PAUL VINCENT CANNON - POEMS

Paul is as yet an unknown poet who lives in Bunbury, Western Australia with his wife Lyn. Paul is a parish priest in the Anglican tradition and has a deep interest in spirituality rather than religion. Paul has had a number of work interests including farming and landscape gardening, Paul enjoys a number of pursuits, bush walking, gardening, writing and a glass of red. Poetry has been formational for Paul and is now something he enjoys writing and reflecting on for himself. Paul blogs some of his poetry at Parallax, pvcann.com.

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Precarious Soul
​

​The storm raged all night in my heart,
and it felt as if the very breath of me
had escaped as if a deflated balloon.
And I stood on the precipice of rejection,
the cracks in my soul so precarious
I might fall into myself.

The Narrative Of Walls
​

​The old brick wall was always there,
but I’d left it unnoticed for a time.
It held my gaze as I wandered by,
and I saw that it had aged
a little more than time allowed,
with the trace of salt along its base
and the dust of fretting bricks,
the earth returning to its place.
The wall is marked with histories,
of weather and of time,
the stains of rain and dogs
and local drunks.
Kissing couples,
vendors,
and tennis balls
have grazed these ancient bricks.
I’ve leaned here,
conversed,
and waited for a sign.
If I could squeeze this wall
it would have so much to give
by way of story,
some of it mine.

The Parenthesis Of Silence
​

​To put away the day for just a moment,
and turn down the volume of my mind,
let alone every device of distraction,
to accept the seasons,
the songs of life,
and, the love of others,
to simply sit
with folded hands
in silence.

Free Spirits
​

​We apprehended futility and held it as our own,
never stopping to think of consequence.
Logic held no sway,
there was no song,
the soil of our hearts rooted no doctrine,
myths and legends were our truths.
We slept in the open and spoke in ravines,
ate haute cuisine from tins,
punished our fantasies and banished our doubts
as we passed through Falkirk, Culloden, Lexington,
and struggled at Eureka,
countered in Prague,
threw out shoes in Manila and turned orange in Kiev.
We played with protest,
shouldered riot and uprising,
captured yet not imprisoned,
we remained free spirits held by passion,
undaunted, determined.
Our very breath was inviolate,
this was our victory,
to be present.