Tag Archives: Open Link Night

November 25, 2022 · 2:26 pm

Is Life Always Having To Reduce To Mere Frippery? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

One for two:

#2022 November PAD Chapbook Challenge

Day 25 25.11.22

Prompt: Write a serious poem

Also submitted to dVerse Poets – OLN hosted by Grace – the night we choose a poem to submit.

Is Life Always Having To Reduce To Mere Frippery?

Is life always having to reduce to mere frippery,
those ice cream feel good moments invoked
to ward off anything approaching a taxing frown,
or wrestling an unresolved disquieted question?

Those ice cream feel good moments invoked
as stave for anything that would reduce laughter,
or wrestling an unresolved disquieted question
that awakens in the recesses of my mind.

As stave for anything that would reduce laughter,
whatever comes to hand will do for combat
that awakens in the recesses of my mind,
rather than face the seriousness that perches there.

Whatever comes to hand will do for combat
to ward off anything approaching a taxing frown,
rather than face the seriousness that perches there,
is life always having to reduce to mere frippery?



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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October 28, 2022 · 4:05 pm

We Are – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Linda is hosting Open Link Night, the night we choose what to post.

dVerse Poets – OLN

Photo: johnhain at pixabay.com

“Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.” George Eliot 

We Are 

Words are words,
but in the right moment they
mangle the soul to a bloody pulp,
leaving wounds that cannot be seen.

looks are looks,
but on the day they can be
startling razors draining life
in long straight slices of endings.

Actions are actions,
but in the interplay they can
bruise the hearts memory
for a lifetime or forever.

Love is love,
but when it's twisted
it ceases to bear any resemblance
to the desire once felt.

We are,
for better or worse,
who determine to be.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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September 2, 2022 · 3:09 pm

There Used To Be Twenty – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Linda is hosting Open Link Night when we are invited to post a poem of our choosing.

dVerse Poets – OLN

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.” Edgar Allan Poe

There Used To Be Twenty

I'm having a garage sale,
my sanity's going cheap,
and my vanity is worn so
make me an offer and I'll 
throw in a few lost aspirations
and some fragments of jealousy,
there's a chunk of broken
innocence, sadly no spare parts,
though I can offer bits of 
placated ego that might help
patch that mess, and there's
a box of baggage for when 
you're haunted, and a couple
of packets of mixed nuts and
a bag of marbles, there used
to be twenty but five are missing,
cash only.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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August 5, 2022 · 4:22 pm

Those Words Must Wait – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting Open Link Night where we are invited to post a poem of our own choosing.

dVerse Poets – OLN – Blast Off

Image by Artsy Solomon from Pixabay

“Noise creates illusions. Silence brings truth.” Maxime Lagace

Those Words Must Wait

There are times when I cannot speak,
when the story simply won't come,
because those words must wait until
they can be placed in an understanding
and be fully received so that they are
not lost in the noise that is everywhere,
where they will be swallowed up and 
ruined before they have time to birth
an idea, a meaning, possibilities for
the world.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

40 Comments

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June 24, 2022 · 2:36 pm

Vicarious Fakery – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Ingrid is hosting Open Link Night, when we choose our own poem for posting.

dVerse Poets – OLN

Image by Sammy-Sander from Pixabay

“A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.” Joseph Campbell

Vicarious Fakery

Those movies,
patriarchal propaganda,
offering dominance as power,
the pretty mistress as icing,
a tasty treat rescued by a man,
who is, of course, impervious to 
multiple wounds that would 
hospitalise most of us and
whose guns seem to have 
exponential magazines that
never run out, leaving the 
audience pumped full of the 
weird sense that they too are
immortal heroes ready to 
rescue and fix our version
of the world.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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April 29, 2022 · 3:15 pm

Homeless – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Grace is hosting the Open Link Night – the night we choose a poem to post.

dVerse Poets – OLN

Photo: stocksnap at pixabay.com

“Where do you go if you don’t belong anywhere?” Steven Wilson

Homeless

My voice is loud yet silent,
I am visible but unseen,
there is no sanctuary for my way, 
no ritual that offers meaning, 
politics is a bare cupboard that 
mocks my dreams, I cannot see 
myself reflected in any place,
there is no resonance and my
words fall from my mouth into
puddles that people step around;
I keep moving, hoping to find 
some connection, but the truth is
I am homeless in a world of 
meaningless mansions.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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April 1, 2022 · 3:27 pm

Everything – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Ingrid is hosting Open Link Night – where we link a poem of our choosing.

dVerse Poets – OLN – Spring Has Sprung!

Photo: The power of emotional maturity – wisdomfromnorth.com

“Everyone is an ocean inside.” Khaled Hosseini

Everything

I want to sit in the light,
to know what slices darkness
and why the sun laughs out loud,
to untie the knot of oppression 
for all who pass along this way,
to understand, that as my skin 
holds my innards, what holds 
the wriggling, translucent bag
of emotions from spilling out,
and would it matter if they did,
spilling might be good, not
everything can be held long in
perfect balance, but everything
can be given time to distill,
even resolve, if not fully, at
the very least, just a feeling 
of being at one with everything.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved®

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March 4, 2022 · 12:59 pm

Songs Of Life – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Open Link Night – the night we choose our own poem to post.

dVerse Poets – OLN

Photo: Pine cone by Lars_Nissen at pixabay.com

“The best part of happiness is the pines.” Terri Guillemets

Songs Of Life

The pine cone is sentinel,
even in its surrender to
gravitational inevitability, that
severance of the fullness of 
sap, offering songs of life in
death, a conal dichotomy of
choices in weathered experiences,
a gift graft of popular truthing,
symbol, spelling or cure, its real
is to open or closed, sometimes
simultaneously, such a grand 
lesson in how to be.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All rights Reserved ®

30 Comments

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February 3, 2022 · 11:11 pm

Even When – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Linda is hosting Open Link Night, where we are invited to post a poem of our own choosing.

dVerse Poets – OLN – Smile

Image: found at letterpile.com

“We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” May Sarton

Even When

The diversity of my parts are not the sum of me,
but merely the complexity of possibilities,
I am not my body's disparate functionality
divorced nor captive to its parts dogmatised
by loud voices from the past as if they are flags
of virtue, I am not an acronym to be sung as a 
standard, never a diagnosis or an expectation to
be pinned, roled, or approved as part of some
myopic, narrow definition; I am not that, I am
myself as I find myself at any given moment, even
when I am a stranger to myself.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

50 Comments

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January 7, 2022 · 1:18 am

Hoping It’s Not A Grind – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting Open Link Night – an invitation to post a poem of our own choice.

dVerse Poets – Open Link Night

Photo: fodors.com – one of the fascinating traditions from the past – tossing furniture, Naples, Italy.

“For last year’s words belong to last years language ….” T.S. Eliot (Four Quartets)

Hoping It's Not A Grind

Some parts of 21 I'm glad to leave behind
hidden in a trunk without reflection,
all my feelings astir, some days were a grind.

I packed in all the adventures I could find,
turning and turning for a new direction,
some parts of 21 I'm glad to leave behind.

Some parts of mundane I didn't mind,
I just don't pursue an energy of perfection,
all my feelings astir, some days were a grind.

I loved the many times of joyful unwind,
sidestepping all the cracks of infection,
some parts of 21 I'm glad to leave behind.

It's the loss of kindness that I've pined,
ever steering round the bollards of reaction,
all my feelings astir, some days were a grind.

I'm hoping 22 might be more kindly lined,
with gratitude I would just take a fraction,
some parts of 21 I'm glad to leave behind,
all my feelings astir, some days were a grind.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

51 Comments

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