Between Two Stones

    They poured hot water into people's cups
    in which green tea leaves were floating
    like algae,
    or into red-painted spittoons
    placed on the floor
    which the travellers made frequent use of...
    It was strangely quiet.

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

Sentry

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Brushstroke

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

The Strongbox

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Oracabessa

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

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Street Scene

    No open barge
    crowded with nameless waifs
    or junks in a teeming harbour
    - just odours spilling from
    a back alley,
    stair wells littered with cheap saki
    bottles, one propped
    to rifle the door.

Paul Cameron Brown

Ambergris City

Felt no pain against the water,
the tea-cup sky was a turquoise colour in its wrath
illuminating ambergris city in spot checks below.

The sperm whale population was in decline.
Little or nothing remained of former commitments.
A bitter legacy consumed itself in half-truths
against the sound of upturned lies.

Winding alleys come as the conscience of well plaid cities.
are open zippers revealing the indecent poor.
The fire hydrant lives of cellar inhabitants strain these urinals
for wretches sniffing out the edge of completed walls.

Gray nuisances, the men in asbestos overalls finding their way
through the apricot fire of dark, eclipse Park Plazas with the
stately elegance of empty dinner dishes or red trash cans
against indentured snow.

Paul Cameron Brown

Offerings (A Movement In Four Parts)

The night is folly without the moon,
trees blank space against a frontal sky
where lattice work from a bled fish reveals
skeletal markings will not administer
the red jack of hearts to a mistress sea.

Most fickle, the ways of a cockroach
(I don't recommend them) to offerings
of white linen, cold squares atop
a stone diamonded floor.

Palaver shacks drone in ghostly light
communicating some message about eel runs
up the black river, the equivalent brush
of tombstones against dark nightsoil.

Tiny bars open as cubicles.
proverbial flashes of the coming evening,
haciendas to count every blessing.

The road to such places
snarls a dusty pleasure
and will heat thin blood
to boil in the daylight hours.

II

Swe...

Paul Cameron Brown

Chopsticks

    Only marginal chances
    of finding a Great White
    in my coffee
    although the cigaret's tubular belly
    is flotsam against my hand -
    a dirty kerosene color, sleek & grey.

    2
    And stirring the embers of my cup,
    suppose the grinds become primitive shark lore
    of forgotten peoples or death sticks,
    dry rot teeth, fathoms
    squinting light.

Paul Cameron Brown

Trinkets

    My mind a buzz saw,
    wood chips in decapitated thought
    soil chilblained hands

    II
    Cleansing wood,
    the keen smell of sawdust
    - good, raw earth drenching
    the nostril, clean odour
    of nature like my brain,
    a broomstick sweeping
    the coffee pot speaking ...
    bubbles massed in steam
    inchoate in their pensive rivulets.

Paul Cameron Brown

Dinner At Eight

    At times, I thought of swizzling white rum
    in the tropics (not as a vocation),
    dropping into the club
    for a round of tennis
    before dinner at eight
    or a quiet set of darts
    before retiring.

    I had grown accustomed to my new routine
    (at least vicariously).
    In the best Somerset Maugham tradition
    I would dress for dinner,
    decline to be patronizing,
    avoid the potential slur
    if crisp linen did not appear
    regularly on my bed or table.
    I still found time to stop
    for breakfast coffee,
    take a moment from regimen
    to fondle fresh, wet flowers,
    look over the balcony at the
    blueness of the bay.

    The metaphysical qualities that come
    into play ero...

Paul Cameron Brown