Pondicherry

    Chess pieces resting upon the jade mantle piece
    see sampans move quietly
    thru warm night,
    rich bundles of bougainvillaea crowd market squares
    where deck chairs extend
    to the Persian Gulf.

    Leisured gentlemen
    finger walking canes,
    hold eyelids thick as goblets,
    sharp tridents beside private lairs.

    Skin in puffy whiteness bulges under
    lamp's white glare, becomes copra gathered
    miles from Pondicherry, sesame
    oil in rotting casks.

    And the Indian heat, closing with certitude
    akin to the trance of the snake charmer,
    holds his flute poised with the Bengali lancer
    riding a slow crop over the prostrate polo ball.

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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Pondicherry

    Chess pieces resting upon the jade
    mantle piece
    see sampans move quietly
    thru warm night,
    rich bundles of bougainvillea
    crowd market squares
    where deck chairs extend
    to the Persian Gulf.

    Leisured gentlemen
    finger walking canes,
    hold eyelids thick as goblets,
    sharp tridents beside private lairs.

    Skin in puffy whiteness bulges under
    lamp's white glare, becomes copra
    gathered
    miles from Pondicherry, sesame oil
    in rotting casks.

    And the Indian heat, closing with
    certitude
    akin to the trance of the snake
    charmer,
    holds his flute poised with the
    Bengali lancer
    riding a slow crop over the prostrate
    polo ball.

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

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

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

Pastiche

    These shell-queens, too,
    are blithely catpaws,
    shorn & musky acorns with
    indexed fingers erect
    at manicured attention.

    II
    ... Showboats with green faces far as swallows fly,
    a lilac in oasis ... scarlet bream
    ... blue ointment where the ocean is
    periwinkle patches,
    a robin's egg clarity pressed
    between blue-nosed tavern wall
    & bottles clinking.

    III
    See plush cords,
    the suede interior
    svelte & slinky
    an upholstery simonized
    with natural springs where
    bubbles encounter founts
    in apertures, the rich measure
    of open ground or mezzanine curtain
    slit along a riverine walk
    & jungle clearing.

    IV

Paul Cameron Brown

Within Reach

    There are two images,
    a moon within reach
    yet trapped under snow -
    an old woman's threadbare shawl
    with peasants furiously working brooms
    scraping ice shavings
    into howls and husks of frenzy.

    Ii
    Then the same pond,
    this time summer
    with fishing nets,
    and briefer shawls
    pirating light's wanton swoon,
    a spyglass hour moon
    all bathed in yellow
    colour of kerosene
    - a rich creamy butter -
    goldilocks let out on weekends
    her spun, golden tresses
    lowered onto the water
    like so many little boats
    nimbly hopping aboard.

    lii
    A kerchief folded on a fence
    a man wearing an overcoat living there
    in white satin swoonin...

Paul Cameron Brown