Category Archives: mindfulness

I knew – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: found at slideshare.net

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” ee cummings

I Knew

I knew it was the only way to go forward
to something gentle, something deeper,
awakening slowly in that tender place,
beyond the mask that fails to hide me.

To something gentle, something deeper,
letting go the image I hold in my hands,
beyond the mask that fails to hide me,
dissolving into a vulnerable softness.

Letting go the image I hold in my hands,
the most endearing self-deception of all
dissolving into a vulnerable softness,
falling into myself for the first time again.

The most endearing self-deception of all,
awakening slowly in that tender place,
falling into myself for the first time again,
I knew it was the only way to go forward.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Filed under Free Verse, life, mindfulness, Pantoum, poem, psychology, quote

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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Mystery Is The Deepest Emotion – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“Anyone who isn’t confused really doesn’t understand the situation.” Edward R. Murrow

Mystery Is The Deepest Emotion 

I'm not sure how to begin to share these things,
mystery is the deepest emotion we encounter
across the ever persistent illusion of time,
whose mood challenges notions of truth.

Mystery is the deepest emotion we encounter,
seeing but not understanding the blurred moments,
whose mood challenges notions of truth,
those corners of my mind where possibility resides.

Seeking but not understanding the blurred moments,
that deep end of life where I take refuge in surprise,
those corners of my mind where possibility resides,
where the wisdom of feelings is the glue of sanity.

That deep end of life where I take refuge in surprise,
across the ever persistent illusion of time,
where the wisdom of feelings is the glue of sanity,
I'm not sure how to begin to share these things.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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My Quiet Treasury – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lillian is hosting Open Link Night. dVerse Poets – OLN

Photo: pixabay.com

“When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.” Rumi

My Quiet Treasury

I sat inside my quiet treasury of peaceful self
amidst a field of reliquaries sculpted from dreams,
with the eyes of the hidden ones watching closely,
sentinels of the night in communities of acceptance.

Amidst a field of reliquaries sculpted from dreams,
along narrow stone paths of adventure unknown,
sentinels of the night in communities of acceptance
who silently speak in defence of all that is valued.

Along narrow stone paths of adventure unknown
I plumbed the forest's deep guilty pleasures
who silently speak in defence of all that is valued,
and offered as generous joy overflowing.

I plumbed the forest's deep guilty pleasures
with the eyes of the hidden ones watching closely,
and offered as generous joy overflowing,
I sat inside my quiet treasury of peaceful self.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Exhaling Hope – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: the wallpaper.co A fractal – never ending and infinitely complex patterns that repeat across scales. They exist between our familiar dimensions.

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Martin Luther King Jr. (which he borrowed from Theodore Parker)

Exhaling Hope

Fractals of compassion,
microscopic beauty
clear to the naked eye in
the everyone journey of justice,
bending that arc and 
shortening its awaited time,
holding ourselves accountable
for neighbours of every 
living kind, that all might
breathe as we breathe,
inverting mindlessness,
exhaling hope.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Filed under community, Free Verse, justice, life, mindfulness, poem, Quadrille, quote, relationship

The Question – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse, Peter is hosting Meeting The Bar with an invitation to look at first lines – beginnings.

dVerse Poets – MTB – Beginnings

Image: pixabay.com

“I seem to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.” Jeanette Winterson

The Question

And, so it begins,
I buy myself in order to be myself,
that I might become a symbol of me,
some utopian project where stories 
abound with the courage of hopelessness,
and the maelstrom of warlords in my 
mind, private pathologies irrupting,
ever renewed, the punch line obscure
and, finally, the question,
how might it end.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Blurred Horizon – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) and inviting us to write using the word way.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Way

Photo: wildernessmastery.com

“One’s destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things.” Henry Miller (and clearly riffing on Proust)

The Blurred Horizon

Putting our fingers in fires
we rolled down mountains
eagerly consuming ego paths
of reason and invitation,
traversing fences, leaping gates,
chasing balloons and butterflies
of promise while toasting sunsets,
weeping over mortality and pain,
there is only ever the blurred 
horizon of experience.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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We Might – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: http://www.azeg,org an earth fissure in Arizona.

“The only journey is the one within.” Rainer Maria Rilke

We Might

We might have carved a fissure in our world
so fine that it seemed inconsequential 
in the dreams we held of plains and smoothness,
outside of time yet to be gathered.

So fine that it seemed inconsequential,
understood only in the loneliness of crowds,
outside of time yet to be gathered
with small gestures of compassion.

Understood only in the loneliness of crowds
where the silence is complete in the noise
with small gestures of compassion,
exploring every felt prospect of hope.

Where the silence is complete in the noise,
in the dreams we held of plains and smoothness,
exploring every felt prospect of hope,
we might have carved a fissure in our world.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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And I Float – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – What pulls on your soul?

Photo: pixabay.com

“You are an aperture through which the universe is looking at and exploring itself.” Alan Watts

And I Float

Where the wild iris blooms by itself,
in the deep forest of my unmask,
where my heart runs white water,
my mind surrenders to gladsome song.

In the deep forest of my unmask
all attachment falls to the ground,
my mind surrenders to gladsome song,
and I float as a peace dove sails.

All attachment falls to the ground,
its redemption uncertain in this humous,
and I float as a peace dove sails,
a feathered turtle in the sands of time.

Its redemption uncertain in this humous
where my heart runs white water,
a feathered turtle in the sands of time
where the wild iris blooms by itself.

©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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