Category Archives: Gardening

Garden Song – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse guest host Claudia has invited us to write about a garden.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Garden(ing)

Photo: segment of our garden at Augusta.

“When the world wearies and society fails to satisfy, there is always the garden.” Minnie Aumonier

Garden Song

There's a cosmos in reach of my aching
touch of skin and veins, beneath my feet
emotion runs and wriggles, and it dwells 
within as I inhale its many spices in unison
with the palette that captures my eyes, 
feeding my senses with songs of colour 
and rhythmic joy, opening me to each
movement of this wondrous melody of
all that flies and calls, great or small, 
calling me to stop, slow down, and sip 
the wine of its simple complexity.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Brighter, Lighter – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by suju-photo at pixabay.com

“Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.” Gerard de Nerval

Brighter, Lighter

Today winter's beautiful melancholia
peeped in autumn's sepia window
it was the solitary white rose who
captured my heart in the maelstrom of
rain and buffeting wind, open to the
world she shone such joy, and I 
shared her dewey tears and smiled,
and suddenly the world was brighter,
lighter, aflame with something beyond 
words, a passion singed and burning.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®

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A Spade Is More Than Itself – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mist is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write a poem describing an object.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Object Poems

Photo: harpersnurseries.com

“All my hurts my garden spade can heal.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

A Spade Is More Than Itself

This is a story maker,
a dream builder of futures,
of kingdoms and complex lives,
weeding out the inconsistent
lines of irrelevance and tedium;
this is a creator of new things like 
turning over one's life and 
planting seeds of posterity,
to be remembered  among the 
vines of hope distilled as love;
this is my father, my family, my
friends, my neighbours and
with each thrust a memory
comes and grows.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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I Remember – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lillian is hosting Haibun with an invitation to write about something personal in regards to a new beginning, and to include a seasonal reference in the Haiku. dVerse Poets – https://dversepoets.com/2021/01/04/happy-new-year-2/

Photo: Jasmin Sessler – pixabay.com

“Gardening is an instrument of grace.” May Sarton

I Remember

Sometimes old tricks return, seemingly of their own volition. The mind puts on front, suggesting that it never forgets, but it does. Sometimes old tricks are left in dark corners simply because their pleasure faded. And sometimes old tricks return, not by will, but by motion rooted in embodied memory. To once again pick up spade and shears, to don hat and gloves and fold into the joy of memories turning soil.

The joy of a garden is so primal, so simple, yet so profoundly felt. To rejoin my elders in time honoured pleasure is a rediscovery that refreshes my soul. Sanatorium, health-spa, surgery, clinic, call it what you will, it is healing in every way.

And that’s the thing, remembering. Remembering is a strange thing, a rebuilding, putting back together what has been lost though not forgotten. It’s in the word itself. To remember is to re-member, to narratively, even practically, put that past back together in some semblance of knowing. There’s a host of saints in my collection of dearly departed who taught me to garden and impassioned my green spirit. And, as I lift my spade and plunge in rhythmic moves, I fondly recall them one by one in this eden.

Chocolate tilth sits
fertile in my memory,
transcending seedtime.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Hollow Fruit – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: strangesounds.com

“Power is actualised only when word and deed have not parted company.” Hannah Arendt

The Hollow Fruit

I fertilised my mind and
pruned my soul with 
eager waiting as the fruit
of life began to ripen with 
anticipation, and soon I 
placed the melon, all glossy
and firm, on my table for 
sacrifice, and I took my 
knife and sliced it open,
only to find that it was 
devoid of seed and lacking
in good fruit, a false promise
and a sterile facade of all that
I'd hoped, perhaps imagined,
that would be mine, and I 
felt empty inside.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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At My Drifting Edge – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Jack Gilbert, pinterest.com.au

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” Emily Dickinson

At My Drifting Edge

How to desribe the bigness of life
with the impatient failings of words
that judge and hem us in
making meaning so small,
skirting round the yeasty feltness
of things that desire to rise and grow,
life is big, love is bigger, an encompass
of the wholeness of we,
but I found at my drifting edge
of view a simple grey feather,
a dovely gift of no decimal value
that in its dullness shone
with promises of hope,
that all the coin of the world
could never be given receipt.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Better Landscapes – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft – Stream Of Consciousness Writing.

Grace at dVerse has invited us to write a poem using the literary device – stream of consciousness writing.

Photo: out on the terraces of my garden.

“…. and it came harshly to me that this garden was the world and from the world there would be no hiding.” Kathleen Kent

Better Landscapes

So then, contrary Mary, just how
does your garden grow because if 
it doesn't then it can't and it mightn't
so it won't of all the snails and slaters
stacked against a positive outcome
yours is the garden of doomed delight
that folds into a waste of darkness
provoked by the mainstreet philosophers
of botanic fright and no amount of 
haute hort will save it or you for
that matter as the slugs of life
engulf you, ignoring the trivia of 
your self-summation, desiring 
far better landscapes of the heart.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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To Bathe In – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Garden

Victoria at dVerse has invited us to write a poem about any form of the word Garden.

Photo: The winter garden, soon to bloom.

“Gardens are a form of autobiography” Sydney Eddison

To Bathe In

The writing of our edenic idyll,
a lush and varied eclogue,
has been its own healing
journey to connection,
to something deeper that is
more than the satisfaction of
a garden of secrets and wonders,
more a place to bathe
in life-giving wholeness.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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She Dreamed – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pexels.com

Five Lines

“Let my beloved come to his garden and eat its choicest fruits.” Song of Songs

She Dreamed

Magenta stretched out among the wildflowers,
the sun soaked earth warming deeply,
colourful perfumed senses aroused
while she dreamed her secret garden
only he could tend.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Uneasy Truce – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Australian Geographic: New Holland Honeyeater
"Birds are the first and the greatest performers."  Olivier Messiaen

Uneasy Truce

Summer's largess has rent the sky
while autumn now questions
the heavenward strands
weighing the bough,
needing relief lest the
heavy winds of winter might 
toss and split them wide,
and I stand cut ready but a 
chorus of honeyeaters hurl an
invective of my early demise
should I touch their hallowed space,
the truce is uneasy,
promises of care yet
they remain shrill,
standing guard,
sudenly they are eagles and
I am their field mouse.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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