Category Archives: nature

I Relish The Rocks – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: the shore at Skippy rocks, Leeuwin

“To escape and sit quietly on the beach – that’s my idea of paradise.” Emilia Wickstead

I Relish the Rocks

I do enjoy soft sand, and
wading slowly in the shallows,
but I relish more the rocks where I 
can perch like a gull and scuttle
like a crab along crevices and nooks,
pools of clear water, and weather 
beaten granite, watching the sea-weed 
waving to me, fish caught in tidal
moments, sitting, waiting for release,
the crabs braving daylight, and the 
sensation of water rushing in, 
receding down the rocks in tender,
soothing wash.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Fierce Beauty – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting Posery with an invitation to using a line form TS Eliot’s poem ‘The Waste Land.’

dVerse Poets – Prosery – The Waste Land

The line offered and which must be included is: “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”

Photo: an example of eremophila taken at Niagara near Kookynie.

“According to ancient mythology, trees link the earth to the sky. In this respect trees link humans to another world.” Richard Allen

Fierce Beauty

The eastern goldfields suffer only the strong or determined living in the extremities across these vast open plains of mostly dry laterite and also quartz, granite and sandstone outcrops populated by shy fauna and rugged flora. The summer is merciless, the winter winds penetrate layers. The rainfall is pitiful, the reason the state government commissioned the grand and ambitious Goldfields Water Supply Scheme in 1896.

When the rains do come they seem to evaporate before they touch the surface soil, and it is a wonder that anything could grow in such a place. Which raises the question, what are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish? Dozens in fact, varieties of eucalyptus, acacia, eremophila, grevillea, and callistemon tenaciously hang on out here where humans wilt. When the sun is fierce, the soil unforgiving, the trees are beautifully fiercer.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

All rights Reserved ®

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Nature Reflecting – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Oak Park, a wetland reserve between Goomalling and Wongan Hills.

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of things.” Henry Miller (Probably riffing on Marcel Proust’s comment)

Nature Reflecting

Nature took a photograph
and held it steady for me to see
how water is contemplative,
reflecting what it sees in its
moments of undistracted, centred, 
stillness, embracing the beauty of
all its surrounds, holding the sacred 
space of song and winter's leafy
bounty, that I might rejoice in the
conversation we subsequently
engaged with deep, silent passion.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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What Do You See – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: section of the scenery along Lesmurdie Falls.

“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.” Henry David Thoreau

What Do You See? 

What do you see 
behind the moon,
beyond the sun,
under a mountain,
along a stream,
among the trees,
can you see it,
do you see it at all,
hidden clearly as 
nature's call to your 
heart of hearts to go
deeper, ignoring the
obvious and entering
your moment of 
understanding in the 
forest clearing,
can you hear its silence,
its unrestrained acceptance,
the song sung for you
from before the womb of
your consciousness?
Fall, fold into it, feel its breath
as your breath.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Autumn Past – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: the big prune.

“There is no way of making a hedge grow like pruning it.” Alan Watts

Autumn Past

Autumn past I pruned the melaleucas hard
and the birds as always were angry with me,
not appreciating the neighbour's needs, 
or the careless proximity of the swaying 
power line, let alone the need for sun on the 
darkening vegetable patch these shorter days;
I promised the birds in sincere whispers that
their boudoir would evolve more lush and 
inviting than ever in time for their nuptials,
and though they scorned me, spring has 
proven me right and the birds are too busy
to harangue me.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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The Real Story – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Late afternoon sun across our campsite at Boondi Rock, gimlets reaching for the sky and casting shadows.

“Friendship is a sheltering tree.” Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Real Story

Trees tower over me reaching for the sun,
speaking to the sky in words beyond me,
with ancient meaning lingering the boughs,

∼ but the real story is an understory spoken ∽

soft and low, gently grazing my ears with 
a delicate language greater than height of
fine soul thirsty for the traffic of connection.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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I’m Only A Spider – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sarah is hosting at the Poets Pub with an invitation to write about Creepies and crawlies.

dVerse Poets – Poets Pub – Creepies and Crawlies

Video taken in the Mundy Regional Park – this is a red-headed mouse spider (Missulena sp. Insignis)


“Spiders – so needed and yet so misunderstood.” Donna Lynn Hope




I’m Only A Spider
With a furry little flurry I'm always on the scurry
when a shadow intrudes to remind me that
you're so beyond big I can't flirt with you, and so
I run and run, though slowly, so as not to attract
your attention to my plight as I take flight with
all my might, that I could make for cover fast,
as in the past, and at last I would hide  my pride
in the shrubbery in recovery, and start my day all
over again, without your imposing shadow and,
unlike my prey, live to scurry another day.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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Nature Smiles – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: looking from the back wall of one former pub to another. Ruins at Kookynie, a former gold-rush town once boasting a mayor and council, and 10, 000 people and seven pubs.

“What’s old collapses, times change, and new life blossoms in the ruins.” Friedrich Schiller

Nature Smiles 

The soft ghosts of landscapes clutch longingly
at our feet, seeking to pull us in, desiring our 
hearts be held in this place in reverence less
seen, even neglected, now populated by the
ruins of past dreams faded with the stretch of
time, no longer elastic in this brittle earth where
moisture cannot abide, where hope recedes
like a recoil, and all the while nature smiles at
our dogged attempts to take charge, patiently
waiting for the penny to drop.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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Winter’s Reign – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to choose from either provided sentences or to write a few words that come to mind and to change a word(s) to its derivative and then weave the word into a poem.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Dungeons and Derivatives

Photo: Yellow pompom daisies east of Mt. Magnet.

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” Albert Camus

Winter's Reign

Her coffin was a tempest raging,
sharp daggers of flashing light,
awash with cold water down its sides,
clouded in foreboding darkness,
she was restless even in death and,
sensing a struggle we rushed
forward and placed her hands in 
repose and closed the lid, no more
will she rage in these parts, 
time to celebrate her passing.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Cathedral Of Grand Ideas – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: campfire at Peter Denny lookout near Sandstone. There’s something primal about fire!

“The moment something ends, a spectacular new voyage begins in the unseen.” Hiral Nagda

Cathedral Of Grand Ideas

The trees gave fragments, 
igniting my mind with a 
language of fire, composed of 
intricate thought elements
reaching up to the sky as
skeletal bones of frame,
marking out a cathedral of
grand ideas that will inflame
passions and set fire to our 
eyes of knowing, new energy
arising from the ash of rutted 
ways.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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