I Have Those Days – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: ‘Emotions in my hand’ by alex1972 at portraitphotos.org

“There is nothing to be known about anything except an in initially large, and forever expandable, web of relations to other things.” Richard Rorty

I Have Those Days

Like a wet mirage shimmering
the day caught my attention 
and drew me towards it,
exciting me and terrifying me
all in the same swirling second,
paralysing my attempts to move,
until at last the day passed and,
with a sigh, released me from
all the emotions I had dreamed
and desired to hold in my hands,
for one moment I had glimpsed an
evolution of reality where more
could be breathed and felt.



Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®️ 

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Sparks – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Amit Talwar at pexels.com

“Unclose your mind. You are not a prisoner. You are a bird in flight, searching the skies for dreams.” Haruki Murakami

Sparks

Rambunctious, fugitive thoughts rolled in
seeking refuge and
took roost in the emptiness of my mind,
a mischief afoot,
but what can be done?
The door was open,
nothing was going on,
how could I refuse?
I can feel them fluttering about,
their eloquence so light in
expressive songs of radiance,
a dispersion of rude exactitude,
an abundance of inarticulate cool,
sparks to light my wondered wandering.


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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Hoping To See – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Image: Coyot at pixabay.com

“My fascination with letting images repeat and repeat – or in film’s case ‘run on’ – manifests my belief that we spend much of our lives seeing without observing.” Andy Warhol

Hoping To See

To see,
that is indeed a thing,
to really see what is at heart,
when all we usually do is 
say we see while hoping that by the
time we do see we can claim 
the moment as if we have 
always seen when we know
perfectly well we haven't seen
anything at all because we are 
looking in the wrong way and
looking in all the wrong places,
seeing something but yet 
nothing of any substance that
is at heart.


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Transcending – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write about winter.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – The Blizzard of the Self

Photo: Victor Miyata at pexels.com

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

Transcending

Summer always smiles faintly as she leaves me,
her lips suddenly thin and sharp,
knowing I will grieve her warm embrace
and the fruit of her lush kisses,
leaving me to the inexorable prudery of the
wasteland of winter's serge,
better suited to vows of unbending monasticism,
funereal finery of dark intonations,
like spells that clang on hard, cold surfaces.

Winter, ever impassive, never smiles at me,
she is far too sensible for such frivol,
always she has work to do,
inexorably instilling us with
her parsimonious agency,
those short, cold, grey days
when I feel most despondent,
summer leaves a note of light 
an intimation that she is on her way.


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Love Is The Fabric – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to write prose and include the line “Everything I do is stitched with its color.” from ‘Separation’ by William Stanley Merwin. For more details follow the link below.

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Everything is Stitched

Image: Nareeta Martin at unsplash.com

“Love is a fabric which never fades, no matter how often it is washed in the water of adversity and grief.” Robert Fulghum

Love Is The Fabric

I want to claim its orbit, its grand, beautiful reach into my heart of hearts, and onwards into the vast world of everything. Love is just that, like dry sand through my incapable fingers. the ache, the indescribable thing that it is, the pain so sweet and the joy, always searching for that feeling which seems just beyond, out of reach. And the more I reach the further away I become.

And so the grand hunt continues even within this cell of yearning, just as the early riser waits for the crest of dawn, knowing that it is there, though not yet here. There is a faint memory of the experience I want to return to, perhaps to capture and hold. Elusive as it is, in its fulness I know that everything I do is stitched with its colour. Love is the fabric of me.

Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

All Rights Reserved ®️

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The Shattered Dream – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“Withhold admiration from a narcissist and be disliked. Give it and be treated with indifference.” Mason Cooley

The Shattered Dream

When it all just sits unmoving, 
like a clog of hair in a drain,
and no amount of hoping will 
move it or restore the flow,
knowing that when something 
is broken beyond repair,
it cannot be put back together as 
you once dreamed it would,
in that child's wistful eye,
the mountain of dysfunction 
that will never be surmounted,
leaving us all waiting for the
moment that will never come.


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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The Tree Root – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“It seemed to me that some things were ugly enough that fixing them was worth trespassing.” Brenna Yovanoff

The Tree Root

It started with a tree root,
which required much thought,
not unlike a military strategy
to follow the mischief imagined,
and, sure enough
it leapt through the garden edging
and, characteristically, it ran
shallow through the lawn,
around the water pipe,
the reticulation pipe,
requiring much surgery,
then under the paving,
pushing up, up, up
till we tripped and stumbled
then down, down, down
into the drain and
round, round, round
in a frenzy through and through
in a confusion inviting reconstruction,
out and along the border garden,
clogging the soil,
refusing the spade,
out to the fence and
under the weak spot
reordering its level before
heading off to the curb.
What seemed like a five minute job,
became a plumber,
a reticulation expert,
some brick-paving,
a little edging,
lawn repair,
fixing a drain,
realigning a fence,
some swearing,
much money,
and that's not the end of this story.


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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That Immanence Thing – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“I like the sea: we understand one another. It is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; and so am I.” Greta Gabo

That Immanence Thing

All at once the world came in,
I felt it,
the bird's feathers touched my soul,
it offered such a sublime, electric song
which made me tremble and 
surrender my fragile breath
in a ripe sigh,
for the idea of the thing,
an unknown held
as a jealous secret,
now echoing through my body
like rich magenta solace
gently brushed in generous strokes.


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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Right Now – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Laura is hosting Meeting the Bar with an invitation to write a poem using the first line of the first poem for each month of 2022 (found poetry or found lines).

dVerse Poets – MTB – Finding It First

Right Now


Sun heats the earth,
hitchcockian howl growl winds push water into
thunderous demolition of delicate sands,
it wasn't sudden by any means.

I want to sit in the light,
sometimes we are like an overflowing glass;
the road behind has been and is no more.

To feel complete detachment
my friend's father took us fishing one night,
I watched him for a while.

If you drift,
walking,
do you speak with your voice?


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 


Line Links:

Line one - Journey to Celebration
Line two - The Unfolding
Line three - No Bluff On The Knoll
Line four - Everything
Line five - The Paradox
Line six     The Real Journey
Line seven -  Nothing Should Own Us
Line eight  -  Beware The Hooks
Line nine  - Just Stop
Line 10 -  Those Coral Crowns
Line 11 - Not Alone
Line 12 -  From The Let Go

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Lost In An Extended Frame – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“When you’re being truly creative, time stands still, and you enter a dimension that can carry you beyond the ordinariness of everyday life.” Denise Linn

Lost In An Extended Frame

What is it to be absorbed in a moment
when time is suspended without appeal,
a new reality in violation of the old
lost in an extended frame at every point?

When time is suspended without appeal,
like love floating on warm summer air,
lost in an extended frame at every point,
waiting to be gathered in the eternal field.

Like love floating on warm summer air
only lightness can insist on truth's approximation,
waiting to be gathered in the eternal field,
where listening transcends knowing.

Only lightness can insist on truth's approximation,
a new reality in violation of the old,
where listening transcends knowing;
what is it to be absorbed in a moment?


Copyright 2023 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️ 

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