Tag Archives: Prosery

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
All Rights Reserved ®

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Filed under life, love, philosophy, poem, prose, quote

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

All Rights Reserved ®

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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
All Rights Reserved ®

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Filed under camping, Country, Fiction, identity, life, prose, quote

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
All Rights Reserved ®

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Filed under love, moon, passion, prose

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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Honour For The Stolen – Prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Lisa is hosting Prosery (144 words) with an invitation to write including the sentence “I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night.” from the poem ‘When we sing of might’ by Kimberly Blaeser.

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Lost – Found/Lost/children

Photo: still shot from the film ‘The Rabbit Proof Fence’ a story of three aboriginal girls forcibly taken from their mothers and placed in a town far away under white control in oder to assimilate them and exploit them. The film is based on the true story as told by author Doris Pilkington who was taken from her mother at three years of age, in her book of the same name. Known as the Stolen Generation, children were forcibly removed over generations between 1884 and 1969.

“In their grief the women asked why their children should be taken form them.” Doris Pilkington ‘The Rabbit Proof Fence’

Honour For The Stolen

The darkness of enlightened men voids my world in a sadness too weighty to even speak. They pretended to save the world as a ruse to colonise and dehumanise those they encountered in every land who they deemed to be sub-human. Your arrogance is too great to measure and your refuge too trite to count. 

You cowards, you hid behind your public schools, your venture capital, your egos and your hypocrisy in claiming the purity of the bleeding Christ, which raises bile in my throat and fire in my gut. You knew full well the moral weight of your actions. I weep for the loss of life in all its experience, and I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night. I cannot bring them back, but I can honour the beauty of their presence and name the meaning of their lives.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Filed under history, justice, life, Restorative Justice, Spirituality, Stolen Generation

Standing – prosery by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Merril is hosting Prosery with an invitation to write some prose (144 words) including the line “I am bombarded but yet I stand” by Adrienne Rich from Planetarium.

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Bombarded

Photo by Jakub Novacek from Pexels

“Sometimes it takes a really good fall to really know where you stand.” Hayley Williams

Standing

I am bombarded yet I stand. The winds howl, the waters rise and yet I stand. I know not how, I'm far from perfect, if you could know one tiny moment of my mind, you would, like a shotgun, violently recoil having discharged your shock. The anger rises and engulkfs, just like the haze of saharan dust storms covering everything. Heightening all my responses, highjacking my feelings, leaving me ravaged and spent like a used towel.

I am tired and rung out, yet I stand. The voices clamour and bay, but I shut them out. Loud or silent, they shout. And though they would torment me, I stand. Where would I go, where would I run, to whom would I turn to.? I have no virtue, my morals are own, and yet I stand.


Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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Filed under life, mindfulness, quote

Fierce Beauty – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Mish is hosting Posery with an invitation to using a line form TS Eliot’s poem ‘The Waste Land.’

dVerse Poets – Prosery – The Waste Land

The line offered and which must be included is: “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”

Photo: an example of eremophila taken at Niagara near Kookynie.

“According to ancient mythology, trees link the earth to the sky. In this respect trees link humans to another world.” Richard Allen

Fierce Beauty

The eastern goldfields suffer only the strong or determined living in the extremities across these vast open plains of mostly dry laterite and also quartz, granite and sandstone outcrops populated by shy fauna and rugged flora. The summer is merciless, the winter winds penetrate layers. The rainfall is pitiful, the reason the state government commissioned the grand and ambitious Goldfields Water Supply Scheme in 1896.

When the rains do come they seem to evaporate before they touch the surface soil, and it is a wonder that anything could grow in such a place. Which raises the question, what are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish? Dozens in fact, varieties of eucalyptus, acacia, eremophila, grevillea, and callistemon tenaciously hang on out here where humans wilt. When the sun is fierce, the soil unforgiving, the trees are beautifully fiercer.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

All rights Reserved ®

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Filed under awareness, bush walking, camping, Country, ecology, environment, life, nature, prose, quote

Just Following Orders – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

At Dverse Ingrid is hosting Prosery with an invitation to use a line from William Blake’s poem ‘The Chimney Sweeper’ – “If all do their duty, they need not fear harm.”

dVerse Poets – Prosery – Doing Our Duty

Public domain photo of Adolf Eichmann.

“Being evil is only something that only humans are capable of.” Jane Goodall

Just Following Orders

In 1960 an architect appeared in court in down town Jerusalem charged with crimes against humanity. He was the architect of the Holocaust, his defence was banal, he claimed immunity because he was only following orders.

Who never questions motive? Who believes they are perfect and above the law?And who never effects harm on others? But of those who excelled in following orders, no matter how perverted, Adolf Eichmann stands apart as intentionally evil, and more so because of his claim that he was just following orders. And, so, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm? really? Think slavery. Think Eichman, think Vietnam War, Think Derek Chauvin, think so many.

Our actions always affect others, and where there is evil the effect is always negative. Harm comes to those in the orbit of such people. Just listen to Holocaust survivors.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon

All Rights Reserved ®

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Filed under awareness, death, history, injustice, justice, life, prose, quote, war