A Face

A face in the mist, with rain around,
clings to bare leaves frowning.
A face through the mist, convulsed,
plays stationary, perching from twigs.
A face, not knowing it, trust it is good.

Paul Cameron Brown

Paul Cameron Brown is a Canadian poet known for his extensive work in both poetry and art criticism. Born in western Canada, Brown has had a prolific career in writing, often intertwining themes of human experience and nature. His works have been showcased in various literary magazines and anthologies. With a style that is both reflective and evocative, he has gained recognition not only in Canada but also internationally.

Paul Cameron Brown

Midpoint

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Seagulls

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Unpaginated

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Moonrock

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

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Rain Film

On the night of the rains,
water was oozing out from
the sky's swollen stitches,
a rash developed across
the meaning of the heavens.

The wooden floors of my attic place
strove for a deeper tone,
a hoarse calling
grew louder as I paced
trying to see rain.

I followed the gravity of the treasure hunt
where each bounce meant a slap
across a table top of tension,
where the window basted winter black rain
and silence paid another call.

I am as much as this water flower, rain.
I am as impressionable as the city that stops for rain.
And I lack the same substance that dooms water to be
a soft pillow feather; excepting this,
I may still shatter this thing, March routine existence
by dabbling in destruction.

Paul Cameron Brown

The Spoken Word

I touch your
face - where strands of whispery hair
dangle your thoughtful gaze through mine.

Clutching,
all the words not said
lie pale and broken
beneath forgery lies.


Eyes, our facial minnows, the mirror
images, flash too brightly
out of the shallows,
out of their stony commitments
towards believing
we cannot agree.

Paul Cameron Brown

Forest Spittle

The preciseness of that little moment,
bowler eyes in hot, top rays
effervescent through
spongy forest gloom,
the wet of the happy
unreconciled with the dry outside.

Paul Cameron Brown

Shamrock

    Is there anything prettier than that -
    to stare into your manifold spaces
    toward the hook & vine
    of cathedral leaps,
    the vaults & crypts
    as go-betweens of an earthy worship,
    the supine female form?

    By quiet pools,
    thrush in the thicket
    with red berry behind its eye,
    miniature sun
    proceeding by the branch
    to undress the bark
    with leaves as
    passionate culprits
    kissing dark.

    Clasped hands
    upward lies the sky
    my masterpiece angel,
    I bite lush meadows,
    tread spongy brooks,
    endear daring small of back,
    crevice taste nape and neck,
    a beatific pilgrim nearing
    a fleshy way-station,
    first charting his co...

Paul Cameron Brown

Claws

Unfolding gazes
throw over
the little reality
surly door.
The dumb
clatter
of ripples
shudder the better life.

Paul Cameron Brown

Naiad Trance

    The leaves on their trumpet flames
    Richter scale inside pulse stems -
    into the gorge, la gorge
    throat and crevice
    of the canyon arroyo.

    Walking the slit
    into rheumatism earth
    the twilight pain
    of Paleozoic ice,
    Jurassic Age
    whence rupture
    sculpted rock

    River precipice
    the afternoon dangling like shadow
    beside taiga sun
    lost to dark & rain
    toward the water now,
    ever, and chemical rushing sound.

    Chameleon, I would swear
    this journey was that,
    worse, sorceress on my emotions;
    I left pathways contoured with Merlin rock
    & trees like Babbitt refugees
    from the Nahanni,
    fearful Dogrib aboriginals
   ...

Paul Cameron Brown