Category Archives: prose

May 24, 2022 · 3:53 pm

Summer – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun (prose plus haiku) with an invitation to write about summer.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Summer

Photo: ratemds.com

“Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.” Sam Keen

Summer

From my youngest days this has always been a time when the earth catches fire, when my skin burns and I can feel the strength of the air around me pushing down as it falls to the ground. My breathing is heavier , though I move from shade to shade I cannot escape the heat of this day. Even the cicada chorale chant at the sun is to no avail, the light blindsides me bouncing off every surface, dazzling, relentless.

It feels like a furnace, the garden bows after noon, the bitumen is melting, my shirt is dark down the middle of my back. But this is no time for whingeing, this is the time to pack away the winter blues, open the windows, throw off my layers, sit out at night watching the stars, light the BBQ and party like there's no tomorrow.

The sun is rising 
house is already on fire
but there is no smoke


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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May 10, 2022 · 3:20 pm

Only Love Passes This Way Twice – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Merril is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to use a line from the poem ‘May Day” by Sara Teasdale: the line is – “For how can I be sure I shall see again The world on the first of May.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Sara Teasdale and May

Photo: the Hardy Inlet, Augusta.

“The thing about roads is that you happen upon them again.” Jill Santopolo

Only Love Passes This Way Twice

They say that a river doesn't pass twice, cannot be touched twice, only flows by once in its purest self, which is not its purest self, except for the sake of that moment in which it is truly one, never to be one in the same way again. Everything is emerging while yet everything is passing. This is, perhaps, well beyond our capacity to know, but yet it is in our capacity to feel.

And yet, this is always so difficult. For how can I be sure I shall see again the world on the first of May, when surely, like water, it shall not pass this way again? It will not be. In its purity it cannot be, as I cannot be but once. Unlike love, which is eternally, perpetually, proposing new ways to us, courting our attention as it continually passes by.



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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April 12, 2022 · 3:52 pm

Until Then – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Prosery with an invitation to write a piece of prose (144 words) including a line from ‘A Daughter Of Eve’ by Christina Rossetti. The line is – “Talk what you please of future spring and sun warm’d sweet tomorrow.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – When it comes to Christina Georgina Rossetti

Photo: by Daniel Grant, from timeout.com Hyde Park, Perth, Western Australia, autumn.

“Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.” Elizabeth Bowen

Until Then

Talk what you please of future spring and sun warm’d sweet tomorrow, but today my mood is mellowed by autumn dews, russet leaves and memories falling into me again. A season of funereal beauty, so easy on my eyes, yet unsettled in my heart. Many leaves now carpet the earth, old and turned often with little to add, save that they hint at something more to come which temporarily coddles me. I just can’t see that far ahead, and in some ways I don’t want to, no one season is experienced like its previous appearance, it can be anticipated but never presumed, longed for but never known until it chooses. Until then I must winter well, reflect and refresh. Spring will come in good time but for now I sit closely with greying skies and misty dawns that challenge my complacency again.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

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March 29, 2022 · 2:39 pm

Blossom Delight – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting the Haibun (prose plus haiku) with an invitation to write about Cherry Blossom.

dVerse Poets – Haibun Monday – Cherry Blossoms

Photo: wallpapersin4k.org

“What a strange thing! To be alive beneath cherry blossoms.” Kobayashi Issa

Blossom Delight

The beauty of cherry blossom carries and obvious feminine comparison. So many possible metaphors of bloom, petals, pastel, limb and fruit, and not least strong roots. And what a spectacle it is, the few we have here catch my eye and set my heart alight every spring and summer.

But not my palate. While my lover loves to gorge on cherries, I prefer just looking at the blossom as the fruit is not to my taste, though I admit, it looks fabulous and feels good too it is not a fruit I enjoy. And that is so true of many things, as is the reverse. My lover is my delighting fruit, but there are many blossoms to appreciate along the avenue of life.

Cherry had beauty
smooth limbs budding before me
rising love blossoms



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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March 15, 2022 · 2:32 pm

I Broke Away – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lillian is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to use the line “I wandered lonely as a cloud.” from the William Wordsworth poem ‘I wander lonely as a cloud.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Winter Be Gone

Photo: from our 2017 road trip through central Australia and down through South Australia, back to Western Australia along the coast. This photo taken along the Nullarbor, the ocean not visible, but further beyond the van is the Great Australian Bight.

“How sweet to be a cloud, floating in the blue.” A.A. Milne

I Broke Away

I wandered lonely as a cloud, not that that is a bad thing in and of itself. I finally broke away from all that encompassing bank of cloud that consumed me, owned me, clouded me. Just one big cloud of everything the same. Sometimes we were white and summery, sometimes grey and uncertain, sometimes black and laden with water. I wanted something else, something more.

I wanted reds, purples, pinks and oranges, colours of excitement, adventure. Colours of day and night, autumn and spring, storm and still. I wanted big and I wanted small. I wanted essence. So I broke away and floated along, determined to discover my cloudness. I wandered lonely as a cloud, and for the first time, entirely happy. Space was mine and I could come and go, and sometimes I need just that, to be far from the madding cloud.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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February 15, 2022 · 1:35 pm

The Light Of Love – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Bjorn is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to write a prose piece including the following line from the poem ‘Valentine’ by Carol Ann Duffy – “It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Valentine

Photo by David Besh from Pexels

“You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.” e.e. cummings

The Light Of Love

Darkness had reigned for some time, but one night along a distant path I happened upon a ball of light above a pond and cast my line, hooking it well. It was much smaller than at first it appeared. A gift of love I thought, a light for valentine.

The next night we sat on a hill for the feast day of lovers, admiring the darkness and soaking up the tranquility, Feeling gauche, I opened my pack, and she, excited, pleaded, "What is it?" I placed it in her hands and said "It is a moon wrapped in brown paper." Unwrapping it with glee, she rose and ran along the hill, and placed the moon perfectly at its centre. Immediately the whole earth was alight. The moon seemed larger again. But surely that is love, larger than it seems and small enough to carry.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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January 18, 2022 · 5:42 am

By The Cascades – prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Ingrid is hosting Prosery (144 words), with an invitation to use a line from Wordsworth’s ‘Lines written at a small distance from my house’ The line is: “Bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Bring no book

Photo: Damn or reservoir originally for the railway when steam was a thing, at Yellowdine.

“Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.” Albert Camus

By The Cascades 

O, to be free of this straightened life, the interminable deadlines and triplications that are required, but no one reads, you can fill wrong, but if you don't submit them, the roof will fall in. And the fact that we dare to talk openly about it means that this is a farce. And the endless grind of the alarm clock, that sentinel of hours, gleefully chiming our days given to some supposed endeavour that will somehow matter.

Today we will escape, we will call in lost, unfound, laughing, pour vivre ma vie. We shall stroll to a brook and sit in the shade, quaff wine until we are not fine but dandy. And bring no books, for this one day, we'll give to idleness, to caviar and water cress sandwiches, to laughter, to tears, to sighs, and the little death, by the cascades.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

Note: pour vivre ma vie = to live my life.

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January 4, 2022 · 6:14 am

Journey To Celebration – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting the Haibun with an invitation to write about Celebration.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Celebration

Photo by Nicole Michalou from Pexels

“And so this is Christmas and what have you done?” John Lennon


Journey To Celebration

La Nina grips our western coast, it's hotter than hell, 45c (113f) up in the city, hot enough to boil my blood. Surely everyone will come to us on the southern coast, no trekking for us this year we're staying bunkered in the coolness.

Soon the days are passing fast and it seems that all are on their way and the journey to celebration has begun. Much sweeping, cooking, decorating, though no bulwark against the christmastide that annually washes over us. And as time inevitably shortens to its point, we hear the news that they're only an hour away. All that must be done is done though imperfectly arranged.

Our apprehensive energy is released at every hug and hello, the food is such a synchromesh of cheer, it garners every word and smile. We ride the lows of politics and the controversies of the family lines while lifting high on living well, of dreams, of visions, of aspirations, our thoughts are projected well.

All too soon we've chewed the fat, and over hours and days all must depart, a small grief occupies our hearts. It seemed a long road to this moment, now it has come and passed, all are sated and spent. The storm we talked up has settled now, and in the quiet of the house we rest in our happy glow.

sun heats the earth
summer celebrations run
a small grief fills hearts


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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October 12, 2021 · 2:37 pm

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

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September 14, 2021 · 4:57 pm

Just Following Orders – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At Dverse Ingrid is hosting Prosery with an invitation to use a line from William Blake’s poem ‘The Chimney Sweeper’ – “If all do their duty, they need not fear harm.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Doing Our Duty

Public domain photo of Adolf Eichmann.

“Being evil is only something that only humans are capable of.” Jane Goodall

Just Following Orders

In 1960 an architect appeared in court in down town Jerusalem charged with crimes against humanity. He was the architect of the Holocaust, his defence was banal, he claimed immunity because he was only following orders.

Who never questions motive? Who believes they are perfect and above the law?And who never effects harm on others? But of those who excelled in following orders, no matter how perverted, Adolf Eichmann stands apart as intentionally evil, and more so because of his claim that he was just following orders. And, so, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm? really? Think slavery. Think Eichman, think Vietnam War, Think Derek Chauvin, think so many.

Our actions always affect others, and where there is evil the effect is always negative. Harm comes to those in the orbit of such people. Just listen to Holocaust survivors.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

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