Tag Archives: poetry

Silence Of The Trolls – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Troll – Word of the Day

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Photo: pexels.com

 

Silence Of The Trolls

Your hand hovers over the keys,
to abuse, or not to abuse,
a momentary question,
lost in the lust for gratification,
a gas-lighter’s delight
mayhem and pain,
sowing the seeds of doubt
like a hot knife
to the heart of the unsuspecting.
But I have discovered your weakness,
I hold my silence to your hand.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul,

pvcann.com

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One Thing – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Pacify – Word of the Day

shelter.jpg

Cargotecture – one of many options now coming on-stream across the world, as reported in 2013 Homeless Housing 

 

One Thing

Wearily he closed the door
and slumped on the floor,
the day had wandered,
and, like a bloodhound,
he knew every pavement
as he walked the daylight away,
just waiting for the night-shelter.
No alcohol allowed,
but that didn’t matter,
nothing could pacify the haunting
that devoured his mind and seared his heart,
diminishing every fibre of him.
The tears no longer came,
he was empty now,
but he had one thing, a calling,
to know the pavements who walked with him.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul,

pvcann.com

13 Comments

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The Forge Of Vikings – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

Fjord – Word of the Day

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Photo: norway.nordicvisitor.com

 

 

The Forge Of Vikings

There was a time,
long before we breathed in this place,
when the sea had cleft our mountains,
and before long, we rested there,
our souls forged of its very nature.
Then the sea and the oak formed a pact,
and the long boat came to be,
together we made our way across the seas.
At home we were blacksmiths, farmers, woodsmen,
but on foreign shores we were beserkers,
fearless, bringers of terror and death
as we plundered our way into history,
all the while the fjords a fire in our souls.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

 

Paul,

pvcann.com

27 Comments

Filed under life, poem, poetry, war

Memorizing more than things

Memorize

When I was in primary school poetry and times tables had to be memorized, tests and assesments of memory were to be had. Every Friday there was an oral times table test for the whole class, and poetry had to be presented each term. ‘My Country’ was one poem I enjoyed memorizing. Another was Coleridge’s ‘The Ryme of the Ancient Mariner.’ Sunday School brought memory verses and nativity plays to memorize. Scouts brought a whole range of memorizing from the national anthem to knot formations.

But as I have aged it is less important to memorize things like numbers and poetry, knots or scripts (with the exception of the ubiquitous password). The things I have treasured and committed to memory without even trying are moments with people. As we approach Fathers Day in Australia I am particularly conscious of the hole my late father left when he died the age I am about to become. But, that hole is somehow whole through memory, or re-membering, the putting him back together.

He was a simple man, a coal miner who struggled in school, survived the blitz, he had his hopes and dreams, wife and children, a home. But he was also a frustrated man, an angry man, and many times his fists formed what he thought of the world and spoke directly to each one of us. And yet amidst the terror of physical threat, there were times of joy, celebration, play, holidays, excitement. Memories are what they are.

They were the best of days and the worst too, but I am glad I have my memories of dad to treasure, and ponder, to reflect on for myself. For me, memorizing moments and people are about my wholeness, my path, and I am glad to walk with them.

pvcann.com

 

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