Rites Of Intensification

    Did time on the Hegelian
    spirit, Freudian id,
    the totemic response to
    the unknowable
    where each phenomenon of nature
    became dream time itself,
    the electric crackle
    of God's Voice-
    movement from shadowy spectre to
    tight-lipped showmanship
    the learned empathy
    of tires careening around
    their throttled load.

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

Marzipan

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Whisky Girl

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Countess II

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Midpoint

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.

Unpaginated

    Orchestrating violins thru whisky sky
    clouds slide like billiard balls
    a Jackie Gleason-Fats Domino
    ricochet off greener velvet;
    my pheasant escaping snow.

    Jack Ketch the hangman
    in brilliant plumage,
    a touch of Borgia in
    long, murderous hands.

    The light of Capone in
    steeple-dark eyes
    running like a
    haunted ship
    around the white, facial disc.

    Offset. Bold type.
    I see you through pages
    of my history book
    only you're unpaginated.

    Unclench the fist,
    watch for effervescent islets,
    erotic mounds of Venus or
    protuberances called Marquesas
    off my left hand.

    Omens are the cloth
    of dreams, scissors

Paul Cameron Brown

Naiad Trance

    The leaves on their trumpet flames
    Richter scale inside pulse stems -
    into the gorge, la gorge
    throat and crevice
    of the canyon arroyo.

    Walking the slit
    into rheumatism earth
    the twilight pain
    of Paleozoic ice,
    Jurassic Age
    whence rupture
    sculpted rock

    River precipice
    the afternoon dangling like shadow
    beside taiga sun
    lost to dark & rain
    toward the water now,
    ever, and chemical rushing sound.

    Chameleon, I would swear
    this journey was that,
    worse, sorceress on my emotions;
    I left pathways contoured with Merlin rock
    & trees like Babbitt refugees
    from the Nahanni,
    fearful Dogrib aboriginals
   ...

Paul Cameron Brown

Investiture

Our nights have cruel eyes
And have cast us about too thinly,
Fallen upon us,
Divested the attention of the wind.

Night comes to develop us,
Will polish our minds with
A precision lasting 'til daybreak.
Its damp coolness peaks with wretched effect.

Autumnal decay
Whereby the slow process of vegetation
Displeases the nostril,
Is but a preamble to greater violence
Leading tepid legislation in an orchestra
Toward greater effect.

The thin harmony of our lives
Positions no alarms whereby
We might use them.

The fabric mixture of existence, nothing but investiture,
Props to heighten necessary lies,
Strains at extinction,
The volcanic instrument life itself.

Goals are these same vehicles
To operate weak desir...

Paul Cameron Brown

Terminal Living

    "Everybody in the world is frightened of getting cut."
    Charles Manson

    I
    The image complete
    - collapsing corpses, rag dolls
    with skulls shot away ...
    ruby-red blood spurting
    slipstick/eyeshadow/mascara
    all so reptilian replete.

    II
    The long fingers of the pianist
    playing rifle fire to a
    captive audience,
    stiletto tones;
    the trance effect,
    precedes a cobra's strike,
    summer without smoke.

    III
    A glass of absinthe
    - the Degas painting,
    Marc Lepine measuring out his vial,
    measuring the worth of a single
    woman and finding her long on the call,
    cartridge shells exploding
    filaments of smoke
    (long and blue)...

Paul Cameron Brown

Shivaree

    These kettle bells.
    Is it the axe-murderer,
    with green garbage bag
    in the shadows?

    No. Green trees so thick
    their tops are folded hands
    or knotted knuckles
    to make perilous shrubbery
    by the garden wall.

    Yet this is a state of mind
    and shards of multi-coloured
    glass dot the top of stones.
    Interesting. Should a sociopath put
    out his shingle, come calling,
    a much under-estimated, rude uttering
    would take place.

    Still bees are active in the night air,
    not swarms, but a hum. Pleasant odours waft
    thru stiller air. There is no charged electricity
    to things, no tautness or leathery tightness to
    individual seconds. Still and stricken still.

Paul Cameron Brown

Carnival And Lent

    Jungle, the cave
    human reservoir & cistern ... .
    quagmire and bog, but no alpine meadow,
    fairest glance of goodness in
    soiled wildflower under winter snows.

    Pebbles into a cesspool,
    our sometime passions alive
    in the outback where honey-fuelled
    ants soothe enemy bones.

    My blood, tempest-whipped,
    ardour drawn to the surface
    fathom marks the depths
    sees a spectacle on the roads
    queues/Carnival & Lent,
    unbridled raw and raging.
    Jesus would have nails.

    Poison darts,
    liana and mangrove sounds
    with footsteps in the distance
    the blow-gun or bolo knife
    attache case / cellular phone ...
    "I'll kick your teeth down
    your throa...

Paul Cameron Brown