Green Eye Shields

I have stars drying in my eyes.
Heavy seas, in wind.
They have sealed me from the heavy
dragging sockets, otherwise my green eye shields.

I have scars all over my eyes,
to bear the horrible imaginings
that try to come through.

The horror of being alive.
The crusty scenes that pry into trees
glide down, touch me,
a glitter of awful gold steals me,
in its triumph of glow.

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

Village Idiot

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Fortress Snow

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Jabiru

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Kipper, Tea And Oranges

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

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Darkening Green

My mind, rarely with me alone,
parts with energy,
the floor boards scuffed
and landing beams just
roosts big enough for pigeons
on leave from fields
darker for their grain.

Paul Cameron Brown

Green Angellights

Green angel lights
stream from the willow tree,
in direct symmetrical bearing
three birds are drawn to it.

In gold, soft patches
of light overreach
the earth,
shadows trace ridges
to surround each teak blown colour.

With fakir lowliness,
the throb of water
takes petals from
the sun,
shimmers its passing breath
to a euphony sobbing
in movement.

Paul Cameron Brown

Eyeshine

    I remember the world like a picture.
    The habitat of trees and sense impressions,
    the cover of leaves as fall spurred its way
    thru corridors of plasma forest & sarsen stone.

    Most of all, I saw illuminated clearly
    the brash self poke of logic that came
    massively when sunlight stirred, lilted
    its early head erasing the world thru
    sand crusts of colour.

    The cabin floor, a cold dawn infinity,
    was a chilblain on frosty morning shadows -
    the old cupboards staring like flowers
    through a break in the leaves
    watched till the latches & hinges were worlds
    in frozen power, dark rust as thoughts
    meandering like age.

    The stamped down clay, the well worn earthen crust
    that m...

Paul Cameron Brown

Eyes Inside

There's cadence
a real movement
to the worlds
the gaze inside
a flicker of
your eyes.

Paul Cameron Brown

Blue*Eyed Grasses

Rocky shale, pale voile,
sun lighting the
clearness of the bay;
come Moccasin Flower or Grass Pink
unto Painted Cup    -
big with primula eye, these septs off wild
and inland seas.

The delights of success and heartbreaks
of failure among the people
in the land below Tobermory;
the rocks on the cold hill,
the lilacs by the doors...

And it was at their expense that this land
came to be supplied
with vitriol, camomile and liquorice,
yea some camphor and jallop,
oft'times basil, lemon or rhubarb
- - all sent from Glasgow
in wooden boxes
stout as pioneer hearts.

Paul Cameron Brown

Gossamer Threads

I feel like cutting my finger,
hiding upside down
clinking a canteen
shelling peas along the floor.

From the focal point above
anything could be.
Light dripping upon
forlorn gossamer spreads
like a balloon.


Merely the vantage point
of a perspective
quietly threading.

Paul Cameron Brown