Northwoods Poem

    I

    Watermelon,
    ears of skeleton
    wet nose with marshmallow
    I saw the Bear leaning on
    Santa for a favor.

    II
    Here's Bear, week's growth of beard,
    long bushy eyebrows
    still reeking of gin
    apparently wanted the penny-strapped Claus'
    to dump Rudolph,
    spray-paint his coat white
    use Bear's fleshy drinker's nose
    to lead the sleigh
    that crazy night.

    III
    A tiff erupted
    Rudolph almost lost it
    santa ended paying Hibernation fees
    though Bear grumbled he wasn't
    bedding Next to no knot of worms garter snakes.

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

Up From The Floor

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Serpentine

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Toronto

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Wanderlust

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

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Woodsy Backwoods Poem

    I saw Bear
    shopping with Santa Claus
    at the North of 7 Plaza
    only he wasn't wearing a bib -
    only a cotton-wool imitation synthetic
    polystyrene white fluffy instead.

    I saw the Bear
    gracing a wall at the
    Old Trout Lake Hotel
    (part-time job),
    looking self-satisfied,
    smug back of the Mosque Lake Road
    but a self-starter, no less,
    lacking the wherewithal, nonetheless,
    to be a serious shit-disturber
    accolades & kudos aside, still
    circus Work is hard &
    good dancing difficult to come by,
    poor dish of custard, sticky stuffed bastard.

    yet the pay-off begins
    when Bear gets home
    with only grubs in the bank
    and maggots to show
  ...

Paul Cameron Brown

Cud

    There were a series
    of three animals
    - wise men I propose -
    interchangeably looking
    (throwing off their guises'
    as non-sentient brutes),
    scrounging the grass
    (eyes foddering me)
    chewing on looks,
    cud-like,
    -one a black
    goat shorn of
    his devil look
    and a burro,
    mood entranced, in
    armour of mangey velvet.

    II
    Swinging bells,
    making me believe
    the twilight caper
    that morning lay
    more in reindeer's
    breath than any
    solidarity with
    oat or hoove.

    III
    A strange lot,
    they'd ramrod their
    gaze with blare
    of lightning,
    peering into some
    primordial instinct
...

Paul Cameron Brown

Winter

Green Mistletoe!
Oh, I remember now
A dell of snow,
Frost on the bough;
None there but I:
Snow, snow, and a wintry sky.

None there but I,
And footprints one by one,
Zigzaggedly,
Where I had run;
Where shrill and powdery
A robin sat in the tree.

And he whistled sweet;
And I in the crusted snow
With snow-clubbed feet
Jigged to and fro,
Till, from the day,
The rose-light ebbed away.

And the robin flew
Into the air, the air,
The white mist through;
And small and rare
The night-frost fell
In the calm and misty dell.

And the dusk gathered low,
And the silver moon and stars
On the frozen snow
Drew taper bars,
Kindled winking fires
In the hooded briers.

And the sprawlin...

Walter De La Mare

The White Evening.

From gray, bleak hills 'neath steely skies
Thro' beards of ice the forests roar;
Along the river's humming shore
The skimming skater bird-like flies.

On windy meads where wave white breaks,
Where fettered briers' glist'ning hands
Reach to the cold moon's ghastly lands,
Hoots the lorn owl, and crouching quakes.

With frowsy snow blanched is the world;
Stiff sweeps the wind thro' murmuring pines,
Then fiend-like deep-entangled whines
Thro' the dead oak, that vagrant twirled

Phantoms the cliff o'er the wild wold:
Ghost-vested willows rim the stream,
Low hang lank limbs where in a dream
The houseless hare leaps o'er the cold

On snow-tressed crags that twinkling flash,
Like champions mailed for clanking war,
Glares down large Phosph...

Madison Julius Cawein

Uncle Mart's Poem - The Old Snow-Man

Ho! the old Snow-Man
    That Noey Bixler made!
He looked as fierce and sassy
    As a soldier on parade! -
'Cause Noey, when he made him,
    While we all wuz gone, you see,
He made him, jist a-purpose,
    Jist as fierce as he could be! -
        But when we all got ust to him,
            Nobody wuz afraid
        Of the old Snow-Man
            That Noey Bixler made!

'Cause Noey told us 'bout him
    And what he made him fer: -
He'd come to feed, that morning
    He found we wuzn't here;
And so the notion struck him,
    When we all come taggin' home
'Tud s'prise us ef a' old Snow-Man
    'Ud meet us when we come!
So, when he'd fed the stock, and milked,
    And ben back home, and chopped
His wood, and et h...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Woodsman

    Barely annoying the woods,
    his cabin like our woodpile
    home now for chipmunks and birds,
    isolated by the lily pads -
    he eschewed all comfort.

    The view barely cognizant,
    the prospect of the Massasauga rattler
    and an occasional broken tin
    sharp at the edges
    was like water's drift
    audible, not yet seen.

    Toying with the cove,
    past island jetties
    & blueberry groves
    inside little giant's tomb;
    this man became ingratiated with lake treasure,
    his clearing a triumphant blast.
    He affixed his mark -
    blazoning human habitation
    on a lonely spot.

Paul Cameron Brown