Category Archives: Mythology

I Burned – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

What Do YouSee? Willow Poetry

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Photo provided by Helene Vaillant at Willow Poetry

 

 

I Burned

I dreamt you lightening bird
twice you came to me
in the night
and I burned while
flames danced at my window
and you crackled
when I stroked your hair.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Note: The Lightening Bird is a mythological bird that was believed to be able to call down thunder and lightening (African mythology – Zulu and other peoples).

Paul, pvcann.com

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The Sanctum Tree -a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon (part 6 of the Keeper Series)

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Part Five

 

Part 6

The Sanctum Tree

Through the roiling, boiling mass
I could see faces, places,
and many strange things
surging and swirling,
the Seer raised her hands and
immediately the mass settled
to a sheet of grey,
she invited me to the edge
and I peered in,
she uttered an ancient incantation
and a tree appeared,
the Seer sharply gasped:
“It is the Sanctum Tree”
and with her hands she
manipulated the sheet
to show more,
I could not quite grasp the situation,
the Seer was tense
her brow deeply furrowed
she took my hand firmly
and urgency spoke,
“Keeper, your hour has come,
you must go to her.”

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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The Circle And The Seer – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

 

The Circle And The Seer

I was transfixed,
in a daze,
while slowly, the figure appeared,
at first formless
then finding shape
and one I’d seen before,
long, long ago,
this was Emerald the Golden Seer,
now my mind was spinning
what was all this to mean?
I was in the presence of a seer
and no ordinary seer.
Smiling, she addressed me,
“Keeper, it was good of you to come.”
“I had little choice in the matter” said I,
“No matter” said She, “Come sit,
we have urgent work to do.”
as I sat beside her, she stood
and calmly moved to the circle’s edge
and carefully threw a double handful
of orange powder into the circle,
with which the circle became a boiling mass.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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The Room – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

 

The Room

His torch expelled much of the darkness
and created shadow theatre along the walls,
and I simply followed along
without any real choice
yet content in my not knowing,
besides, had I asked I’m certain
that the answer would be to wait,
and so I did not,
occupying myself by noting my surrounds
should I be forced to retrace;
eventually we drew to a door
and he hammered upon it,
a muffled voice must have invited
because the heavy door opened,
the gatekeeper withdrew
and I was urged to enter
a large room devoid of occupation
with sombre lighting
and a curious thing
a circle marked carefully
in the centre of the floor,
and just two chairs lined
in burgundy velvet upon its edge,
and I determined to absent my mind
from endless prognostication
and attend to my surrounds,
Tarvey was still red
and I knew I could not yet relax,
then, at a moment I cannot quite locate
the room strangely became warmer,
Tarvey began to hum a gentle whine,
and in that moment
a figure began to appear in one of the chairs.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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My Quest – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

What Do You See? Willow Poetry

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My Quest

I had a dream
that I rode my white charger
across Ramsdale Bridge
by way of returning to Tintagel,
my quest for the Grail as yet, incomplete.
Too late I saw old Afrit
sleeping underneath,
my steed trod lightly
for he sensed the dragon
and we passed safely,
at that very moment I awoke
and feeling peckish
I set out on a quest to the fridge,
crossing the old wooden floor
carefully on tiptoe
lest I awaken my mother-in-law
who slept nearby.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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Our Phoenix – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Elemental – Word of the Day

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Image: (found at) phoenixhd.blogspot.com

 

Our Phoenix

Just a commonplace really,
in any mundane moment
in an ordinary week
something happens,
that we crash and burn
returned to ash
only to rise
again and again,
yet never realising
that our phoenix is no bird
but resilience,
rising from the millennial dust
of our lived days.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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Your Key – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

What Do You See?

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Picture provided by Willow Poetry

 

Your Key

Enchantress,
always at the crossroads
frieze key at your finger tips
smiling down on Demeter
who hopes for the gift
of prosperity
while all others
desire your protection
for their doors.
But your one true gift
is the key
to cross the threshold,
that some may be gods
some will be Titans
should you favour their devotion
with your key to another world
where your love unlocks the eternal.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Note: Hecate – Εκατη, an acknowledged inclusion in the Greek pantheon was the protector of homes and people, and who also had the key to eternity.

 

Paul, pvcann.com

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The Oracle Warns – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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Part 1 can be read here:  How Is It That I Go?

With thanks to Helene Vaillant at Willow Poetry for the original challenge ‘What Do you See?’ And the encouragement of fellow bloggers to add to the story …

Part 2

 

The Oracle Warns

This road disclosed no knowledge,
I could not read it at all,
it held its secrets tightly,
never had I experienced this before
and the castle offered nothing from afar,
it seemed quite ordinary
as castles go
still, I proceeded carefully
though I rested a little
in the knowledge that Tarvey,
my oracle stone,
was alight and blue.
And then the strangest thing happened,
as strange does,
I was caught unawares
in a time slow,
where I felt the air change
just as the oracle turned amber,
a warning,
I shuddered and turned to go back
but the air pressed me onwards
to Vendell, and I held my
resolve to find a way through.
Soon enough Vendell loomed before me
and as I drew to the gatehouse
Tarvey turned blood red,
while the air gripped my throat.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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How Is It That I Go? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

What Do You S

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How Is It That I Go?

Portents surrounded my journey
from even before I knew I was going
and how is it
that I go along this road?
I know not.
And always the wind,
ceaseless and cold,
no augury elicited any clarity,
no spell would release my feeling
and no voice would speak
my staff my only guide and comfort
as days turned into weeks
and no soul to be found
even the owls had not come
which left me wondering
what could possibly be my end,
and almost as soon as I’d pondered
the sky cleared a little
revealing Vendell castle,
perhaps now
all would be revealed.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul, pvcann.com

52 Comments

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You Lie – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

What Do You See?

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You Lie

You want me
to lie down with you
in that watery grave.
but you lie to me of
such voluptuary,
with naked invitation
and I am so tempted
save for the deafness of steel,
this wall between your song
and my uncertainty.
For now
I’m content to savour your gifts
and I shall dream of you more,
tonight.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul,  pvcann.com

31 Comments

Filed under boats, life, love, Mythology, poem