Tag Archives: poem

August 17, 2022 · 2:46 pm

When Water Dies – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sarah is hosting Poetics with an invitation to write about one of the four elements: Earth, Fire, Water, Wind. I chose water.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – The Four Elements

Photo: Taken the day after a winter storm at Cape Leeuwin.

“They both listened silently to the water, which to them was no just water, but the voice of life, the voice of Being, the voice of perpetual becoming.” Hermann Hesse 

When Water Dies

The swash and slap of the limpid roll
for languid lolling in a temperate zone,
as flounder flap and take the bait
now unaccustomed to the oaken creak,
a gift from the depths suppered for two,
I recall the taste of salted lips that
burned even as I licked them so,
the smells are joy though my nostrils flare,
and I catch your weeds of no compare,
and my line is tangled, but without you 
I cannot bear the grief of dryness
that your death will bring,
and so I cup my hands that I may
drink one more draught of your 
wet love.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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August 15, 2022 · 3:07 pm

I Take Hope In That – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“A bird that fears falling off a tree branch is ignorant of its gifts.” Matshona Dhilwayo 

I Take Hope In That

I closed my eyes and 
ran my hands along the top rail of the farm gate,
its gnarled timber long massaged by many hands, 
washed smooth by decades of rain, 
opening up the ancient grain with 
striated streaks along its length, 
where moss and lichen breathe and tiny
things hide beyond the eye,
the smell of lanolin brings welcome memories,
and though its nails and screws are looser now, 
a sag visible with scrape lines in the dirt, 
the gate is ever strong, standing firm, 
and I take hope in that.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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August 14, 2022 · 2:21 pm

Acceptance – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“How can one liberate the many? By first liberating his own being.” Lao Tzu

Acceptance

The self is a greek tragedy
looking, longing for soul,
desiring to overcome the 
great wound of separation,
that bifurcation of unity 
one calls love, into a 
dismembered anxiety, 
the self as scab to be
picked at first, then in guilt 
be covered, that its shame 
might be healed before 
it is discovered,
until age usurps the 
chorus with the wisdom
of acceptance.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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August 13, 2022 · 12:38 pm

Needs To Be Opened – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“The cruelest prison of all is the prison of the mind.” Piri Thomas

Needs To Be Opened

If you believe a thing,
does it become a thing
and colonise your mind,
cages, cells, atrophy,
a place without bars,
incarcerated thoughts,
self-held with an 
unconscious iron will,
or is it fear that shuts
the thinking, feeling door
that needs to be opened
so wide, nothing 
can be contained, 
simply entertained 
and loosely held.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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August 12, 2022 · 1:35 pm

Such Wonder – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Grace is hosting Poetry Form with an invitation to write an Octelle ( 8 lines with 88777788 syllables and aabbccaa rhyming) and the poem to include personification.

“Simply wait, be quiet, still the world will freely offer itself to you.” Franz Kafka 

Such Wonder

There was such wonder in the clouds,
faces and shapes of lowly crowds,
rising misty portraiture,
clouds as a caricature,
taking me from the dark blight,
into my heart of clear light,
where there's no place for any dowds,
just clouds as heavenly love shrouds.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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August 11, 2022 · 3:03 pm

Falling Past – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

“It’s just a momentary sensation – open my eyes and it’s gone. Still, it’s an overwhelming experience. Being able to float in the air.” Haruki Murakami

Falling Past

Weightless,
surrendered,
spent feather
drifting down the layers and depths,
down past dry grief whose
invitation to linger pulls at me,
that I might stay and savour its 
bitter taste, its cloying texture,
towards the indulgences of distraction
where shadow caresses the wound,
yet even now the wind eddies
my steady resolve and onward I fall,
past windows and doors,
no snares enough for me to enter,
no place to rest my world-weary bones,
except the lightness on which I float.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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August 10, 2022 · 3:53 pm

I Will If You Sing It – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Merril is hosting Poetics with and invitation to write a poem about a restaurant.

dVerse Poets – Poetics – At The Restaurant

Photo: visitscotland.com

“A good restaurant is like a vacation, it transports you, and it becomes a lot more than just about food.” Philip Rosenthal 

I will If You Sing It

Something new said friends,
who've since faded away,
let's go see what the fuss is about,
all mod, white millennial suite,
the waitress, co-owner she turned
out to be, recommended xanadu,
I said I'd oblige if only she'd sing it
like Liv used to do, she smiled, 
put down her pad, sang the chorus 
and danced,  I honoured my promise 
not once but twice and we stayed for
fifteen years.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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August 9, 2022 · 2:33 pm

Type? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse De is hosting the Quadrille with an invitation to write a poem using the word type or any of its forms.

dVerse Poets – Quadrille – What’s Your Type?

Photo: mrmrsintagetypewriters.com. The once popular duck egg blue Imperial portable typewriter. We still have one in working order, it outlived the Brother Electronic typewriter.

“There has been, is, and always will be every conceivable type of person.” E.M. Forster

Type?

Did Cicero use helvetica or
plain it with times roman,
and how did Gurdjieff get
nine or Jung four, while 
chapman gave love five,
and who knows if I'm 
sagacious, diabetic, alpha, 
A positive or negative?
I do know imperial is my type.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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August 8, 2022 · 4:06 pm

So I’ll Say It Again – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Video: Beedelup State Forrest, Mundaring, there’s always something more, rain, sound, birds, wind, feelings, smells ….

“For me, the opposite of scarcity is not abundance. It’s enough.” Brene Brown

So I'll Say It Again

Perhaps it hasn't been said
or, if it has, then too quietly
under the roar of everything,
and not-with-standing all 
that is ill round about us, 
right down to the wire of
possible despair, whether
we're counting moments or
holding the long view of it,
is knowing that this is not
all there is, there is always
something more.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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August 7, 2022 · 3:59 pm

How Can It Be – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

WikiLeaks’ founder Julian Assange leaves Westminster Magistrates Court in London, Britain January 13, 2020. REUTERS/Henry Nicholls

“Once a government is committed to the principle of silencing the voice of opposition, it has only one way to go, and that is down the path of increasingly repressive measures, until it becomes a source of terror to all its citizens and creates a country where everyone lives in fear.” Harry S. Truman

How Can It Be?

How can it be that the one who dared to tell 
what needed to be told, should always be told,
is the one who must be sacrificed for breaking
the rules of the most splendid game,
the game where we pretend that we don't 
know that we know?

Why must one person be vilified that others
may be dignified in their ethical lying and 
strategic misinformation that protects their
power and presumed authority that looks
very much like corporate narcissism on the
rampage, creating and consuming their 
victims with impunity and disdain?

How can it be that we let them?


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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