Monthly Archives: December 2022

A Voice In The Noise – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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parallax

“Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with deeper meaning.” Maya Angelou

A Voice In The Noise

There seem to be more words than infinity can muster,
sentences and phrases strung together passing through me,
unpunctuated noise piercing my unguarded mind,
so many mouths spewing sound with no discernible form
droning earnest speculative meaninglessness,
a kind of backscatter logos,
an anaesthetic for the age,
sound devoid of content,
spittle filled nonsense,
flushed piss,
atrophy of a generation drugged by equilibrium,
that boat won't be rocked,
peace in our time insta in yoga pants,
while my teeth grind to dust
and the earth flames,
faintly I heard a prophet speak.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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Once More With Feeling – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

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parallax

“What you seek is seeking you.” Rumi

Once More With Feeling

What are we talking about when we talk about desire?
Perhaps I have already lost you in a haze or eroticism
as you drift to boudoir and silken sweat,
pardon me If I interrupt your subjective memoir,
but isn't desire an infusion of everything,
the good, the bad, even the mad?
A repeating nudge to have,
most likely something out of reach,
beyond our capacity to control,
the last item, 
the bird to be caged,
a luxury lust,
surely desire is more than love,
isn't it both murder and possession?
A response to suggestion,
a marriage of icons,
fictions of sensate memories,
idealised intensities of wanting.
More than that,
isn't desire a return to feeling in a world 
that has fallen into disinterest and anxiety.



Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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My Favorite Christmas Ad – Repost

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A Teacher's Reflections

My favorite Christmas Ad, every year.

The Spirit of Christmas
That’s what it’s really about.
This is the year we need to keep that spirit alive.
This is the year we need to find happiness.
If we are happy, it is contagious.
I bring you my favorite ad, as this is the one to, well…
fill me with twinkle lights that shoot out of my fingers and toes.
Yes, this is the one.

May you find happiness and joy this season.
It’s the little things, not the big things, that are important.
Dance, smile, hug your kids, look at the sky.
You will become the shooting star for others.

Jennie

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They Call It This, I Call It That

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rike jokanan

Or I call it this, they call it that. It is it. Pronouns that fool around—

Some know, like telling. Some know, don’t tell enjoying the fun of knowing—

Some names are easy. Some are hard. All refer to one uttered many.

Some are fooled with words, some with views, lots with both. Few are clear with both

Which one is called a blessing? Ah…. Choose a door and say your oath.

Salaam.

—

they call it this, i call it that

they call it red anthurium, i call it anthurium

they call it golden shower orchids, i call it oncidium

they call it layered yellow alamanda, i call it alamanda

they call it fragrant orchids, i call it orchids

they call it patterned pink rose, i call it rose

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Your Morning Glow (audio poem)

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My Inspired Life

Your Morning Glow (audio poem)

Many things come between us –
the spin of the earth, the moon, vast lands, expansive oceans
Distance now erased by your nurturing arms
Your touch is light as you gently ascend
You stir birds from their nests and entice protective buds to open
Through tiny fractures and dark thoughts, you find a way in
Your presence can also be consuming and powerful
Cracking frail glass and disturbing sleeping shadows

Now enveloped in your life-giving energy
warming my shivering skin, calming the chatter within

our morning ritual, I am ready to begin
Looking to the horizon, from where you transcend,

I leave behind expectations
stripped of ambitions and bare of questions –

Who am I?
Where am I going?

What am I supposed to be?
In this golden moment, these details are of no concern to me

I am here, with you, my glowing one

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The Edge Of The Possible – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

by

parallax

Photo: Tumiso at pixabay.com

“Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see from the center.” Kurt Vonnegut 

The Edge Of The Possible

Can you take me to the edge of who I am,
because I can't take myself there,
I can only take me wherever I am,
but you,
you can take me beyond,
you can take me to that blurred place,
the frayed line where 
everything and nothing is possible.


Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®️

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