Tag Archives: Free Verse

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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Where Is This Eager Moment? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“Being out on the edge, with everything at risk, is where you learn to grow the most.” Jim Whittaker

Where Is This Eager Moment?

Talk to me about the fringe,
where is this eager moment,
this line, what is this mythical 
beast that curls at the edge of 
my consciousness like a griffin
with an either or approach to
questions of risk in a sure
world of safe lies, where the 
scale of illusion is an expensive 
stumble of false hope right in 
the middle of waiting for rebellion.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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The Wound Is Old – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: a fallen trunk of a Jarrah tree, taken at Jarrah Loop Walks, between Bridgetown and Nannup.

“Masculine and feminine roles are not biologically fixed but socially constructed.” Judith Butler

The Wound Is Old

The wound is old, though not 
completely grown over,
showing its dark promise
through the soft, feathered edge,
trying to rejuvenate its center,
the turn from shame and the 
imposition of guilt, which down
the long grain of time has
squandered the meeting of 
masculine and feminine, a 
denial of possibility, the loss of
a trust barely formed in myths of 
carefully constructed obscurantism,
those fictions of favour cemented
in the decline of life.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Cinereous Beauty – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sarah is hosting the Quadrille (44 words) with an invitation to write about ash.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – Ashes to Ashes

Photo: lahacienda.co.uk

“In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix must first burn.” Octavia E. Butler

Cinereous Beauty

I went down to the pit of shame
and sat in the ash now cold, now
penitential, itching my skin as it was 
supposed to do, but not forgetting 
that ash left long in the ground turns 
to coal, which sometimes turns to
diamonds.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

Note: Cinereous refers to a colour – grey tinged with black – of ash. To sit in ash and wearing sackcloth goes back historically to ancient semitic culture, and predominantly to Hebrew culture as a mark of grief, penitence or shame.

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Salad Days – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at thecharmingdetroiter.com

“The whole future lies in uncertainty, live immediately.” Seneca

Salad Days

I ordered a mushroom and feta open sandwich,
enhanced with a thick, sweet, balsamic reduction
drizzled around the plate, I finished wanting more,
and even in restaurants worlds can collide,
I heard someone say that the air was thick with
uncertainty, and I wondered, are these the salad 
days where the air is laden, drizzling sickly sweet, 
and yet everyone asking for more?


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Love’s Repair – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“One must pass through the circumference of time before arriving at the center of opportunity.” Baltasar Gracian

Love's Repair

When did you begin to remember that
there are many ways to move even though
you wouldn't have said it like that and,
it might be your imagination speaking
forgotten confessions, knowing now that
you cannot escape yourself no matter the 
distance travelled you always arrive at you,
and did you notice that there are versions
that arise from the scars of the journey,
did you also notice that none are beyond 
love's repair?


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Living For Real – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pixabay.com

“The only journey is the journey within.” Rainer Maria Rilke

Living For Real

There's a strange beauty in the borderlands,
a place of no arriving, yet always returning
to the seeds of joy, everywhere rooted in 
searching for the irresistible experience of
validity beyond the culture of individualism,
beyond the turgid order of rules, beyond the
comfort of middling against extremities,
walking deeper than the surface of feelings,
touching something of life's thin, determined, 
thread which holds the mystery of moving 
forward in a retreating moment, living into
impossibility.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®

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I Relish The Rocks – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: the shore at Skippy rocks, Leeuwin

“To escape and sit quietly on the beach – that’s my idea of paradise.” Emilia Wickstead

I Relish the Rocks

I do enjoy soft sand, and
wading slowly in the shallows,
but I relish more the rocks where I 
can perch like a gull and scuttle
like a crab along crevices and nooks,
pools of clear water, and weather 
beaten granite, watching the sea-weed 
waving to me, fish caught in tidal
moments, sitting, waiting for release,
the crabs braving daylight, and the 
sensation of water rushing in, 
receding down the rocks in tender,
soothing wash.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Waiting – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo by Wesner Rodrigues from Pexels

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” Virginia Woolf

Waiting

Sweet, sticky juice,
the way your fingers caressed the glass,
your lips upon that long, slender straw,
while your eyes offered private conversation
as the world passed by in blurred abstractions,
your smile takes me prisoner once again and
I await the consummate dessert.


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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