Way back, that bloke in Judea once said,
unless an ear of wheat dies and falls to the ground
there would never be a new harvest.
I like to think that our love and kindness grow
when we cast them into the fertile ground of humanity.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under farming, Five Lines, food, life, love, mindfulness, poetry
One of my many photos of Borannup forest, the glade is just in front.
So profound was my experience that day,
when I entered that glade,
and felt the place.
There I surrendered my adopted
sophisticated self,
returning to my true child,
dazzled by delights so simple,
humble, natural, and beautiful.
How could it be that the honeyeater,
a dew drop, that dry leaf, the spider,
a skink or two,
a rock,
could change the very core of me?
This I know,
I left that glade
knowing there was more than I,
an intricate flow of life
that spoke to me,
and, overcome,
without words
my soul ran over.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under bush walking, Country, environment, Forest, life, meditation, mindfulness, nature, poetry
Photo: http://www.sexysingular.com
What possessed you?
Did you think I’d be impressed if you grovelled?
That I wouldn’t wonder where your dignity lay?
Surely, lower that the soles of my shoes
which you readily moistened with your lips.
What chance respect now?
Now that you’ve declared an unreserved submission
that was never once desired,
least of all by me?
What hope is there for you, for me, for all the world?
And end to it!
Arise and speak with me
of needs and wants, hopes and dreams,
of far away lands and desperate sorrows,
of grief, of love, of sparrows.
And let us look each other in the eye and know
that we can trust our truths
and hold each other’s dreams
and keep our shoes dry,
lest in turn, we own each other.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under life, love, mindfulness, poetry, politics, Spirituality, Work
Rachel Carson (1907 – 64) (Photo: post-gazette.com) Carson was a marine scientist whose most known public work was “Silent Spring” (1962), a clarion call for humanity to address their impact on nature. In particular, Silent Spring is an investigation into pesticides. Carson wrote: “They should not be called “insecticides” but “biocides.” Rachel Carson, Silent Spring, p. 189.
“We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost’s familiar poem , they are not equally fair. The road we have long been travelling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road – the one less travelled by – offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth.” Rachel Carson, Silent Spring p. 277.
Carson was an exemplar of both environmental awareness and activism as a scientist and writer.
The old grandfather clock in the hallway is ticking,
but there’s no one to note the passing of the hour,
they’re everywhere else in this big old house,
in rooms of self,
halls of bustle,
where the carpets are dusty and threadbare,
the varnish no longer present to the wood,
and the paint so sallow.
Things should have been fixed long ago,
but our will wasn’t urgent to the task.
Grandad’s monocle popped when the quotes came in,
and we gave up,
preferring the pleasured, anaesthetised life.
Had we ventured to the hallway,
and listened closely,
we’d have known that the clock had tocked its last.
The eleventh hour cried to us,
but we mocked its melodrama,
and bargained that Chronos would let us slide,
and all the while our house is falling,
falling down upon us.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under chemicals, environment, history, life, Link, mindfulness, nature, poetry, quote, Science
Mentor: In Homer’s epic “Odyssey” Mentor was the trusted friend of Odysseus, and during the the time that Odysseus was away fighting in the Trojan war, Mentor cared for Odysseus’ son Telemachus. Mentor’s role was to prepare Telemachus for leadership of the family. And so we use the term today to describe someone who takes us under their wing so that they can help and guide us in matters of life and study and work. See also, Mentor
There’s always that first one,
perhaps you remember?
That kiss,
caress,
crossing the line,
warm with excitement.
Intimacies that temporarily quench desire,
but are not love.
Rather, they are a course woven through desire,
a learning of love,
of how to be love,
to be a lover.
That first one is our guide,
a gift of loved learning.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Hot Rod and Street Machine gathering at Westonia, I would never own one nor attempt to restore one myself, but I sure do appreciate the wonderful results achieved by these owners, a joy to behold. Love that glossy duco.
Your beauty stops traffic and silences rooms,
many have desired you,
yet so few have you loved.
And, seeing only with their eyes,
they have missed you completely,
registering only Factor, Rubinstein,and Laude.
The restaurant you,
the bedroom you.
But then there’s the real you,
public yet unseen,
the one who reads Kafka, Camus, Plato and Plath,
the one who feels life.
Your true beauty is your love
for all that breathes and lives.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under life, love, mindfulness, poetry
Photo: pexels.com
I like to take notice,
I’m wired that way.
Early on I noticed how you liked things,
that there were right ways,
best ways,
and how you liked to be centric,
but I’m not wired that way.
Strange as it may sound
I like the way you keep me off centre.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under life, love, mindfulness, poetry
Locally known as the Big Swamp, which is a misnomer because it is not a swamp, it is a wetland in the true sense. I believe that in our Australian context the use of the word swamp is government/developer code for waste land – you can guess why. But to call it a wetland is to honour it and which of course leads to its protection. This a true riparian juncture between creeks and wetlands, and a wonderful ecosystem.
I had a thirst like no other I’d had
so I went to the bar and asked for a drink.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey”I replied.
“What mixer?” he enquired.
“O just give me some strychnine.” I said
and his jaw hit the ground with a, like,
that’s weird, are you completely mad
ain’t gonna happen kinda look.
“Just joking mate.” I laughed.
His eyebrows were question marks,
I could see, so I added –
“Well, isn’t that what we do with our water?
plastic, refuse, car bodies and waste,
we’ve filled the wetlands
and poisoned the place?
Imagine,
Rust with your sparkling sir?
Oil with your tap?
A bag with your Riesling,
wrappers with shiraz?
Or how about some soup with plastic string?”
Now we would never eat or drink that,
but I often wonder how the ducks cope
or the frogs survive,
our world is a toilet
in which we breathe and dine,
where no one can flush.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under bush walking, environment, life, mindfulness, nature, poetry
Photo: blogs.msf.org
The ancient diesel generator thrums
solitary sentinel in the night.
And yet it is peaceful,
the rebels have moved on
to torment other outposts of misery
in this vast wilderness.
The thrum tells that the hospital is at work,
late into the night
as it has these past months,
or is it years?
I’ve lost count in the blur.
The team will work till they drop,
as they always do
in this sea of sorrow.
Trying to restore life
to staunch the loss of future,
that landmines and bullets have stolen,
cauterising love
before it turns to despondency.
There is no telephone booth in this village,
love doesn’t need a cape.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under life, mindfulness, poetry, politics, Work
Billyacatting Hill, the rock was formed unevenly, it already had a thin skin, but water has continued to form the granite and sandstone outcrops.
Water kisses the hardness so tenderly
where human hands would abuse,
and force.
Water shapes and smoothes,
inviting character,
presence,
gift.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under bush walking, Country, life, mindfulness, nature, poetry, Quadrille
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