Tag Archives: poem

April 18, 2021 · 3:25 pm

A Time Is Coming – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Sarah Richter Art, pixabay.com

“During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.” George Orwell

A Time Is Coming

The goose of innocence was raped by the proper gander
of importunate lies hidden openly in limpid eyes like
dark lakes of evil on which deceit so carefully floats
like lilies of affirmation with scent of something
foreboding, a sickly sweetness like rotting figs, the
triumph of tyranny over humanity in every generation,
until the heat of tyranny raises resistance and a time 
when the goose is no longer victim.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 17, 2021 · 3:01 pm

Ineffable – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Art Core Studios, pixabay.com

“The mystical is not how the world is, but that it is.” Ludwig Wittgenstein

Ineffable

Mystical schizophrenia harboured in a singular mind,
not hard to explain like the simplicity of a zen koan,
an ineffable experience like sunsets without words
self dissolving into presence as I feel everything.

Not hard to explain like the simplicity of a zen koan,
washed in the gentle streams of one's thoughts,
self dissolving into presence as I feel everything,
this is the way things are with an open heart.

Washed in the gentle streams of one's thoughts,
floating on air like a dandelion seed content,
This is the way things are with an open heart
knowing that I am simply moving in any direction.

Floating on air like a dandelion seed content,
an ineffable experience like sunsets without words,
knowing that I am simply moving in any direction,
mystical schizophrenia harboured in a singular mind.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 16, 2021 · 2:11 pm

The Cost – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: Carol Cater, pixabay.com

“Consumerism is eating the future.” Andy Coghlan 

The Cost

The serpent of eden slithered into the
malls of life whispering songs of
inadequacy, songs of desire, and we
all sang those ego spirituals as 
earnest acolytes of self-deception,
seeking salvation in virginal blister
packs promising thirty seconds of
youthful orgasm at the cost of barren,
sterile soil and a pile of dead leaves,
leaving us with a fetish for auto
asphyxiation in a heavenly glaze.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 15, 2021 · 12:58 pm

Sleep Chase – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – The Chase

Photo: Camila Quintero Franco at unsplash.com

“It is a special kind of homelessness to be evicted from your dreams.” Karen Russell

Sleep Chase

At the day's long, dogged end,
when all is quiet and no one stirs,
my mind is reviewing Kepler and 
Kant, while fomenting creative
innovations of all persuasions,
unravelling a conundrum or two,
and checking in on my mood,
all the while, spinning, turning,
sighing and yawning, fighting the 
sheets and blaming the pillow
and every sound on the street
so whispered to my awakeness,
I can't miss a beat and, as the 
hours eke away I count all the
sadistic sheep, endlessly,
hopelessly, chasing down a 
memory of something called sleep.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 14, 2021 · 4:13 pm

Blue Tongue Holding The Sun – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Kim is hosting poetics and inviting us to write in the first person comparing a trait of ours with something animal.

dVerse Poets – Poetics

Photo: a young “Bobtail” goanna, one of Australia’s Blue Tongue lizards.

“Everything in nature invites us constantly to be what we are.” Gretel Erlich

Blue Tongue Holding The Sun

There you were,
Blue tongue holding the sun,
your hiss warned that I had surprised you
and yet you didn't scuttle away, you stood
your ground and held my gaze, wary,
so like the corners of the world behind my
eyes where the unrelenting suspicion of 
strangers has cauterised the world against
joy, the hiss of distrust thrust against 
possibility with open mouthed disdain,
besides, when did the giants of this world 
care for the small ones, that they could
merely bask in the sun of wholeness
without fear of looming shadows of deceit?
And there you were holding trust.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 12, 2021 · 3:06 pm

And One More Thing – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: found at hbwsk.hbs.edu

“Many a calm river begins as a turbulent waterfall, yet none hurtles and farms all the way to the sea.” Mikhail Lermontov

And One More Thing 

And one more thing,
the unravelling strands of
life frayed and stressed
the length of my spine,
about to disconnect my
inner world, destroy the
fruitfulness of my life's joy,
those compulsory lies of
overwork are the violence
of those voices of the self
who would see us dead
for the sake of one more 
thing to be resolved, 
and then another, the 
constant staccato of the
driven mind must one day
find its sea.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 11, 2021 · 2:04 pm

Little Dark Corner – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: ‘Free Photos’ on pixabay.com

“There is a correlation between the severity of a person’s moods and a lack of self-knowledge.” Jill Alexander Essbaum

Little Dark Corner

The mood of a moment is so fragile,
like a cloud momentarily covering the
sun, and everything changes in an
instance, confusing the very heart of
us with lingering uncertainties, that
sense of something unresolved, 
something wrong, not right, the 
feeling of an accusing little dark 
corner tucked in the back of the
mind, deservedly waiting to rain
down on any joy.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

23 Comments

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April 10, 2021 · 2:18 pm

Why Do We? – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Photo: pxhere.com

“I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole.” Carl Jung

Why Do We?

Why do we persist in eradicating every hint of shadow,
will it free us from the fear we hold of the night of soul,
the austerity of indifferent stars in darkened skies,
are we unable to bear the heavy echoes of silence.

Will it free us from the fear we hold of the night of soul,
that we might let go the points of our past compass,
are we unable to bear the heavy echoes of silence,
which speak loudly into the rusted patterns of our lives.

That we might let go the points of our past compass,
ever exposed to fleeting glimpses of the real
which speak loudly into the rusted patterns of our lives,
interrupting calcified thoughts no longer valid.

Ever exposed to fleeting glimpses of the real,
the austerity of indifferent stars in darkened skies
interrupting calcified thoughts no longer valid,
Why do we persist in eradicating every hint of shadow?

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 9, 2021 · 3:36 pm

Flesh Of My Flesh – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Grace is hosting Meeting the Bar with an invitation to consider the body, our body, in writing.

dVerse Poets – Meeting The Bar – The Body And Poetry

Image: thoughtfulminds.org

“To be whole. To be complete. Wildness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connected to rather than what we are separate from.” Terry Tempest

Flesh Of My flesh 

The wound I carry is not just 
for me, I feel its pain when I 
feel the earth speaking in my
flesh, when I hear the ocean's 
voice as my voice, as a child 
crying, or the wind, unconsoled,
recoiling at the violence of the 
rend that bleeds from my side,
but I just cannot unwind the
tourniquet of my addiction and
once again, I float to my heavens
as the wound remains in my 
anaesthesia of indulgence.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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April 8, 2021 · 2:36 pm

Imperfectly Perfect – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

VJs Weekly Challenge – Nesting

Photo: Yellow Throated Honeyeater with young. Found at animal.memozee.com

“Where thou art, that is home.” Emily Dickinson

Imperfectly Perfect

She takes the very strands of life and
weaves them carefully to a harmonic of 
held space for everyone who arises, or 
ventures here of a warm welcome to the 
heart of the journey, enfolded in the 
energy of her love lived in collaborative
purpose, that all may one day follow her
weave, imperfectly perfect, with just a 
hint of gold thread and where there are
no locks or chains.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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