Ace Of Spades

    Parable as metaphor -
    profile in hard glint of light,
    buckskin garb
    merging from shadow &
    buckboards -
    sandwiching of memory
    being elbowed
    thru a Deadwood City
    saloon door.

    Noneother.
    Dead Man's Hand.
    Cards strewn,
    last tumbler ...
    chamber on empty.
    Yancy Derringer modelling the
    latest revolver of his namesake,
    in pit & the palm
    bullet in the back
    for Wild Bill, just for a keepsake.

    Treasure-trove for the funeral parlour:
    "they done him up well". Peccadillo as provocation.

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

Homuncular Forms

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Headdress

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Rogue And Privateer

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Bravura

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Gangland

    A sailor, "tatoo you,"
    the cigarette Players
    with tape-deck playing
    a jaundiced "Yellow Bird",
    Cerveza, Dos Equiis, the
    two horses, in red flame,
    across the label.

    Trolling in a deep sea-trench
    (spinners and chubb),
    the dark night
    a religious procession,
    acolyte stars in hymnal to the wind.

    Across the channel
    a Party Boat
    - the words almost demand capitals
    with actions so diminutive -
    creased laughter "to go" cross the waves
    flicker of lights, siren call
    then a lemon shark strikes the bait
    on anchor reel, Horse-Eyed Jack
    perhaps borrowing the name
    from the Outback -
    think pantomime, enter Wahoo
    and the aesthetic of fear...

Paul Cameron Brown

Wild Card

    Clayton brothers at the corral,
    its Earp City today
    tumbleweed junction for numerous lives,
    not to mention lies
    swift-draw artists
    encased in a memory of stone
    boots up ...
    with all the forlorn grace of
    being pushed in front
    of a train.

Paul Cameron Brown

Braggadocio

Chess playing Death
-    no, the reverse
Death sitting decked out and self-satisfied
in black no mandatory top hat but a shroud
shouldering a cowl.

There stereotypes end    -
appearances have to be kept up
tho' hardly any cinematic gnarled fingers
of Baron Samedi fame
rather pudgy digitals reflecting
gentile prosperity
(after all, Winners do take all
his fellow satanists bank on it).

Of course, such things are fictitious.
Death plays no favourites (and waits
for no man when rivalling Time).
Still, parlour games are one indulgence.
Hardly comforting to know human beings
function at one purpose
when this Hallow of Hallows puts on the smirk.

Dalliance with the victim is the upshot    -
the chess motif again.
Sift th...

Paul Cameron Brown

Ancestral Memory

Patrician to my plebian,
aristocratic leaning versus
unbridled backwoods feeling    -
distinct Old World breeding
countering rudest colonial lean-to;
his carcass lay, roadworthy,
blinking back cold starlight
with all the forest as silent voyeur
stretching for a look,
black fur & quills
in disarray like Crazy Horse's warpaint
after the Big Horn,
this roughneck Canadian porcupine
shot clean with bumper & chrome.

Then little hedge-pig
quaint as porcelain china cup
half a world away
greeting pints of milk
in an English doorway
half his scalp torn thru
dirty, British lorry choking fumes
the petrol in its tank loose.

Paul Cameron Brown

Bravura

    Memory as embankment,
    a mudslide at High Tide
    with shades up...
    my avocado green brethren
    pleasures the soil.

    Memory as enchantment
    a Belle at a Soiree,
    pureed, Gaston at a Dinner Party.

    Napanee suggests sympathy,
    a serendipity...
    as water winders its way
    to clay in a moonlight
    turn of the bottle,
    I shall find a way.
    that's ironclad.

Paul Cameron Brown

Chemin De Fer

    Had I been
    a gambling man,
    eschewing the "shoe"
    of chemin de fer ...
    perpetually perched upon that throne
    ... effete kingdom of the dice.

    II
    I am that gambling man ...
    taking free access to many
    a natural habitat, lure
    of the open road,
    contents under a bottle cap,
    the riverine delicacies
    of female flesh. Svelte, like
    the croupier's green vision of cloth,
    tingley-trigger smooth yet addictive
    to the touch.

    III
    Or the pleasures of Ovaltine
    (not necessarily the brand name)
    ... by the handful or cup ...
    upon a summer's day,
    the mind blur of expensive art.

    IV
    Blackjack. Three card stud.
    The poker-face...

Paul Cameron Brown