The Eve – Haiku by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Frank is hosting Meet The Bar and inviting us to write a death poem, Jisei – Haikai, Haiku, Tanka, Senryu, etc.

dVerse Poets – Meet The Bar – Jisei

Image: pixabay.com

“There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.” Beverly Sills

The koi are less lived
in my lotus dreams of night
the eve I long for

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Hung By Threads – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Intimacy

Photo: found on pinterest.com

“Real intimacy is a sacred experience.” John O’Donohue

Hung By Threads

We were sleek gazelles 
caught in the moment of spring,
drawn to sup the youthfulness
of our open, tender flesh,
mirrored in our eyes of lusted,
dilated caresses, dishevelled
electric pulses flushed on skin,
opening us to summered days
of trusted space and listened
moments so raw that we hung
by threads of breathless knowing
unborn of reason, and the once 
moist latch now open to the 
treasured feltness of heart,
bonded as healed wounds,
and vested in renewed seeing 
that we dared to share as we 
grazed the plains of intimacy
unafraid of lions.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Held – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting Poetics and has invited us to write about eyes.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Look Into My Eyes

Photo: pexels.com

“Tears are the silent language of grief.” Voltaire

Held

I offered a word of unction as
soothe in the hard litany of life's
steal of breath that you held in
that moment of discordant caverns
and clawed violins as the world 
slipped over its own edge,
and your eyes declared a pulsing
reach of heart that awakened
in a welling of bearing held
between us in a knowing,
sharing, through solitary to a
lifting connect, diminishing the
awful theft of happiness, 
a restorative without need of 
voice, just deep eye-felt
conversation.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Possibility Of Her – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse, De is hosting the Quadrille ( a poem of 44 words) using the word or any of its forms – possibility. dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Possibility

Photo: shutterstock.com

“Life is a deep sleep of which love is the dream.” Alfred de Musset

The Possibility Of Her

Carefully crafted, she was a
composite of every fiction,
his pulse quickened,
anticipating the possibility of
her arrival, the creaking door
announcing her, now hovering,
conversing only in tongues,
his tortured lips in flames,
he woke, lost in a fug
as the door creaked.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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The Sea Of Stuff – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found on pinterest.com

“The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds the awakening soul still in its grip.” Wassily Kandinsky

The Sea Of Stuff

To have is to drown in a sea of grasp,
like a pearl diver, weighting for the
deeper dive into mortality, driven by
addiction to the elusive hope that the
future past is more real than being
in the brevity of this present moment,
looking for meaning in the shifting 
shadows of the masquerade for which
we create the most elaborate fictions
for ourselves in metrics of the inanimate,
while our centre holds to true happiness.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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A Lightness – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“I can be jubilant one moment and pensive the next, and a cloud could go by and make that happen.” Bob Dylan

A Lightness

Just to savour rather than capture,
to look rather than touch,
holding in the heart of the mind
a whist of chameleon memory
coloured by fragments of moments,
new insights from old feelings,
like clouds, not one the same,
in an ever present paradox of sky,
just to hold without holding,
a lightness where thoughts are
free to please as they come and go.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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In The Crush – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Linda is hosting Open Link Night, when we post our own choice of poem.

dVerse Poets – Open Link Night

Photo: istockphoto.com

“The years are too short, the days are too long.” Joseph Heller

In The Crush

The day's tide elongated my hours
like thick, slow squeezed lemon,
the juice of a day in the crush of
a hand now flexed and dripping.

Like thick, slow squeezed lemon
with a mess of acid citrus down,
a hand now flexed and dripping
so much a tap of flowing water.

With a mess of acid citrus down,
the day simply drizzled along,
so much a tap of flowing river
along the moments so tart and,

The day simply drizzled along,
the juice of a day in a crush of,
along the moments so tart and,
the day's tide elongated my hours.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Filed under Free Verse, life, mindfulness, Pantoum, poem, quote

Feeling Frivoled – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Frivolous

Image: found on Pinterest – ceramic pumpkin teapot.

“The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak that resists it; and so in great calamities it sometimes happens that light and frivolous spirits recover their elasticity and presence of mind sooner than those of a loftier character.” Albert Schweitzer

Feeling Frivoled 

The garish pumpkin thing 
screamed to be left on the shelf,
serving no discernible purpose,
having no possible place in the home
among the refined china sculptures,
but it was Thursday and it was,
after all, spring, and the fever was high
for change, for a whim of whimsy,
besides, what would life be without
a frivol, to matter not mattering,
to draw one's sword or buy two pies
kiss a random stranger or
order caviar and just leave it,
get a grotesque mascot for the 
dashboard, or a tennis racquet 
never to be used, 
I just might.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Just Let Her Speak – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Peter is hosting Poetics and has invited us write a poem as witness (to a news event or an event).

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Poetry as Witness

Photo: Luke Stephenson, ABC News – Australian PM Scott Morrison interrupts Senator Anne Ruston who was asked about the culture of misogyny in the Australian Parliament, therefore ironically proving the point. The PM has long been questioned about his attitude to women. The question was set against the background of a public outing of government ministers who have had relationships (affairs) with their staffers (therefore a power relationship).

“Misogyny is hostility toward the women who threaten to remove the male status as superior to women.” Jill A. Stoddard

Just Let Her Speak

She appeared dressed for the microphone,
I even saw her lips move in pantomime,
but you voiced her down,
wrapping her in shrouds of misogyny,
swaddled her in your patriarchal goitre,
and gave your words to her lips
as you pigeon-chested the throng
with your smirk faced denouement,
a coda of lament for the poor boys
whose groins yearned for possession
of skirted public property,
how could you possibly listen
let alone reflect,
you members of parliament erect,
she appeared dressed for the microphone,
just let her speak.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Note: Misogyny:  from the Greek misein (μισειν) hate + gyne (γυνε) woman.

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There I Really Am – Prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Merril is hosting Prosery where we are invited to write 144 words including a provided line. Merril has given us a Liesel Mueller line from her poem ‘Drawings By Children’ – “There is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles.’

dVerse Poets – Prosery

Photo: pixabay.com

There I Really Am

There is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles. I claimed it long ago, it is my favourite space, but it just takes time to get there. It’s not that I’ve forgotten the way, it’s just simply that I don’t make enough time to wander there. But days come when I have to be there. It’s the space where I find my still point and enter into silence, well, mostly. Somedays my irascible shadow is less than golden and flings up the dust and detritus of my life as a taunt, a distraction. If I pay no attention it doesn’t go away, so I let it have a little reign until it outruns itself and peters out and I return to myself. There is nothing behind that wall except the real me letting the winds of time whistle through me.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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