Category Archives: grief

Unpacking – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: congerdesign at pixabay.com

“Memories are contrary things; if you quit chasing them and turn your back, they often return on their own.” Stephen King

Unpacking

Unpacking an old box of memories,
sifting yellowed papers, dusty cards,
a folder of old letters and clippings
rediscovered, once kept as keepsakes,
reminders of people and events to be
remembered, the newspaper clipping 
of my father as a young athlete
piercing my balance, bringing an 
unexpected unpacking of emotion.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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If Only – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is Hosting Poetics with an iinvitation to write about Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief – this is my second poem in response and this one is about anger.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Small Change or Big Bucks

Photo: whoismargot at pixabay.com

“The fact is that when you admit that you can’t blame anyone or anything else, you begin to blame yourself.” Kate McGahan

If Only

Why,
why did you leave me in this living death 
with her, she all wrapped up in her needy 
ways and faux sorrow, her critical voices 
cutting my solace, taking my hours and 
swallowing my memories, throwing me
upon myself in a desolation of bones
and mocking my tears, I keep looking for 
you in my words and in the shadows of 
day, trying to pull you back, make everything
right again, especially her; if only I'd been 
there that day.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Some Other Time? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write a poem choosing one of the five stages of grief by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I have chosen denial.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Small Change or Big Bucks

Image: found at lifehacker.com

“The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we are afraid.” Richard Bach

Some Other Time?

Let's not talk about it now,
perhaps I'll feel like it tomorrow,
but, wait, Adele wants to come for lunch,
perhaps we should invite James too, and
what about Liz and Barry, this is good, 
just like the old days, what do you think?

Did you get the call from Frank about
the painting, no, well I've been thinking about 
what we said about redecorating, maybe 
the soft blues and creams, or maybe not, 
how about you? You seem unsure, have
you changed your mind?

Fay wanted to know how I was, so thoughtful,
and I thanked her for the book, which I read,
of course, you know the one, so helpful, I think 
I'm doing well just keeping busy and not dwelling 
on the grief. I think I'll go back to work in a couple 
of days, I miss it. What? You're very quiet?

More wine, no, well just a little for me then, 
I do love this place, do you remember when, 
and the words freeze in my mouth, and suddenly 
the tears well up in my eyes, tears I have been 
holding back, beginning to flow like a winter 
creek across my memories.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Time Box – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto from Pexels

“These fragments I have shored against my ruins.” T.S. Eliot

Time Box

I don't know why I chose that box,
perhaps it quietly called me to an
opening as a siren calls to ships,
I slit the tape and pulled the flaps 
apart, so beginning an archeology,
unearthing and sifting the dry bones 
of meaning, curating the feelings of 
connection, wondering why parts
of a life were so important, might their
preservation be a holding of immortality,
a hope of transcendence; as I leafed 
yellowed pages and held incongruent 
objects I was flooded with a sense 
that all experiences come to an end,
and boxes of memoria are simply 
eulogies of grief for the passage
remembered.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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The Open Door – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Isma Noor pixabay.com

“Look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.” Tom Stoppard (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead)

The Open Door

The open door completely reframed my sense of story,
imagining a world beyond the fragile paralysis of this one,
now I know what to look for in this muddled middle,
something I still hold on to in all this long striving.

Imagining a world beyond the fragile paralysis of this one,
I have my own reasons for this largess of imagination,
something I still hold on to in all this long striving,
Besides, mystery is an invitation to a wondering.

I have my own reasons for this largess of imagination,
I'm trying to tell you that we can not live without it,
besides, mystery is an invitation to a wondering,
a moving towards yet joyfully never fully arriving.

I'm trying to tell you that we can not live without it,
Now I know what to look for in this muddled middle,
a moving towards yet joyfully never fully arriving,
the open door completely reframed my sense of story.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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For The Best – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at addictionexperts.com

“You must work – we must all work to make the world worthy of its children.” Pablo Casals

For The Best

The child was starving so we made
a cake that only we could eat,
the child was suffering, so we offered
offered solutions in our double speak
buried so deep as to never see the 
light of day; the child was traumatised 
so we asked her to tell her story,
and tell it until we were gratified by
the salacious details of unfolding 
horror; the child was broken so we
asked how she could fix our 
consciences; the child needed 
support so we provided funding to
those who needed luxury cars and
dental plans, who wrote fictions about 
the child so that sequels could be
anticipated, and in the advent of  a
second mortgage, to ask a high fee. 
The child died and everyone congratulated 
themselves on how they had saved 
their lifestyle. Besides, it was for the 
best, just imagine living with that 
amount of trauma and suffering.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Of Things Past – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Linda is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to write about the word linger or any of its forms.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Linger

Photo: an old Ford truck – part of the history of Kookynie and mining.

“Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.” Benjamin Disraeli

Of Things Past

The past lurks in the present,
intensifying the sense of wanting
to restore, heal, the original 
intention once the pride of purpose,
now a felt grief, an if only, raising the
question: can we overcome the grief
of things past that linger within us?


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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In Their Faces – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at jooin.com

“One needs others to get to know oneself.” Carl Jung

In Their Faces

When the harrowing voice pierced my body a
thick roke of darkness became my inward days,
feeling the essence of sorrows all around me,
reaching the fragile wraith of my heart into 
their deeps and seeing the innocent faces of
loved ones peering through the the threshold
of suffering as a multitude of all before,
as a sign of hope that the cliches of time 
are true enough in honouring the layers of
pain so easily stored in the flesh, now let
go in the moment I see myself in their faces.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Leaving Me Anguished – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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“What makes life worth living?” Zane Grey

Leaving Me Anguished

Blue strobe caressing my windows,
the anguished youth reaching inside
himself, clutching at the boiling darkness,
seeking an expiation that just won't come,
hugging the closeness of healing oblivion,
his nightmare vocal choking my senses
with a tar blackness spreading over my
angelic reach, which cannot touch him,
voices of necessity collapse him in a 
vain sugared hope, but I didn't hear one 
note of redemption in the poverty of his
trusting surrender, leaving me anguished,
reaching inside myself to find any 
semblance of meaning.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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The Joy Of The Mellow – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse De is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to use the word or its forms – Curiosity.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Curiosity

Photo by Monstera from Pexels

“Contentment is the greatest form of wealth.” Acharya Nagarjuna

The Joy Of The Mellow

I pass no judgement,
(and yet, of course, I do)
details are never important,
though to be curious is never
to be shamed, rather, celebrated,
as points of departure from the
sameness of repetitions,
as for grief, while aware, I'm
incuriously embracing the mellow.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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