Category Archives: seasons

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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April 5, 2022 · 3:23 pm

Unspeakable – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting the Quadrille (44 words)with an invitation to write a poem using some form of the word season.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Tis The Season

Photo: Early autumn in Deepdene, red gums shedding.

“Autumn is as joyful and sweet as an untimely end.” Remy de Gourmont

Unspeakable

The seeds of my tangled life are sown 
along the edge of autumn's invitation,
a propitiation for all that is yet to arise,
an imaginarium of coloured experiences
only the sense can speak, a whelming
of the darkened cave transcended in
spring's awaited consolation.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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February 2, 2022 · 1:56 pm

Spring – a Haiku by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to engage with the Japanese (derived from Chinese) 72 seasons and to write a haiku based on – Sekki as major season and Ko as minor season within the major. For in depth information click the link below for dVerse and further links.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – One of Seventy-two Seasons

Image: from behance.net a slice of the 72 Japanese seasons.

“The night air was soft and laden with the redolence of impending blossoms.” Meeta Ahluwalia

My choice of major and micro season are: Sekki – Spring; Ko – Risshun (beginning of spring). Damsel flies are an early sign of spring, there is both joy in the coming of spring and sadness that winter is going (because it is fleeting – which means, ergo, that spring is also short lived). The fireplace empty means spring is here, a different nuance.

Spring

Damsel flies buzzing
sadness and joy are intertwined
fireplace is empty


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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February 1, 2022 · 12:54 am

The Unfolding – a Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting the Haibun with an invitation to write about winter.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Winter

Photo: from a couple of years ago, a winter storm rolls in on the south west corner of Western Australia – Augusta, where two oceans meet. The waves sure were thundering in. Visible is the historic waterwheel which fed fresh water to the Lighthouse community behind me. If you look real close there’s a gull on the wooden channel atop the wheel.

“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.” William Blake

The Unfolding

Hitchcockian howl growl winds push water into thunderous demolition of delicate sands, forever changing the face of this coastal scape. Plovers have retreated to the high dunes, gulls and terns have taken refuge. Tomorrow it will slow and the next day it will settle, but nothing will be the same. Every bruise irrevocably changes the fundamental fabric of this tapestry I look upon. Torn limbs and trunks strewn, the line of sand permanently altered, rocks covered or exposed.

The singular delighting indulgence is to brave the aftermath and the cold and walk the littered beach of treasures, shells, driftwood, someones things, the sadness of a dead fish. The gulls scree once again, plovers skitter along and crabs scuttle as if nothing has happened. There is at once a horror and awe at the sheer force of it all, and in both there is the child's eyes.

skies darkening low
wind wraiths storm tender soft sands
trinkets offered up

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December 31, 2021 · 10:44 pm

Time – a Haiku by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Along the Blackwood River – pelicans enjoying the sun.

“Time passes like clouds in the sky. Weeks and months go by as if they were a single day.” Yann Martel

A Haiku for Time

days within all days
time quickly passes slowly
river laps my feet


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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December 20, 2021 · 2:44 pm

There Is No Question – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: istockphoto.com – Apple tree split in two seasons: summer and winter

“In the depth of winter I finally learned, that within me there lay an invincible summer.” Albert Camus

There Is No Question

Can one ask such a question,
whether it is possible for 
winter and summer to be 
conjoined as fleshly twins,
surely there is no question,
the answer is obvious,
my winters are gladdened by
the presence of summer and
my summers are tempered by
winter's cool curl of memory's 
turn towards feeling.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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September 8, 2021 · 3:26 pm

Winter’s Reign – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to choose from either provided sentences or to write a few words that come to mind and to change a word(s) to its derivative and then weave the word into a poem.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Dungeons and Derivatives

Photo: Yellow pompom daisies east of Mt. Magnet.

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” Albert Camus

Winter's Reign

Her coffin was a tempest raging,
sharp daggers of flashing light,
awash with cold water down its sides,
clouded in foreboding darkness,
she was restless even in death and,
sensing a struggle we rushed
forward and placed her hands in 
repose and closed the lid, no more
will she rage in these parts, 
time to celebrate her passing.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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July 23, 2021 · 3:37 pm

Winter’s Expiation – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: segment of Lesmurdie Brook along the cascades and falls, Mundy Regional Park.

“The journey between what you once were and who you are now becoming is where the dance of life really takes place.” Darbara de Angelis

Winter's Expiation

Between the source and its ending
comes the journey unscripted, untold,
though bounded by ancient guides
and rhythms, the journey is its own
making of none foretold or known,
only its own drive to quench the thirst 
of its banks so long withheld before 
pooling in aesthetic delight, having 
been poured out as winter's expiation 
for summer's bold insufficiency
long endued.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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June 15, 2021 · 3:31 am

As Before – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to use the word or its forms – Smudge.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Smudge

Photo: The point where the brook feeds into the ocean – Ellensbrook – its indigenous name is Mokidup.

“The land knows you, even when you are lost.” Robin Wall Kimmerer 

As Before

The wind pierced me so
in beautiful ways, of which
words fail in the telling;
clouds painted the sky,
touching your rays and I
took them by the hand,
knowing, as before, your
joy would wash the earth
and smudge my soul with
gratitude.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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May 13, 2021 · 2:37 pm

Stirred – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: javardh at unsplash.com

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” Emily Dickinson 

Stirred

Autumn stirred its breath which
stirred the air all around,
pausing a feather in my midst,
which I took from the space right
in front of me as it hovered so
lightly without burden, as a phrase
couched so beautifully in an 
invitation that seemed so tenuous,
and yet as strong as an ox in the
most delicate way, as ox feathers
can be in the moment of vulnerability,
that leads me a feeling of wanting
to fly on the air of hope.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon 
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