Refresher Course

    And he told them "the universe is a ripe apple in heavenly
    consummation with Newtonian physics".
    Comparisons grew rife with planets in the cosmos measured
    against all the grains of sand on all the beaches of the world.

    Sobering stuff, this astronomical speculation. Each sun a
    star fathering an impressive roster, its "family" in the earthy
    scheme of things.

    So one kid spat on his shoe and asked if a gob,
    hypothetically speaking of course, could be likened to a
    solitary ocean.

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

Jabiru

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Perhaps

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Preening

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Chrysalis

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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

Metaphor

    There is a star near
    the hinge of planets,
    a barn under
    a cow's lick of moon -
    plausible people
    moving thru an
    airless universe.

    Pay attention to the frond of lilac
    . . . limestone troughs upon which
    thickets of Indian scalp &
    devil's paintbrush soar
    to the horizon
    and, afterwards,
    little creeks run
    with the sparrows of evening time
    in step to tiny boatmen
    that echo enamelled snails
    from the very consonants of earth.

    Rustle of leaves,
    some might argue
    breathless gasps
    to intone the savagery
    of little seasonal voices
    cut off
    mid-stream.

    A spate of bees,
    early colonizers
    deflo...

Paul Cameron Brown

Imagistic

    There in the cosmos -
    white dwarfs launch a black rooftop
    imagistic, clean as a pantry,
    the twilight roads with ledges lean
    like raw openings.

    And coming upon stars
    in a country woodhouse
    - cold, big as frozen pears,
    each breath of light visible
    thru chinks & clusters
    of broken ceiling wood;
    hands raw & nipped sawing logs -
    breath menacing the depths
    on inner space, something pale
    and profoundly suggestive.

Paul Cameron Brown

Dress Rehearsal

"The universe is expanding".
There's cause for reflection and bound to do wonders
for "who am I" queries.

At this late moment on the Celestial Clock, man isn't
sure if he's stumbled into a Black Hole or just the
debris from the Big Bang Theory.

Many of the earth's residents desperately want to be
E.T.'s    -    travellers with carte blanche passports
welcomed in any galaxy. Therein lies the ultimate
twist to "getting away".

Alas, what if we're alone?

What if the universe expands so much it forgets
there's an inhabited world and obscures the planet
from our collective vision? Sobering stuff.
Meanwhile, on a spaceship earth preparations are
underway. Preparation to abandon the planet.
Preparations to forget life is a serious matter.
...

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

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

Wanderlust

    Who administers to my needs?

    Is it the dandelion, so ant-encrusted, that
    yellow pollen dangles from a shiny abdomen
    suggestive of some actor's
    smeared and garish make-up?

    Or the cicada's song,
    difficult to describe,
    laundering thick summer heat?

    Perhaps, then, the Red Admiral butterfly
    especially active at the close of day and drawn
    to wooden lawn-furniture or the exposed human limb?

    If none of these
    breathes vigour or tonic
    through my nostrils,
    what of tubs of fresh water?

    Take pea-pods for crude, rudimentary boats
    and children as make-shift sailors,
    then they both shall spy the secrets of seas.
    Bold harbours will be their cues,
    astrola...

Paul Cameron Brown