Category Archives: writing

Poem accepted

My poem ‘As Before’ was published recently in the delightful publication Spillwords (which many of you know and read), you can read the poem here:

As Before – at – Spillwords

Kind regards,

Paul

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Punctuated Tight – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Following through from Monday’s dVerse challenge on writer’s block, which is an interesting topic, and a less interesting experience, though mine have been few and very short lived.

Photo: found at writersroom51.com

“If you get stuck, get away from your desk. Take a walk, take a bath, go to sleep, make a pie, draw, listen to music, meditate, exercise; whatever you do don’t just stick there scowling at the problem.” Hilary Mantel

Punctuated Tight

At 7.30 something was brewing strong,
but it slid into white space at the edge of my mind,
a word intermittently blinked as my wiring fizzled,
shorting out at 7.35 and my distended sigh was a
moan of grief for the lost sentence, words, unfound,
blurring into the grey distance , my muse was mute
lost in a deep, foggy, field somewhere, I don't know
where, no scheme or rhyme occurred, no stanza
arose, I was punctuated tight and ungrammared long,
the full-stop appeared as a welcome revelation,
that all had ceased, my literary boat becalmed.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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i – Haibun by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun with an invitation to write about writer’s block.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Writer’s Block

Photo: steve_a_johnson at pixabay.com

“You can’t think your way out of a writing block; you have to write yourself out of a thinking block.” John Rogers

i

The screen mocked my every thought, the arctic white page blinding my eyes as snow on a sunny day, making me squint in the hope of a direction even though I cannot see where I am going. The page an abstracted projection, a freudian note to myself that the page was mirroring my inner malaise of lost consciousness. The page was not unfriendly, we dined together as always. It’s just that the ideas flew past at the speed of sound, refusing to land in my mind. Even the dictionary drowned in my thoughtless fug. But, mercy be, there was the letter i and I’m sticking with that.

circling the blank page
my mind in another room
the curlew calls me


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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