Smears

A snowy morning
unfolding
I smear my eyes
the crimson details
from my life.

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

Casha

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Electra

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Stillness

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Pondicherry

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Swedish

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Sideway Look

    It's snowing and all I can think of
    are leaves to wrap your memory,
    leaves pungent as tea,
    green curls alive
    with the promise of fire,
    shutes like fingers
    to play a tap on your skin.

    The snow is wet like your eyes at parting,
    cold as the promise of a winter dawn
    wet again as city-streets
    I must tread to make a living,
    the flask of wine
    pressed to my lips.

    On the winter landscape all
    I see is the ghost white of sheets,
    our sheets wrapped to keep breath warm
    the log cannisters of our bed
    a heady raft upon which to travel
    to burn up an ocean of delight.

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

Flood

    White ermine/white semen,
    green eyes jade from the night.

    Eternity falls in sparrow,
    an inch-worm down
    a pear-coloured leg,
    within this droplet
    lies coiled raptures
    of a snake,
    anointed coils
    musky as in woolen handshake
    where tributaries turn into socks
    wrapped to the vertebrae clasp
    of a teenager's leg.

    My fingers are
    frying skillets
    slow-boiling water, with precision,
    your rivers & chasms,
    a vagina white knuckle rafting
    across your enchantment.

Paul Cameron Brown

Preening

    The sky is red and comes
    from Montreal -
    you lied to me
    the hemlock of the wind
    is not this January's
    but is ringed with
    steel laughter of
    another winter.

    I saw you wringing sweat
    from the eyes of the road,
    lie down take the season's
    wetness in your mouth,
    push apart moist dampness
    'til one cavity was
    felled and another opened.

Paul Cameron Brown

The Spoken Word

I touch your
face - where strands of whispery hair
dangle your thoughtful gaze through mine.

Clutching,
all the words not said
lie pale and broken
beneath forgery lies.


Eyes, our facial minnows, the mirror
images, flash too brightly
out of the shallows,
out of their stony commitments
towards believing
we cannot agree.

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