Tag Archives: Prosery

Poems From The Night Sky – prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Linda is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to write using the line “In the street of the sky night scattering poems.” from ‘Tulips and Chimneys’ by e.e. cummings.

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Tulips and Chimneys

Photo: EvgeniT at pixabay.com

“Poetry and beauty are always making peace. When you read something beautiful you find coexistence; it breaks wall down.” Mahmoud Darwish

Poems From The Night Sky

I look for the day as if I were a village watchman tired of his shift, having danced with the moon and the stars, ready to drop. The goats stir not. The sky is clear. The only cloud is in my heart which moods a longing for resolution for feelings I cannot as yet name. But would I name it anyway? Not immediately. Surely longing is a kind of ecstasy that when ended leaves an emptiness? who knows? But I am not ready to address this, for I do not know yet what it is.

What I do know, or rather, what I can do, is hymn the night sky and listen to its wisdom, see its language of beauty, its rhyme of reason. There, then, I will open, for in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems that will set me free.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Where Death Fades – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Bjorn is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to take his suggested line from Dylan’s song Desolation Row (from Highway 61 Revisited) – the line is: To her, death is quite romantic.

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Bob Dylan

Image: wallpaperaccess.com

“To her, death is quite romantic.” Bob Dylan

Where Death Fades

She often talked of death as if it were sublime. Some mistakenly thought she meant the passion of the little death but in fact it is something more, to her, death is quite romantic. It called out to her from every fibre of nature’s breath. She sensed doors and windows, secret gardens, forest paths. For her this was a journey to life where death fades.

She was no tragic Ophelia seeking to lie down early, death was no surrender, this was life free of burden and furrow. She was quite sure that day would come as prophesied by Donne, Keats, even Blake she mused. A day when the living was lived and the leaving was relief, where ending became beginning and nothing was final, the greatest adventure. On that day she would wear white, and the wedding dance would be sweet like the fragrance of jasmine.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Being Sung To Life – prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Prosery with an invitation to write a piece of prose (144 words) including a line from the ‘Chambered Nautilus’ by Oliver Wendell Holmes Snr.

The line is: “Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – A Voice That Sings

“Practice listening to your intuition, your inner voice; ask questions, be curious …” Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Being Sung To Life

I’m not sure how long I sat, or conscious of the passage of the sky twins, sun and moon, or that I’d strayed from where I’d begun. Neither hunger nor other need pressed upon me as I Travelled my mind freely. Having lost my original intention, which I noticed was neither good or ill, it just was, I lost myself in myself seeking pieces of something that would make a picture, no matter how abstract.

I sifted and rolled thoughts as sweet things on my tongue, taking pleasure with each one. Initially this maze was a swirling mass, then suddenly, through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings my secret name. Just that. Nothing else was sung, but I implicitly understood its energy. Nothing was given, yet I received so much. There is a wholeness when being sung to life.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Accepting The Tears – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sarah is hosting Prosery (144 words of prose) with an invitation to use a line from a poem by Michael Donaghy called ‘Liverpool.’

The line offered is: “she’d had it sliced away leaving a scar.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Slices and Scars

Photo: gharpedia.com A tree wound healing.

“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” Rumi

Accepting The Tears

Unnerving she thought, when we realise how parallels weave their way through our lives. Here among her trees she was confronted with last autumn's pruning. The liquid amber had suffered in the winds and one of its beautifully shaped branches had split and she'd had it sliced away leaving a scar where the limb had once protruded. She hadn't connected it before, but at the same time her father had died. Only now she sensed that she had a scar of grief about her, the tears welled as she remembered the pain she'd excised. She touched the healed callus fibres and felt the ridge where the cut had been, noticing the feelings in herself. The tree was making good progress. Not that she wasn't, but she felt the rawness of the premature cut, maybe now was the time to feel, to finally accept the tears.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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The Pain – Prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to respond to a line from a poem ‘Notes On Uvalde’ from Girl Du Jour. To read that full poem follow the link below. The line offered is “These are the things they don’t tell us”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – How Many More Will It Take?

Photo: http://www.gettyimages.com (found on Bing) High school students in the US protesting gun violence.

“This is the ultimate weakness of violence: It multiplies evil and violence in the world. It doesn’t solve any problems.” Martin Luther King Jr

The Pain

I grew up torn by love, when the world was bruised by war and violence I was in pain, and I still am. When people are marginalised, hated and discriminated against I hurt too. Sometimes my anger boils in frustration. Why? Why can’t women determine their bodies? Who decides someones sexuality? Why Poverty? Why war? Why guns? Grief can be overwhelming even when it is vicarious. But we’re all in it together, it affects all.

The real pain of it all is the pain that comes from love, compassion and empathy. The alternative is to stoop into that gutter I am calling out. There is a cost to positive, non-violent action, to standing with the underdog, to protest, to speak out. Sometimes the cost is loneliness, sometimes it is wrangling with the impotence to effect change. These are the things they don’t tell us.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

All Rights Reserved ®️

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Filed under awareness, grief, injustice, life, politics, poverty, prose, protest, quote, Racism, war

Only Love Passes This Way Twice – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Merril is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to use a line from the poem ‘May Day” by Sara Teasdale: the line is – “For how can I be sure I shall see again The world on the first of May.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Sara Teasdale and May

Photo: the Hardy Inlet, Augusta.

“The thing about roads is that you happen upon them again.” Jill Santopolo

Only Love Passes This Way Twice

They say that a river doesn't pass twice, cannot be touched twice, only flows by once in its purest self, which is not its purest self, except for the sake of that moment in which it is truly one, never to be one in the same way again. Everything is emerging while yet everything is passing. This is, perhaps, well beyond our capacity to know, but yet it is in our capacity to feel.

And yet, this is always so difficult. For how can I be sure I shall see again the world on the first of May, when surely, like water, it shall not pass this way again? It will not be. In its purity it cannot be, as I cannot be but once. Unlike love, which is eternally, perpetually, proposing new ways to us, courting our attention as it continually passes by.



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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Until Then – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Sanaa is hosting Prosery with an invitation to write a piece of prose (144 words) including a line from ‘A Daughter Of Eve’ by Christina Rossetti. The line is – “Talk what you please of future spring and sun warm’d sweet tomorrow.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – When it comes to Christina Georgina Rossetti

Photo: by Daniel Grant, from timeout.com Hyde Park, Perth, Western Australia, autumn.

“Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.” Elizabeth Bowen

Until Then

Talk what you please of future spring and sun warm’d sweet tomorrow, but today my mood is mellowed by autumn dews, russet leaves and memories falling into me again. A season of funereal beauty, so easy on my eyes, yet unsettled in my heart. Many leaves now carpet the earth, old and turned often with little to add, save that they hint at something more to come which temporarily coddles me. I just can’t see that far ahead, and in some ways I don’t want to, no one season is experienced like its previous appearance, it can be anticipated but never presumed, longed for but never known until it chooses. Until then I must winter well, reflect and refresh. Spring will come in good time but for now I sit closely with greying skies and misty dawns that challenge my complacency again.

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

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Filed under awareness, life, prose, quote, seasons

I Broke Away – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lillian is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to use the line “I wandered lonely as a cloud.” from the William Wordsworth poem ‘I wander lonely as a cloud.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Winter Be Gone

Photo: from our 2017 road trip through central Australia and down through South Australia, back to Western Australia along the coast. This photo taken along the Nullarbor, the ocean not visible, but further beyond the van is the Great Australian Bight.

“How sweet to be a cloud, floating in the blue.” A.A. Milne

I Broke Away

I wandered lonely as a cloud, not that that is a bad thing in and of itself. I finally broke away from all that encompassing bank of cloud that consumed me, owned me, clouded me. Just one big cloud of everything the same. Sometimes we were white and summery, sometimes grey and uncertain, sometimes black and laden with water. I wanted something else, something more.

I wanted reds, purples, pinks and oranges, colours of excitement, adventure. Colours of day and night, autumn and spring, storm and still. I wanted big and I wanted small. I wanted essence. So I broke away and floated along, determined to discover my cloudness. I wandered lonely as a cloud, and for the first time, entirely happy. Space was mine and I could come and go, and sometimes I need just that, to be far from the madding cloud.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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The Light Of Love – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Bjorn is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to write a prose piece including the following line from the poem ‘Valentine’ by Carol Ann Duffy – “It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Valentine

Photo by David Besh from Pexels

“You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.” e.e. cummings

The Light Of Love

Darkness had reigned for some time, but one night along a distant path I happened upon a ball of light above a pond and cast my line, hooking it well. It was much smaller than at first it appeared. A gift of love I thought, a light for valentine.

The next night we sat on a hill for the feast day of lovers, admiring the darkness and soaking up the tranquility, Feeling gauche, I opened my pack, and she, excited, pleaded, "What is it?" I placed it in her hands and said "It is a moon wrapped in brown paper." Unwrapping it with glee, she rose and ran along the hill, and placed the moon perfectly at its centre. Immediately the whole earth was alight. The moon seemed larger again. But surely that is love, larger than it seems and small enough to carry.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
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By The Cascades – prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Ingrid is hosting Prosery (144 words), with an invitation to use a line from Wordsworth’s ‘Lines written at a small distance from my house’ The line is: “Bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Bring no book

Photo: Damn or reservoir originally for the railway when steam was a thing, at Yellowdine.

“Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.” Albert Camus

By The Cascades 

O, to be free of this straightened life, the interminable deadlines and triplications that are required, but no one reads, you can fill wrong, but if you don't submit them, the roof will fall in. And the fact that we dare to talk openly about it means that this is a farce. And the endless grind of the alarm clock, that sentinel of hours, gleefully chiming our days given to some supposed endeavour that will somehow matter.

Today we will escape, we will call in lost, unfound, laughing, pour vivre ma vie. We shall stroll to a brook and sit in the shade, quaff wine until we are not fine but dandy. And bring no books, for this one day, we'll give to idleness, to caviar and water cress sandwiches, to laughter, to tears, to sighs, and the little death, by the cascades.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

Note: pour vivre ma vie = to live my life.
  

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