Photo: cefs.org.au
We built that fort from a dream
but the fantasy became a nightmare
as we dug that ditch of despair
and erected a palisade of sharp invective,
towers of lies,
ramparts of fear,
aiming our ideological long bows
at every initiative with
which we disagreed with vituperation,
locking the gates against reason,
and executing those who believed in change.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, life, poem, politics
Photo: pixabay.com
His tiny mind
reduced everything to a
post card ideology
of spittle speeches
and dilated visions of alarm,
waving meaningless symbols
ever building narrow dreams
of darkness in disguise,
a univocal monochrome
of controlled delight,
he blathered on
endlessly reciting
mantras of power
and praising hatreds
while I looked out the window
at a beautiful reality
of abundance,
stirring possibilities
of everything so global.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, life, mindfulness, poetry, politics
For Them That Be Wild Things – Cafe Philos Poetry Prompt
This prompt began recently at Cafe Philos – Paul Sunstone’s Blog, have a look please.
The defiance of August Landmesser who refused to give the salute at a Nazi rally at his work place.
“Civil disobedience is not the problem, our problem is obedience.” Howard Zinn
The dogmatics
that straight lines are the only way
is mere moralism
that suffocates
a humanity
content to be obedient
to the subjectivity
of those who laugh over us
in waves of contempt,
marching under the flag
devoid of anything
other than self-indulgence
and the murder of minds
for better worlds
that are still-born
of wombs imprisoned
inside tiny thoughts.
But to stand,
to stick it to the dogma man
is to
walk to Dandi for a lick of salt,
be chained to railings for a vote,
to ride a bus and insult,
march the mall,
go to prison,
burn a flag
and bare the breast,
equality, liberty, community,
the tripartite
way to say no.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, life, philosophy, poem, politics
Photo: unsplash.com
Some things just aren’t right,
we were talking about slogans,
we were talking about plight,
but we were polarity,
binary to a tee,
I could see his humanity,
I could beg to differ,
on this pleasant cliff of pontification,
suffered tolerably over a beer.
But when he blamed the victims,
well,
that’s when I hit him,
and my words curled in a beautiful uppercut,
that knocked the wind out of his
sails of ignorance.
Some things just aren’t right,
and the violence of ignorance,
is intolerable,
and, when he confessed,
well,
that’s when I bought him a beer.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, life, poem, politics
Photo: delawarestatenews.net
In the house painted white,
with a head like a coronet cavy,
lives a munchausen narcissi,
a tautological wonder,
that blunder,
who shut the door
in the face of all
that is good and holy.
But I imagine him gone,
or, better still,
with daffodils in his hair,
singing Carly’s song (ironically),
as we shut him down,
for the good of all.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Note: Since 1940 the one who sits in that house effects the whole world irrespective. Narcissi is, of course, Narcissus who fell in love with himself, and Narcissus is also the name for daffodil. A cavy is a guinea-pig. Carly is Carly Simon who sang “You’re so Vain.”
Paul, pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, life, poem, politics
Photo: c.tribune.com.pk
The wrong side
of what is not entirely clear
to me,
but wrong it is said,
of this or that,
from left to right,
in our typical binary fashion,
a perfected duality,
raising the prospect of
who’s in, who’s out?
as if one bloodline is corrupted,
or wombs are so ideologically different,
or blue eyes are ascendant,
and wealth is of colour!
Well, there is no geography,
only doctrinaire fantasy,
a blindness to the heart,
a denial of love.
Of squatters there should be not,
and those who rejoice that there are,
know squat of human connection.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, life, philosophy, poem, politics
Photo: listverse.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com
Guy Fawkes effigy. If you remember 🙂 the gunpowder plot set for the 5th November, 1605 when parliament was due to be opened by James the 1st of England & 6th of Scotland, by a group of Catholics who wanted to end the persecution of Catholics in England. This was during the period of the Reformation in England and there were strict laws governing any expression of the Christian faith other than that authorised by parliament, and the Catholic Church was very hemmed in by regulation. The architect of the plot was Robert Catesby. The plot was foiled and Fawkes was captured. Under torture he named all the plotters. All were captured and sentenced to be hung drawn and quartered. Fawkes avoided this excruciating death by jumping from the ladder for the scaffold and broke his neck and died.
The parliament named November 5 as a National Day of Thanksgiving which morphed into a bonfire night, and later fireworks were added to round out the Gunpowder Plot aspect. Fawkes was never burned, though others at that time were, but bonfire night caught on nonetheless. The question in my mind is do people get what it was about, and do they understand the reason for the plot? Not only that, the pure barbarism to hang draw and quarter? I’m not one to support murder, but nor am I one to support state sanctioned torture or murder either.
How did it come to this?
That you would cease to breathe this day,
your body smashed and broken,
your heart and passion gone.
That you dreamed of freedom,
believed for better,
for rights held by others,
but not by you or yours.
You were squeezed for servitude,
under those who looked down on you.
A king was your hopeful prize,
your evening bulletin,
but in truth he was an effigy of ill,
and your surprise was sprung against you,
then the scaffolding was strung.
Yet you beat the plot against you,
and found your freedom at last,
as you left the ladder of doom.
Centuries would pass before
freedom came to yours,
now I see you everywhere,
not least on tindered heaps,
more in the masks of dissent,
where freedom is eroding,
and we must leap the ladder
of protest once again.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, history, poem, politics
Photo (Google images): Artist Ai Weiwei of China, who is a noted dissident, has been arrested several times, and has claimed that he was assaulted by police in 2009, and again in 2010. See The Guardian There are many dissidents throughout the world, and throughout history who have stood for human rights, they often pay with their lives.
As soon as it begins
there is no possibility of speaking,
your words are no longer your words,
they are artfully abstracted to fit
predestined verdicts,
skilfully distorted for truth,
so that nothing is real
and no one believes you.
Sometimes doubt colonises your mind,
but not your heart,
the place where you stand true,
in spite of your brokenness
and exhaustion,
retrieving your real words for all to see,
the butterfly effect that will
waft away empires of finite minds.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, poem, politics
Photo: blogs-images.forbes.com
Well,
according to the federal reserve forecasts,
the banks are saying,
the minister is saying,
the government is saying,
the leader of the opposition is saying,
the party machine is saying,
the person on the street is parroting,
babies are repeating,
even the unborn are mouthing,
what a plausible thing,
what a singularly wonderful moment,
what a magical outcome,
what a superb turnaround,
a miracle,
a mighty effort,
such brilliance;
that we have succumbed to,
and believed,
the lies garnered to seduce us,
as if they were life-giving truths,
and, in spite of knowing this very fact,
we accept the unreality,
as if paying for sex,
or gambling our last dollar,
this colourful fabrication,
this political fornication
engineered for us to swallow,
leading us on,
like cattle down the race
to the slaughter,
that we gladly celebrate,
drives me completely spare,
as I swim the other way,
with the moniker of mad.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, poem, politics
Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, authors of the Communist Manifesto, published circa February 1848, and which sparked many political and economic debates, and not just a few revolutions.
It was that kind of day,
when I could finally speak paradox,
between the corner store
and the park.
It was there I heard
the suit encased optimist’s manifesto,
from the podium,
“yadayadayadayadayadayadayada”
with only a momentary pause.
The man behind me asked,
“Can you splain that mate?”
And, I said, “Sure, it goes like this;
lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies,
but it came out as,
paradise, free bread, equality,
love and peace.”
Then the woman in front said,
“You know, we already have all these things,
they’re a manifesto of your heart.”
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul,
pvcann.com
Filed under Free Verse, poem, poetry, politics
Just about words
A toxic zephyr, a beautiful catastrophe.
Creative Writing
Private rantings of a poor soul!
Welcome to Beans, Pen & Nirja, stay connected 💞
लिखावट में कोई बनावट नही है, सिर्फ भावनायें है कोई सजावट नही है
Detailing my adventures as I travel the world
By Sandra Js Photography - Make the rest of your life the best of your life.
Books-Random thoughts-Creative writings
A Hotelier By Trade and A Traveler At Heart
Thoughts and experiences penned down
Wanda Sanders Poems
Author of Young Adult Fantasy
I write because I read. I read because I write.
Life from a Different Perspective
Life is a broadway musical and everyday is a song. These are mine manifested as poetry.
Writing to Help Others Overcome Darkness
Get in the best shape of your body
Flash Fiction, Poetry, and Short Stories
Thoughts from the Heartland
blogger
Fun, Frugal France
Just about words
A toxic zephyr, a beautiful catastrophe.
Creative Writing
Private rantings of a poor soul!
Welcome to Beans, Pen & Nirja, stay connected 💞
लिखावट में कोई बनावट नही है, सिर्फ भावनायें है कोई सजावट नही है
Detailing my adventures as I travel the world
By Sandra Js Photography - Make the rest of your life the best of your life.
Books-Random thoughts-Creative writings
A Hotelier By Trade and A Traveler At Heart
Thoughts and experiences penned down
Wanda Sanders Poems
Author of Young Adult Fantasy
I write because I read. I read because I write.
Life from a Different Perspective
Life is a broadway musical and everyday is a song. These are mine manifested as poetry.
Writing to Help Others Overcome Darkness
Get in the best shape of your body
