no straight lines or sharp corners in nature.” Antoni Gaudi

What of Imagination?

Form and function,
I begrudge its pragmatic,
aluminium deep beauty in
set squares of predictability,
all bold sheen and shine,
face set firmly against attrition,
leaving me wondering,
what of imagination 
that ground of soul's delight,
that sets all birds free in flight?

©Paul Vincent Cannon 

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Contented Confusion – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: shutterstock.com

“What’s past is prologue, and the world awaits.” Lisa Mantchev

Contented Confusion 

I wanted to embrace the little spark 
of curiosity that surfaced in my mind,
unmasking the text of your eyes
betraying the deep waters of uncertainty,
seeking what is evoked in unseen hearts,
written in solitude, such tortured
language of soul creating images of
possibility, drowning in doubt while
reaching for the stars that speak to 
you of letting go.

©Paul Vincent Cannon 

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Only We – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – I’m learning (together we grow)

Photo: Adina Voicu pixabay.com

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” Rumi

Only We

Even together we are incomplete, incongruous,
unlikely conspirators in the mystery of life,
betrayed by a singularity poised by suspicion
and a boundaried protection of all that is sole,
the furnace of time smelts a truth of other 
in the wrestling and wrangling of all that is plural,
where the sense of oneness is shared in other,
and where autumn leaves and summer sun, tiny wrens,
moments of wonder, kisses and home truths, shared 
dreams and existential questions would hold no 
meaning, besides, with who would I share these
seeming pathetic vignettes, only we make meaning
of these ordinary treasures.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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I Wanted To Shout – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write about an aspect of colour. dVerse Poets – Poetics – True Colours?

Image: wallpapersafari.com

“Black is like a broken vessel which is deprived of the capacity to contain anything.” Leonardo da Vinci

I Wanted To Shout

Who coloured the rules of perception
and mood, that we should believe,
my mind ran to blends and melds as
we prepared to lay him in the ground,
his widow insistent that her black
mood of absence paint the sky that
day so that we could feel her abstract
soul while I wanted to shout spectrum
across the air of sorrow that hung idle 
and impotent over us, choking the very
soil awe stood on, and I wanted the 
freedom to breathe a homemade
palette nuanced for all my feelings
rushing like a train.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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You Wanted Me To See You – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: media.istockphoto.com

“I want to be in love with you the same way I am in love with the moon with the light shining out of its soul.” Sanober khan

You Wanted Me To See You

Moon whispered softly,
I saw you clearly as I
looked in your midnight window,
content in your dallied traverse,
risking your carpeted domain 
to open windowed review,
your thoughts naked,
your eyes telling a story so 
easily given away, but then,
you wanted me to see you.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Dream Jewel – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Mylene, pixabay.com

“Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.” Lord Byron.





The Dream Jewel

Where is the jewel I dreamt
in this sea of ordinary stones,
where shines the emerald, the 
ruby, on this dusty plain,
I searched everywhere and I
looked long and hard down
lanes and valleys, hoping for 
some seeker's sign to point me
on my way, until that day, a
perfect day, a glint shone 
through the melancholic dust,
the most precious jewel I'd 
ever seen, she held me in 
her beauty, a beauty deeper 
than the eye perceived.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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That Day – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Grace is hosting Meeting the Bar with an invitation to write about a time and, or, a place.

dVerse Poets – Meeting the Bar – Setting

Photo: avonadvocate.com the result of the Meckering Earthquake, October 14, 1968.

“An earthquake is such fun when it is over.” George Orwell

That Day

Thinking of that day,
past the cognitive dissonance 
created by voids of time since
my recollection of Hey Jude
and paisley, athletes down in
Mexico, the warmth of spring 
with a holiday sleepiness,
rattled by 6.5 that shuddered
its way into my body in a 
millisecond, before panic set in
and my mother's shriek to run
outside clear of the walls,
adrenaline better than caffeine,
fear driving hearts while news
poured in of little Meckering
pummelled to the ground,
the plaster of our ceiling
shedding dust and the 
windows crackling,
earth rumbling in waves,
shake, rattle and roll,
after-tremors wielding terror,
what can now be trusted but 
open space, in the spring of 68.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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More – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Urge

Photo: found on pinterest.com

“Some of the jam we thought was for tomorrow, we’ve already eaten.” Tony Benn

More

So hot,
the toast is steaming,
melting the thick slices of butter
into savoury pools, wafting its 
salty aroma as I layer juicy, 
thick, blackberry jam in all its
decadent sweetness,
rolling round my tongue,
dripping down my chin,
tantalising my senses,
eliciting divine sighs,
O' my goodness, the
urge to have another.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

61 Comments

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