Category Archives: psychology

The Baggage Handler – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

“We may define therapy as a search for value.” Abraham Maslow

The Baggage Handler

I paid her for the letting go,
those harboured thoughts
pushed down,
now surfacing again.

She listened from her somber chair
to my every grief,
her silent compassion
a soft incise carefully drawn.

My many wounds released,
those neatly folded feelings
that have travelled long within me,
she drew my truest sense of self.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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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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Like Winter Gulls – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“When emptiness is still, that is eternity. When it moves that is love.” Adyashanti

Like Winter Gulls

If love is possible how 
will it survive when all my 
self-beliefs, like winter gulls, 
have migrated south, leaving
me with the immutable
feeling that meaning has
abandoned me in a place 
where I don't have myself,
just a vacuum of abstractions,
like the absurd question, if 
love is possible, how will it 
describe me.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®

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Lost In Aphasia – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found on Pinterest – i.pinimg.com

“Nothing matters more than when a person discovers their voice ….” Lisa Haynes

Lost In Aphasia 

What pricks your ears,
does it make any sense
as you graze the spice rack
along the path of discovery,
not caring for much at all,
how do you muddle through,
exponential acceleration or
just curating your inheritance,
fading out, remaining unaware,
silent in anaemic, vanilla habits, 
lost in aphasia?


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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When The Handle Turns – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at wellbetter.com

“These mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.” Najwa Zebian

When The Handle Turns

When the handle turns, slowly, tightly
along its coiled, oiled spline, do you
shrink into yourself becoming small,
blaming self, or do you feed the furnace 
of anger and strike out, hoping to feel
better through ironically self-inflicted
wounds or, do you pretend to hold it 
all together, watching your implosion
as you paper over the edifice of your
chaos? Perhaps, if we let it wind, a
diamond will come.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Wanting Everything – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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“I believe that living on the edge, living in and through your fear, is the summit of life ….” John H. Johnson

Wanting Everything

There is always a price for a
life lived in fragments
between passion and pain,
and when the experience
leaves us ragged and drained,
we conspire to throw ourselves
back into the beginnings and
repeat the frustrating cycle,
rather than be relegated to
silence, wanting everything
to take shape, never stepping 
back, always to the brink,
desiring the crisis of possible
futures, never the still calm
or the disorienting ordinary,
never teetering, always 
confident on the edge.

Copyright ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Awaiting – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – I’m Bored

Photo: Dieter-G, pixabay.com

“Boredom is rage spread thin.” Paul Tillich

Awaiting

When the monitor screen runs flat and 
everything is flavoured chalk, I bore 
holes in the universe to see what 
leaks down the strands of my mind,
resisting the blind rut of ordinary days,
those vanilla plays fritted to dust and,
when the portal opens the river flows,
like milk and honey as caramel as 
smiling stars and the gaze of a
tangerine sun, the air electric with 
held breath awaiting the creative new.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Little Dark Corner – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: ‘Free Photos’ on pixabay.com

“There is a correlation between the severity of a person’s moods and a lack of self-knowledge.” Jill Alexander Essbaum

Little Dark Corner

The mood of a moment is so fragile,
like a cloud momentarily covering the
sun, and everything changes in an
instance, confusing the very heart of
us with lingering uncertainties, that
sense of something unresolved, 
something wrong, not right, the 
feeling of an accusing little dark 
corner tucked in the back of the
mind, deservedly waiting to rain
down on any joy.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Big Questions – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: shutterstock.com

“…. identity is performatively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are said to be its results.” Judith Butler

The Big Questions

What are the narratives that matter most of all,
how do they form and shape our fragile lives,
and, when do we know ourselves as ourselves,
is fate our lot or, is fate a story about our lot.

How do they form and shape our fragile lives
these harbingers of unseen inner truths,
is fate our lot or, is fate a story about our lot,
what is it that we think we know of knowing.

These harbingers of unseen inner truths,
we must learn to live with what we have created,
what is it that we think we know of knowing,
is this the demise rooted in our blindness.

We must learn to live with what we have created,
and, when do we know ourselves as ourselves,
is this the demise rooted in our blindness,
what are the narratives that matter most of all?

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Fiction – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Describe but don’t reveal

“Controllers, abusers, and manipulative people don’t question themselves.” Darlene Ouimet

Fiction

Diablo,
unlabelled, even when
labels seem apparent,
the friend who is an enemy,
who is transparent only with
lies and manipulative smoke
that mirrors for the observant
a path of broken glass hearts,
twisted into a sculpture of
sticky dark love like bitter
treacle on the tentacles of 
lost hope, you stood apart
from everything and denied
everyone who you really are,
and sucked the life out of all
who trusted your pain and 
felt for your narrative fiction
as if it were their own child.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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