Category Archives: life

July 24, 2021 · 2:16 pm

Then I Remembered – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Astroloma foliosum a small shrub native to a small geographical area east of the Perth CBD , this one found in the Mundy Regional Park along Lesmurdie Brook.

“I have memories – but only a fool stores his past in the future.” David Gerrold

Then I Remembered

I took a photo today of a scene by a brook,
a tubular flower caught the corner of my eye,
I waited patiently for the wind to drop that I 
might faithfully remember this moment, and 
I do, but as each day draws on I notice more 
the details not captured, left outside the frame 
of my mind and dimmed by hours, which makes 
me curious, why do I ponder that which is left out, 
but then I remembered, I cannot contain it all.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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July 23, 2021 · 3:37 pm

Winter’s Expiation – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: segment of Lesmurdie Brook along the cascades and falls, Mundy Regional Park.

“The journey between what you once were and who you are now becoming is where the dance of life really takes place.” Darbara de Angelis

Winter's Expiation

Between the source and its ending
comes the journey unscripted, untold,
though bounded by ancient guides
and rhythms, the journey is its own
making of none foretold or known,
only its own drive to quench the thirst 
of its banks so long withheld before 
pooling in aesthetic delight, having 
been poured out as winter's expiation 
for summer's bold insufficiency
long endued.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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July 21, 2021 · 2:54 pm

You Cannot – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Art work: found at notbuyinganything.blogspot.com

“The new slavery is consumerism.” Bryant McGill

You Cannot

You cannot make a silk purse from the isms of life
though many have tried and succeeded for a time,
wrapping them in beautiful magnetic attraction,
only to reveal an emptiness of meaning as crisis.

Though many have tried and succeeded for a time,
too soon the facade faded to its skeletal menace
only to reveal an emptiness of meaning as crisis,
the very dust we are returning to laughs at our surmise.

Too soon the facade faded to its skeletal menace,
a harbour of jaundiced, unrepentant misery,
the very dust we are returning to laughs at our surmise,
thinking we could trust the gratuitous laminate-life.

A harbour of jaundiced, unrepentant misery,
wrapping them in beautiful magnetic attraction,
thinking we could trust the gratuitous laminate-life,
you cannot make a silk purse from the isms of life.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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July 20, 2021 · 1:07 pm

Shucker’s Delight – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Prosery, a piece of prose of 144 words, inviting us to use a line from a poem by Zora Neale Hurston which comes from her work ‘How Does it Feel to be Coloured Me’ in ‘World Tomorrow’ (1928)

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Finding Ms. Zora Neale Thurston

Photo: found at thegoodtrade.com

“Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.” Carl Jung

Shucker’s Delight

No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife. I find it occupies me best of all. I’m a shucker from way back and I have my own rhythm and movement, a time honoured practice of holding, inserting, twisting and opening. So simple, every action economical, a form of meditation, I love the concentration, one slip and I might lose a finger – I have wounds to show for every lapse. Wounds where I surrender focus to the searing hurts of humanity. This is no escape, just a respite, a regathering from the morass of pain felt in tones of colour, known in cries for justice, that which bleeds from the despair of prison gates. If I didn’t sharpen this oyster knife I fear the world would possess my emotions and blunt my innocent dance of freedom against power.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

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July 19, 2021 · 2:48 pm

Truly Free – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo (found on everipedia.org): Inside the former HM Maze Prison (formerly known as Long Kesh Detention Centre) in Northern Ireland where during the 1970s the British forces interned both IRA and Loyalist prisoners, and in 1981 where Bobby Sands (along with nine other prisoners) died while on hunger strike at the age of 27. The Prison has since been demolished except for a portion retained as historical. Part of the former prison was offered for use by the Eikon Centre for events.

“They may hold our bodies in the most inhuman conditions, but, while our minds are free, our victory is assured.” Bobby Sands

Truly Free

Prison walls incarcerate only those 
who willingly surrender their minds
in easy rapprochement, but the minds
who can transcend the ill facade with
songs of solidarity on their lips, and 
poems of promise in their hearts,  
prophesying to the end of evil; that is 
the mind no longer held, they are truly 
free, even in the last breath.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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July 17, 2021 · 2:56 pm

The Next Step – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: The old rail line at Wialki (between Bencubbin and Beacon)

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” C.S. Lewis

The Next Step

The shallow vein of happiness has a way 
of disappearing, like a road that suddenly
runs out when you least expect it, and the
moment before you is uncertain though,
nonetheless, it is a choice, incomplete as
it is, laden with all that brought you here,
and as you look back along the road, 
you know it got you to this point, but 
it is useless to you now, the next step 
can only be forward.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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July 16, 2021 · 2:12 pm

Chant For Life – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Bjorn has invited us to write a poem using chant.

dVerse Poets – Meet The Bar – Chant Poetry

Photo: One of the many Hakea variety, this one unfurling, Kings Park Botanical Gardens, Perth, W.A.

“There is a seamless web to life …. all Life is sacred.” Nat Hentoff

Chant For Life

For sister, brother tree,
we gathered agree,
so blessed are we,
ever so,
ever so.
For sister, brother fish,
we gathered agree,
so blessed are we,
ever so,
ever so,
For sister, brother grain,
we gathered agree,
so blessed are we,
ever so, 
ever so.
For sister, brother water,
we gathered agree,
so blessed are we,
ever so,
ever so.
For sister, brother cosmos,
we gathered agree,
so blessed are we,
ever so,
ever so.
As so you bless,
our gratitude flows,
may we in turn
be blessing to you,
ever so, ever more.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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July 15, 2021 · 2:01 pm

Otherwise – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at tamykawashington.com

“We overfill our lives, hoping more will make us feel like we are enough.” Ellie Roscher 

Otherwise

It's full,
I'm busy,
there's much,
I can't,
not now,
overwhelmed by
waves of everything
overtaking my life
with a depth unexpected,
while yet completely
anticipated, at least in
my mind, on paper, as
the voices of the wise
posited with each sharp
intake of breath, I told 
you so, which seems 
less right in the moment
of I think I can or, why didn't 
you say before you entered
this moment, with a "well I
thought you knew", of course,
but of course I didn't, 
otherwise I would be otherwise,
of course.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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July 12, 2021 · 3:28 pm

Leaving Me Wondering – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: along the beach at Leeuwin.

“The drops of rain make a hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling.” Lucretius 

Leaving Me Wondering

Water loved you wet,
bathing your roughened pain,
revealing your inner smooth,
toned, grain to my careful eyes
of wander along your skin so
warm holding the sun, nestled 
together against the tide of times,
leaving me wondering how you 
knew to be here.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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July 9, 2021 · 2:55 pm

When The Handle Turns – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at wellbetter.com

“These mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.” Najwa Zebian 

When The Handle Turns

When the handle turns, slowly, tightly
along its coiled, oiled spline, do you
shrink into yourself becoming small,
blaming self, or do you feed the furnace 
of anger and strike out, hoping to feel
better through ironically self-inflicted
wounds or, do you pretend to hold it 
all together, watching your implosion
as you paper over the edifice of your
chaos? Perhaps, if we let it wind, a
diamond will come.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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