Night Winds

    They made us sit alphabetically in rows.
    Green oranges are sprayed systematically
    in volcanic soil near pummelled surf.

    One stood to answer questions,
    was called after the surname,
    requested permission for trivials.

    Outrigger canoes with barnacles in tow splash
    menacingly near coral reefs. Under a lazy orange-ripple
    moon halfing itself between stages of growth,
    night winds taunt puffish clouds.

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

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English

Suggested Poems

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

Amherst Island

    In winter, you were
    a flash of light,
    tundra against
    Arctic floor

    Warm breath
    stirred yr
    summer's breast
    and I saw
    windblown hair
    the colour of kelp
    transfix
    the lavender print
    of a scalp strewn
    shore

    Later,
    tiny bits
    from
    a calico dress
    became domiciled wings
    off butterflies,
    miniature bitterns
    ever more shadowy
    strewn across the Barrens,
    an unbridled strength from that

    Faraway isle released to orchestrate sunlight
    amongst all colonies that flower -
    a statuesque Red Admiral,
    Banded Purple,
    feckless Comma
    all aswirl to the
    pipes of a Devil's Paintbrush...

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

Viewer Mail

    The sky was
    a ringed net of honeyed light,
    (colours from peeled apples)
    funnelling cloud ...
    tumbler over dice
    (the carrot throat
    lemonade pie)
    twin coins in a fountain
    brief lantern spark amid
    twittering noise.

    The trees were awaiting giants
    gathered to fumble about the river
    noiseless bridge
    and, I, skyscraper man
    dangling a reflection,
    (afternoon tea)
    muddy me
    Jimbob expression
    water angling for dirt.

Paul Cameron Brown

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

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

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