Category Archives: Pantoum

The Tenuous Nature Of Knowing – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: StayaPrem at pixabay.com

“Nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.” Oscar Wilde

The Tenuous Nature Of Knowing

Fragments of dreams scattered like confetti
through the brown paper parcels of my life,
strands of meaning needing to be sifted
carefully as flour through a fine sieve.

Through the brown paper parcels of my life
come the instalments of almost understanding,
carefully as flour through a fine sieve,
the making of knowing as episodes.

Come the instalments of almost understanding,
epiphanies of the vast distant shore,
the making of knowing as episodes,
a record of the unconscious to share.

Epiphanies of the vast distant shore,
strands of meaning needing to be sifted,
a record of the unconscious to share,
fragments of dreams scattered like confetti.



Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Could We? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“Out of your vulnerabilities will come your strength.” Sigmund Freud

Could We? 

How are we to understand each other,
is it better instead to ignore convention,
to participate in a discontinuity,
could we chance a conversation?

Is it better instead to ignore convention,
look for possible opportunities,
to participate in a discontinuity,
could we open to each other?

look for possible opportunities,
follow bread crumb trails of dialogue,
could we open to each other
setting aside fear and disinterest?

Follow bread crumb trails of dialogue
to participate in a discontinuity,
setting aside fear and disinterest,
how are we to understand each other?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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There Are Attempts – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“Energy and motion made visible memories arrested in space.” Jackson Pollock

There Are Attempts

I want to say that there's no neutral ground,
there are attempts to describe possibilities,
are thoughts remotely possible in feelings,
are feelings even possible in thoughts?

There are attempts to describe possibilities,
but who can be sure of that kind of dream,
are feelings even possible within thoughts,
who is even aware of the ghost of such things?

But who can be sure of that kind of dream
where ideas just roll into each other blindly,
who is even aware of the ghost of such things,
abstractions that remain affectively open?

Where ideas just roll into each other blindly,
are thoughts remotely possible in feelings,
abstractions that remain affectively open?
I want to say that there's no neutral ground.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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When Courage Arises – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“Courage comes in different forms.” Nora Roberts

When Courage Arises

Change emerges when courage arises
when meaning shifts from self
to possibilities derived from wild dreams,
are we ready to explore these uncertainties?

When meaning shifts from self
what is exposed between the lines,
are we ready to explore these uncertainties
which lurk beneath our surface of lies?

What is exposed between the lines,
empty hollowed husks of truth
which lurk beneath our surface of lies,
or a vulnerability that receives life?

Empty hollowed husks of truth,
to possibilities derived from wild dreams,
or a vulnerability that receives life,
change emerges when courage arises.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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Is Life Always Having To Reduce To Mere Frippery? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

One for two:

#2022 November PAD Chapbook Challenge

Day 25 25.11.22

Prompt: Write a serious poem

Also submitted to dVerse Poets – OLN hosted by Grace – the night we choose a poem to submit.

Is Life Always Having To Reduce To Mere Frippery?

Is life always having to reduce to mere frippery,
those ice cream feel good moments invoked
to ward off anything approaching a taxing frown,
or wrestling an unresolved disquieted question?

Those ice cream feel good moments invoked
as stave for anything that would reduce laughter,
or wrestling an unresolved disquieted question
that awakens in the recesses of my mind.

As stave for anything that would reduce laughter,
whatever comes to hand will do for combat
that awakens in the recesses of my mind,
rather than face the seriousness that perches there.

Whatever comes to hand will do for combat
to ward off anything approaching a taxing frown,
rather than face the seriousness that perches there,
is life always having to reduce to mere frippery?



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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Tell Me Your Real Story – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

#2022 November PAD Chapbook Challenge

Day 8 8.11.22

Prompt: Write a form poem. I chose the form Pantoum.

Tell Me Your Real Story

Could you tell me what your story is,
the real story you carry deep within,
do you know it or have you dressed it,
is it veneered truth or reality fictions?

The real story you carry deep within,
longing to be released from its hiding,
is it veneered truth or reality fictions?
But know that fiction is just rogue truth.

Longing to be released from its hiding
the you that is really you is ready,
but know that fiction is just rogue truth,
a parable to be teased and discerned.

The you that is really you is ready,
do you know it or have you dressed it,
a parable to be teased and discerned,
could you tell me what your story is?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Jaundiced Truth – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: pixabay.com

“More people would learn from their mistakes if they weren’t so busy denying them.” The Gottman Institute

Jaundiced Truth

The neutrality of words is a thin tissue
easily rent by disowned feelings,
perjured by intention and use,
the beginnings of interrogative war.

Easily rent by disowned feelings
words elongate and bend and warp,
the beginnings of interrogative war,
a blind defence of the guilty self.

Words elongate and bend and warp,
slipping away from the mouth,
a blind defence of the guilty self,
supplications of the jaundiced truth.

Slipping away from the mouth,
perjured by intention and use,
supplications of jaundiced truth,
the neutrality of words is a thin tissue.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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Letting The Gates Open – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“Life is without meaning. You bring meaning to it.” Joseph Campbell

Letting The Gates Open

Making meaning is the gift of myth,
an imagineering of shifted shapeness,
a wasabi like future of inlaid redemption,
minds made and unmade as refolding clay.

An imagineering of shifted shapeness,
the undressing of facades and stereotypes,
minds made and unmade as refolding clay,
remoulding actions as arcade possibilities.

The undressing of facades and stereotypes,
letting the gates open so the horses can bolt,
remoulding actions as arcade possibilities,
creating fluid arcs of understanding.

Letting the gates open so the horses can bolt,
a wasabi like future of inlaid redemption,
creating fluid arcs of understanding,
making meaning is the gift of myth.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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What Hand Will You Play? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: wallpaperflare.com

“Men Argue. Nature acts.” Voltaire

What Hand Will You Play?

One should always designate the joker early,
you never know when a crisis will arise,
often at the eleventh hour but also the first,
what hand will you play as the earth burns?

You never know when a crisis will arise,
the deck is smouldering but no one notices,
what hand will you play as the earth burns?
Show the wild card that we might turn the game.

The deck is smouldering but no one notices,
we're all holding close and sweating it out,
show the wild card that we might turn the game,
the hour is early, the hour is late, play it sweet.

We're all holding close and sweating it out,
often at the eleventh hour but also the first,
the hour is early, the hour is late, play it sweet,
one should always designate the joker early.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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The Moment -a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: plasticsoupfoundation.org

“A very faustian choice is upon us: whether to accept our corrosive and risky behaviour as the unavoidable price of population and economic growth, or to take stock of ourselves and search for a new environmental ethic.” E.O. Wilson

The Moment

The moment between asking and answering a question
is the moment of significant weight waiting to shift,
one way or another to fall or to rise, to the left or the right,
and in the moment identifying our own game of denial.

Is the moment of significant weight waiting to shift 
merely a trope of the human imaginative longing,
one way or another to fall or to rise, to the left or the right,
or is it perhaps a significant axial irruption in our midst?

Merely a trope of the human imaginative longing,
suggesting that there is no salvific moment beyond dreams,
or is it perhaps a significant axial irruption in our midst,
at best our childish myths deserted our desperate need.

Suggesting that there is no salvific moment beyond dreams,
one way or another to fall or to rise, to the left or the right,
at best our childish myths deserted our desperate need,
the moment between asking and answering a question.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Filed under awareness, ecology, Economics, environment, life, nature, Pantoum, poem, politics, quote