Tag Archives: Poetics

Truth – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Black

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Image: forum.slowtwitch.com

“The colour of truth is gray.”  Andre Gide

 

Truth

Grief is incontrovertible in black,
and depression, I’m told,
barks all night
and absorbs light in the day,
while white as light
is Jekyll and Hyde
in the woods,
no telling the deception,
but grey,
now there’s a venerable colour
that speaks truth.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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Readied – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse – Poetics

Laura at dVerse has challenged us to take a line of Pablo Neruda and create a riposte or rejoinder.

I have chosen “Why did the grove undress itself only to wait for the snow.” Pablo Neruda

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Photo: pixabay.com

 

“What is to give light must endure burning.”  Victor Frankl

Readied

The confessional moment is pending,
an absurdist response,
to excoriate and purify
the hidden
by a letting go
a shedding of pretence,
no room for Janus
though Sisyphus is close,
tearing at the inane
letting the core settle
in a visceral landscape
where the cold burns,
let it be so!
For cauterised we are yet
emboldened,
strengthened,
readied,
for the new.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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I Am Invited – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse – Poetics – Your Majesty

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Photo: looking out across the breakaway at Jindalee into the Victoria Desert.

 

“Words are the fallen ruins of silent majesty.”  Bryant McGill

 

I Am Invited

To think that the horizon is not of my doing,
an expansive ocular trove
kaleidoscoping emotions that
leave me sighing and faint,
as yet an inescapable addiction
for a mind enamoured with
a living beauty that speaks
in slant of cruciforms and
sunsets watercolour bleeding
that is so sweet to taste
more than fruit to my wonder vine,
I am undiminished
though simply an observer of
this vast raw beauty
tucked in the bottom left corner
of this living majesty
to which I am invited.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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At Ease – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics: Profiles – Portraits

Anmol at dVerse has invited us to write a profile or portrait (so, I’m not using a photo this time).

 

“Old man with a young mind is much younger than the young man with and old mind!”  Mehmet Murat Ildan

At Ease

His wrinkled face carried his life
and held his rheumy eyes
as they appeared to weep
in a grief of days now gone,
his greying hair a testimony,
a paean to a wisdom unspoken
while his gnarled hands were
badged by his plaid shirt,
perhaps too big
but he’d thinned a lot
these past two years
just as he shuffled
more than walked,
he slid into the seat across
and ordered his coffee in
slow and carefully appointed words
completely at ease with his world.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

 

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Gifted – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Open Link Night

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Photo: pxhere.com

 

“Hope is a helium balloon. It is a wish lantern set out into the dark sky of night.”  Sharon Weil

 

Gifted

I want to laugh
as infectious giggles fill the air
a family,
its youngest gifted a balloon,
so enthralled, excited
running carefree,
trusting, or was it forgetting
with a letting go
just to see it floating,
the child was sad and crying,
but I really understood that balloon,
and I held it in my heart
gifted by its freedom.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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The Real Food – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Food

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Photo: truthinsideofyou.com

 

“I’ve begun to realise that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all of its own.”  Chaim Potok

 

The Real Food

Such a sumptuous feast
with food to die for,
true nurture for the body
is gift too for the soul,
inseparable elements,
but, even so
the real food that nurtures
is quite something else,
the presence of absence,
a stillness of silence
an inactive being
that enables me whole.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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Little Toby Melancholy – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Kafka For Kids

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Art: Altered books by Susan Hoerth (raidersofthelostart)

dVerse Poetics – a challenge by Amaya to take a line from Kafka as inspiration for a nursery rhyme or other. The line that inspired my poem is from Kafka’s Letter to Oskar Pollak:

Think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us.” 

 

Little Toby Melancholy

Little Toby Melancholy
didn’t want to play
so, instead he took a book
of new worlds to a tree,
but soon the caramel words
which swirled like serpents free,
did stick to his hands and clothes,
poor little Toby did writhe and grive
as the book turned dark and grim,
and from its pages of murk
appeared a bony finger thin
stabbing at his chest so tight
with raucous moonlight laugh,
then Toby shrieked a desperation
and flung it hard away,
its landing thudded waking him
startled and ever wide,
he glanced the cover slight
which winked at him mad
and little Toby sprang in flight
and ran,
and ran,
and ran.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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Forever – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Waiting

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Photo: pixabay.com

“For a while” is a phrase whose length can’t be measured. At least by the person who’s waiting.”   Haruki Murakami

 

Forever

She recalled and awareness of the past
which also became the present,
a horological antechamber
of present moments,
never departed, never arrived at,
but always the injunction of elders,
well intended, yet impossible,
the delicate even delicious
moment of knowing that
waiting is forever.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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There Are Times – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Madness 2

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Image: https://weburbanist.com

“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”  Joseph Campbell

 

There Are Times

The thin thread of the real
never leaves me,
though it stretches to breaking
and there are times that I must
dissociate awhile
to live in beauty and ponder
the possibility of the good,
to live inside
while outwardly existing amidst
the clouds that presage
an ugliness of life undoing
my existential fortress,
of which I can do little
until it can pass,
it’s a struggle when your
inside is out and your
outside is in.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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It Had Wandered – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

dVerse Poets – Poetics – Madness

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Photo: shutterstock.com

 

“It is only through mystery and madness that the soul is revealed.”  Thomas Moore

 

It Had Wandered

If only she could paint them,
but the colours were all wrong
they were coming too fast
and speaking real slow,
collecting at her temples
and bursting in her ears
while the words on the news-stand
started flying and though
she tried, she couldn’t catch them
and put them back except that
one word, evol, which
creased her brow and
made her hide inside herself,
till I turned it around
at which she cried and laughed
and held her head and
sang a song,
even so, she didn’t trust that
word, it spoke of all the wrongs,
a wasted life and a cruel hope
just out of reach,
but there was no madness in her,
it had wandered down the street.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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