Category Archives: poem

Cinereous Beauty – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sarah is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to write about ash.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Ashes to Ashes

Photo: lahacienda.co.uk

“In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix must first burn.” Octavia E. Butler

Cinereous Beauty

I went down to the pit of shame
and sat in the ash now cold, now
penitential, itching my skin as it was 
supposed to do, but not forgetting 
that ash left long in the ground turns 
to coal, which sometimes turns to
diamonds.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

Note: Cinereous refers to a colour – grey tinged with black – of ash. To sit in ash and wearing sackcloth goes back historically to ancient semitic culture, and predominantly to Hebrew culture as a mark of grief, penitence or shame.

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Salad Days – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at thecharmingdetroiter.com

“The whole future lies in uncertainty, live immediately.” Seneca

Salad Days

I ordered a mushroom and feta open sandwich,
enhanced with a thick, sweet, balsamic reduction
drizzled around the plate, I finished wanting more,
and even in restaurants worlds can collide,
I heard someone say that the air was thick with
uncertainty, and I wondered, are these the salad 
days where the air is laden, drizzling sickly sweet, 
and yet everyone asking for more?


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Love’s Repair – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“One must pass through the circumference of time before arriving at the center of opportunity.” Baltasar Gracian

Love's Repair

When did you begin to remember that
there are many ways to move even though
you wouldn't have said it like that and,
it might be your imagination speaking
forgotten confessions, knowing now that
you cannot escape yourself no matter the 
distance travelled you always arrive at you,
and did you notice that there are versions
that arise from the scars of the journey,
did you also notice that none are beyond 
love's repair?


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Living For Real – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

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

Living For Real

There's a strange beauty in the borderlands,
a place of no arriving, yet always returning
to the seeds of joy, everywhere rooted in 
searching for the irresistible experience of
validity beyond the culture of individualism,
beyond the turgid order of rules, beyond the
comfort of middling against extremities,
walking deeper than the surface of feelings,
touching something of life's thin, determined, 
thread which holds the mystery of moving 
forward in a retreating moment, living into
impossibility.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®

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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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Waiting – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Wesner Rodrigues from Pexels

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” Virginia Woolf

Waiting

Sweet, sticky juice,
the way your fingers caressed the glass,
your lips upon that long, slender straw,
while your eyes offered private conversation
as the world passed by in blurred abstractions,
your smile takes me prisoner once again and
I await the consummate dessert.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

34 Comments

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The Trauma Dance – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Ingrid is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write from a place of pain.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – From A Place Of Pain

Photo: differrencebetween.com

“I’m not lazy. I’m just exhausted from fighting my way through every single day.” Mimi Love

The Trauma Dance

The light,
dim the light,
the sound , the noise jars,
turn it down, no, turn it up,
lock the doors, hold the 
blankets tight, shut the 
curtains, no, open the curtains,
what, no, I thought you meant,
O, I know, this is weird, I'm in
the midst of, well, something,
I don't know that I can give 
voice to the sound in my throat,
in my mind, down my spine, 
my body, why am I so sweaty, 
hot, so cold, why can't I feel,
so detached, everything shouty,
angry, not present, totally present, 
so, up, no down, crying, dry,
heart like a freight train, heart
failing, thumping, no feeling,
my head, aching, thoughts so 
fluid, stimulated yet exhausted,
talking like a jet, craving silence,
craving crowds, wanting solitude,
shut up, please tell me more,
will I bother, will I open my front
door, will I feel, will I ever be real?


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 ®

31 Comments

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Who Holds The Fantasy? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Evelyn Simak

“There are no safe rooms, no safe truths, no safe secrets to tell.” Veronica Blade

Who Holds The Fantasy?

Tell me, what isn't divergent,
who holds the fantasy of singular truth,
who believes the carbon smudge of news,
do you begin from what you know or do
you trust your enthusiasm for wanting to
believe that you can compose your life
from the elements of a surety that you
actually know the vagaries of the cosmos
right now, trusting in your belief of things,
despite the amalgam of realities before you,
knowing full well that everything bends,
everything is disordered, and that there 
are always more ways diverging?


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Darling Entropy – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“Only entropy comes easy.” Anton Chekhov

Darling Entropy

Shards of chaos brightened my day,
making me smile at my fumbling attempts
to bring order to a universe that slides 
off every evening around six, sweeping 
away all hope of a grand regimen in this
unhinged shizzle-shuzzle, like trying to 
put a yolk back into its shell or turn 
back time, or the nonsense of trying to 
make sense of the nonsensical, that there
might be footholds on the cliff face of 
life that hold forever a way of return,
but I welcome the entropic reminder that
it is half past fractal, which I've never
experienced before, and now with glee.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®

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