Slipper

    When I was very young
    onto school,
    a slick of water curled
    under a behemoth, silver poplar tree ...
    there, white underbacks
    of leaves waved in showy pride the
    dead underbellies of bass ...
    as tall boys,
    big with rakish, probing, anthracite eyes,
    stooped in the creek
    their red, exposed flesh
    colour of school brick.

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

Night Fishing At Antibes

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Teeter-Totter

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Leaf Doctor

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Southwark

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.

Moccasin

Backwoods cabin, opera house
from the pines awash with stars,
skullduggery in place over spruce hills
dredged to open revolt
against invading plough    -
where greenest leaves
in a miser's hand part
rotting gold bags
all nugget strewn, step to step,
with water speaking magic
over the sound of countless woodland ducks.

Hocus-pacus, the
flies are sleeves over the world,
black granite pull-overs
slung thru the air
a twinkling of the eye invokes
funeral trees, deerskin in colour,
the rabbit in the hat behind
rich birchbark racing thru the dark.

Paul Cameron Brown

Candlelight In Black

    The ghosts are marmalade
    thin as rinds across toast
    or the Weeping Willow, whose
    green beard leans,
    crane-like, into a child's
    backyard.

    A Morning Cloak butterfly,
    maroon wet with the paint
    of morning, cat paws
    thin filament leaves
    astride a larder
    of memories.

    Dalliance with the past,
    smoke grey these architects
    of memory
    the privet hedge,
    lone pine tree,
    jet black caterpillar
    poised about a green
    carrot top trigger
    laced in emperor's gold
    like fathoms of the sea
    held ... in quiet repose.

Paul Cameron Brown

Inside Seam

    1

    Having wilderness cracks
    in emotional facades
    chinks within
    to let cabins in.

    2
    Porous wind
    examining pavement,
    foot-sore maybe loose
    winding entrails
    of our hearts
    into lavatory paper;
    would that it pleased
    riddled trees
    - more whistling,
    poked holes
    across oasis tracks
    wandering spaces.

    3
    Blistering thought,
    paint flecks
    chipped in the mica-afraid
    heat of wan-ton passion;
    (acknowledging debts to Chinese cuisine)
    a wan smile
    left from which
    I pretend to remember all.

    4
    Love-smitten
    to lend
    the reach of your arm -
    sighs,
    droop...

Paul Cameron Brown

Penny Wise, Pound Poor

    Fall was a tubercular cousin
    residing in the country
    sparse hair,
    rasping cough.

    2
    Night air was damaging
    stringing pumpkins
    around orange chains, the
    milkweed pod shivering
    in open shirtsleeves
    little noises sifting
    from burrows in her chest.

    3
    Fall was...
    reputedly from another country
    wore glaring cravats,
    gold leaf and Rubenesque chain;
    stalked the lark
    mocked the breeze.

    4
    Penny wise, pound poor
    leaves
    a shock of hair
    prematurely white
    degradingly picked from
    the comb
    flung out fireflies
    crisp bodies to singe
    fire-cold light.

    5
    Advancing sta...

Paul Cameron Brown

The Bullfrog

He sat with no more compunction
than an eel fish
big-faced, bloated,
the complexion of a beehive
-    a dragnet of emotions
crammed into a tumbler
upended in water.

His eyelids wore the effort
of horseblinders, a
spongy leather
masquerading as torpedoes
and I saw him
lonely at the crossroads
matted grass,
a strip of wire, cold current
chasing flecks about
his person, then lunging green
exploded into rapacity    -
caressed the awaiting fly strewn stick
with emerald mouth &
coffers of appetite.

Paul Cameron Brown

The Waters Of The Bay Lie Beneath

    An abandoned house -
    dark salved to eclectic;
    crinkly, black pigment of old pine boards
    disparate to the elements.

    The waters of the bay lie beneath.
    A long slope trailing back of brush,
    garbles stones hoarse
    in the throat of a dust-flecked field
    are made more barren
    by the skunk cabbage weeds,
    the ugly, flotsam cloaks
    of horse hair to the neck -
    a hair shirt, coddling abrupt the barren pain
    tilled from empty soil.

    The summer's heat.
    Nameless insect waifs
    wavering, adjusting tumult
    to straighten the tight air
    about the outward door frame.
    Pinched in windows, glass in
    refugee lots billowing about
    urine paper;
    nails a ruddy pick

Paul Cameron Brown