Category Archives: Pantoum

May 5, 2022 · 2:40 pm

Are We Capable? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: stocksnap at pixabay.com

“What people want is not the easy peaceful life that allows us to think of our unhappy condition, nor the dangers of war, nor the burdens of office, but the agitation that takes our mind off it and diverts us.” Blaise Pascal

Are We Capable?

Do we only find meaning in what we make,
are we capable of attending to the natural world,
to wait on events not of our doing or control,
or is our attention fragile, a result of distraction?

Are we capable of attending to the natural world,
to challenge ourselves to be present to the issues,
or is our attention fragile, a result of distraction,
always seeking, always grasping, never waiting.

To challenge ourselves to be present to the issues,
suspending our search for a heroic intervention,
always seeking, always grasping, never waiting,
time to end the denial that the planet is terminal.

Suspending our search for a heroic intervention,
to wait on events not of our doing or control,
time to end the denial that the planet is terminal,
do we only find meaning in what we make?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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April 23, 2022 · 3:41 pm

The Cost Of Leaving – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found on pinterest.com

“If you don’t control your mind, someone else will.” John Allston 

The Cost Of Leaving

The cost of leaving the defined mundane reality,
that entrapment of manufactured truth comfort,
taking time to see how anaesthetised we are,
noticing how we are so easily formed in a bubble.

That entrapment of manufactured truth comfort
with out willing surrender to the thought police,
noticing how we are so easily formed in a bubble,
the discovery that there is life beyond the machine.

With our willing surrender to the thought police,
we join the herd of sameness, lowing compliance,
the discovery that there is life beyond the machine
is an emancipation, a spark of hope in the darkness.

We join the herd of sameness, lowing compliance,
taking time to see how anaesthetised we are,
is an emancipation, a spark of hope in the darkness,
the cost of leaving the defined mundane reality.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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April 3, 2022 · 2:57 pm

Is It Strange? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found on pinterest.com

“Nothing protects the heart like patience.” Rob Hill Sr

Is It Strange?

Is it strange that he keeps his heart in a jar,
down by the sea, just out of reach of the tide,
with the lid screwed on very water-tight,
never to be awash on the shore of emotion.

Down by the sea, just out of reach of the tide,
he baited the hook of his own amour torment,
never to be awash on the shore of emotion,
yet always afraid of the waves rolling in.

He baited the hook of his own amour torment,
conscious of the disappearing sands,
yet always afraid of the waves rolling in,
uncertain of the stars coming down close.

Conscious of the disappearing sands,
with the lid screwed on very water-tight,
uncertain of the stars coming down close,
is it strange that he keeps his heart in a jar?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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March 30, 2022 · 2:43 pm

Questioning The Moral – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Linda at dVerse is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write a poem, choosing one of twelve opening sentences. The sentence I have chosen is sentence 5. “No bondage is worse than the hope of happiness.” Carlos Fuentes ‘Diana the Goddess Who Hunts Alone’ Bloomsbury, 1995.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Opening Sentences

Photo: jooin.com

“All Limitations are self-imposed.” Oliver Wendell Holmes

Questioning The Moral

No bondage is worse than the hope of happiness,
whether it is an objectified and unworthy idolatry or
found only in the benign passion that undergirds,
according to the Sceptics warding off hedonism.

Whether it is an objectified and unworthy idolatry or
is it of the passive mind, or of the violent blood,
according to the Sceptics warding off hedonism,
that terror too grand for the likes of humanity.

Is it of the passive mind, or of the violent blood,
the deciding line of all broken moral compasses,
that terror too grand for the likes of humanity,
relegating all life to dribble about vice and virtue.

The deciding line of all broken moral compasses,
found only in the benign passion that undergirds,
relegating all life to dribble about vice and virtue,
no bondage is worse than the hope of happiness.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®



Note: on this occasion my inspiration is underpinned by the work of the the philosopher David Hume who believed that passions rather than rational though inspired happiness. Hume was known as a logical positivist. The work I reference indirectly in my thoughts is 'Essays Moral, Political, and Literary.'

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March 10, 2022 · 2:48 pm

Making Light – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: huffpost.com West Berliners crowd in front of the Berlin Wall early 11 November 1989 as they watch people trying to demolish a section of the wall in order to open a new crossing point between East and West Berlin, near the Potsdamer Square.

“The wall that protects you also imprisons you.” Susan Jeffers

Making Light

Can you remember when the wall fell?
Were you even alive in that very moment,
the ending of a long drawn out facade,
walls always fall after the pride of a nation.

Were you even alive in that very moment
when the world held its breath waiting,
walls always fall after the pride of a nation,
more than just rubble it is the people.

When the world held its breath waiting
in hope of a creative existential shift,
more than just rubble it is the people
making light from oppressive darkness.

In hope of a creative existential shift,
the ending of a long drawn out facade,
making light from oppressive darkness,
can you remember when the wall fell?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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February 20, 2022 · 1:29 pm

What Form Do They Take – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

“Only a crisis, actual or perceived, produces real change.” Milton Friedman

What Form Do They Take?

How do crises shape themselves in your life,
what form do they take in your body,
do they possess you completely above all,
are they integral to your reactive self?

What form do they take in your body,
these geist foisted by external events,
are they integral too your reactive self,
are they kindred spirits wholly yours?

These geist foisted by external events,
what feelings do they evoke in you,
are they kindred spirits wholly yours,
or are they something to be exorcised?

What feelings do they evoke in you,
do they possess you completely above all
or are they something to be exorcised,
how do crises shape themselves in your life?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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February 2, 2022 · 11:42 pm

Defining Moment – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: from therugbygroup.sandler.com

“The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.” Dante Alighieri 

Defining Moment

We are never so defined as by our crises,
the irruptions of pressure force change,
suddenly malaise transforms to purpose,
individualism rediscovers its malignancy.

The irruptions of pressure force change,
denial is the most useless safety helmet,
individualism rediscovers its malignancy,
slowly but surely we leave our cocoons.

Denial is the most useless safety helmet
while ignorance is the tightest kevlar,
slowly but surely we leave our cocoons,
the dividing line of transition now drawn.

While ignorance is the tightest kevlar,
suddenly malaise transforms to purpose,
the dividing line of transition now drawn,
we are never so defined as by our crises.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

Note: in this I am deeply influenced by Jean-Paul Sartre’s dictum that the French were never so free as when Germany occupied France – meaning that it suddenly gave purpose, called forth identity and action.

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January 19, 2022 · 1:16 am

All I Heard Was Buzzing Drone – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Laura is hosting Poetics and looking at the use of a thesaurus and has invited us to write a poem using words from a set of lists she has prepared.

My choice of words from the list – bellow, drone, clamour, jingle, honeyed, dribble, blabber, cackle.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – The Poet’s Store House

Photo: from virtualspeech.com

“Now I know what a statesman is; he’s a dead politician. We need more statesmen.” Bob Edwards

All I heard Was Buzzing Drone

A crowd would gather to hear him bellow,
though mostly all I heard was buzzing drone
above the clamour of the over excited crowd,
who were all aquiver at his feeble gob-shite.

Though mostly all I heard was buzzing drone,
they were agog at his jingle ridden offering,
who were all aquiver at his feeble gob-shite,
all honeyed to capture the mindless swarm.

They were agog at his jingle ridden offering,
a trojan horse, bereft, all blabber and cackle,
all honeyed to capture the mindless swarm
who were eager to swallow his sugary dribble.

A trojan horse, bereft, all blabber and cackle
above the clamour of the over excited crowd,
who were eager to swallow his sugary dribble,
a crowd would gather to hear him bellow.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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December 27, 2021 · 2:13 pm

Free Range – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: carlosalvarenga at pixabay.com

“Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty.” Henry David Thoreau

Free Range

Things of importance begin on the fringe
where free range ideas can graze quite openly,
unrestrained and without filters, funnels or rails,
through the lush fields of juicy possibilities.

Where free range ideas can graze quite openly
across the plains of unrestricted thoughts,
through the lush fields of juicy possibilities,
here there are no points, only opportunities.

Across the plains of unrestricted thoughts,
where stories carry the meaning and weight,
here there are no points, only opportunities
in the letting go of all the accepted givens.

Where stories carry the meaning and weight,
unrestrained and without filters, funnels or rails,
in the letting go of all the accepted givens,
things of importance usually begin on the fringe.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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December 19, 2021 · 4:25 pm

To Go Beyond – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: found on pinterest.com

“Transformation literally means going beyond your form.” Wayne Dyer

To Go Beyond

Seeking holiness and mystery in the natural world,
to go beyond the places that are built from negativity,
removing one's self from the streams of pressure,
embracing reconnection with what we bring forth.

To go beyond the places that are built from negativity,
escaping the fragmentary nature of a world of endings,
embracing reconnection with what we bring forth,
to live a story to a fulness worth writing about.

Escaping the fragmentary nature of a world of endings,
carrying this old vessel across the miles of love,
to live a story to a fulness worth writing about,
the ancient hero's long held transformative calling.

Carrying this old vessel across the miles of love,
removing one's self from the streams of pressure,
the ancient hero's long held transformative calling,
seeking holiness and mystery in the natural world.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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