Hewanorra

    The moon, at most a shudder or two away.
    The sky, bivouaked and cloudy, is within twin sloops of a bay.
    The lagoon opens, spars with the greater ocean
    by island hopping, green azure blue, as
    the wind steps before an open sea.

    The great ridge of the mountain
    lies obscured by rain;
    jasmine, frequent colour
    and plantations
    with cocoa, soursop, and cinnamon.

    Arawaks, Pelee,
    Carriacoi, Anegada,
    Josephine of the Creoles,
    let Admiral Rodney atone Lord Byng.

    And my Patois beauty,
    breath laced Oleander sweet -
    take the hemming from your dress
    then come sit down with me.

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

Dress Rehearsal

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Ponchontas

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Chopsticks

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Ambergris City

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Cuando-Cubango

    1

    Moths, if they dream dusk,
    sport esurient hip-flasks on their wings -
    gangster rum-runners better to sully dark,
    traverse caravans of colour
    amid silk-routes
    to dazzle Prester John,
    cork unscrew the unicorn horn askew.

    2
    Compte de la Mothe
    escadrilles/flotillas
    D'Entrecasteaux
    with Bougainville discovering
    well, Bougainvillaea and I,
    latter day la Perouse,
    cunningly amuck on coral
    adoration and wine,
    (red as scarlet leaves)
    chenille, frangipanni and the Marquis house colours
    of the flame-bitten tropics.

    3
    Let me scandalize why.
    Watch the sea churn
    to white bubbles then coat
    your nostril with brine
...

Paul Cameron Brown

Vulcans

    Adder toothed flowers snake
    the broken ground where
    molten tongues cremated
    the twisted, bunker forms -
    a Latin cross of
    green jubilation
    lies matted atop a
    sweating road, calligraphy in broken stone.

    As trembling shale collapses into thin hills,
    light fuels to cross the Pale.
    A little exploratory weeding droops this lava rain.

    A long, dove fence comprised
    of stones & rattled by ancient slaves
    winds its distance
    along the gully
    borne in fire, percussion caps,
    cretin growth
    lobbed under
    creeping wire.

    Shafts of pioneer light
    delight in coral baskets,
    empty twilight darts the
    agave swords' mauve pitcher plants.

Paul Cameron Brown

Picaroon

Scouting the sun
thin clouds threadbare vests
barely to cover the horizon.
the heat or the day, canine,
a hot tongue's intensily
splashing yr face.

The docks are quiet,
prawn trawlers unloading gear
gar fish at the surface of the water
echoing little fins like
tiny waves green
into the shallows.

Bubbles anchor the lagoon    -
changing rivulets into sand
stone walls numbered in shards of glass
trade universal currency
but, beware, the proprietor
cobblestones up to his door,
a candle in the window-stoop,
a creeking gate opened as an afterthought.

Come the picaroon.
Spanish adventurer
lesser known rogue, thief
a smile like piano keys
huevos sent back.

I've seen the parfumerie
the snake pit,...

Paul Cameron Brown

The Gingham Dream Utterance

    As I watch the clouds assemble, steam-ship fashion, with funnels to
    alert passersby, I realize the Romanovs tore silk & riches from
    every bazaar leaving the bright spot of this evening studded with emerald marks.
    A dot in the ocean is a spark upon which minnows play, their silver
    bellies upturned to imitate the moon's white shawl.

    I am wanting in the delights of the reef narrowly hauled from
    rambunctious depths, the tiniest splashes of green, yellow, blue darting in an upturned fish's tail.
    An octopus rock commands squadrons of fingerlings while the eisel
    fish decorates a steeper, coral garden.

    Jet black sand crowns the lagoon volcanic ages' past the innocence
    of this spurting palm while mounds of pitch dark ants deposit slivers o...

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

Tide Charts

    To create dream -
    the pearl thru wine effect,
    oil and vinegar viscidity
    of giant salad leaves
    basking on the
    broken picnic table
    like so many lemurs
    taken to a
    Malagasy forest.

    Liverwurst on rye,
    cuff-links drag
    the hard, mica table;
    so, why be afraid
    'cause spume from waves
    glows upward
    in so many trails of
    grey-laden smoke?

    This island looks like a loaf,
    a dot or mole on inviting cheeks,
    to me; so wary, invariably, of land
    (and perhaps the Sand Man)
    amongst all those wandering eyes,
    especially the sea-scape,
    curl of snake
    illuminated
    in a sudden, tropic shower.

    See the sudden bandanna ...

Paul Cameron Brown