Tales Of Brave Ulysses

    Artists (astrologers never lie)
    are birthed when
    Venus is rising -
    not against cat's whelp
    (eye of newt, tongue of frog)
    calamitous mist or London fog;
    far, ferny forbidding fenn.

    When Venus rises, yes
    dons Botticelli's cloak
    or was it her hair
    gathered in tresses
    long by lovely handfuls
    parading it all
    on a patty shell
    - her twin oysters ambrosia
    a Ulyssean mirroring winedark sea,
    purpling color of a robin's egg.

    Artists are born
    in something of Venus . . .
    conceived along coral-corral
    highway lariats, foam
    of passion
    modern cowgirl
    lowering the drapes.

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

Rain Film

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Tank-Top

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Red Illusions Under Glass

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Bloodcount

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.

Moonrock

    She wears a cat encrusted T-shirt
    & panties with L*O*V*E
    guarding the Paradise door
    & when balm of night
    casts shadows,
    her face is moonrock
    distant to mysterious
    down storybook crags;
    her darling form cloaked
    in twilight garments
    of an inky earth.

    Gates of Venus,
    . . . as if feline whiskers
    whispered, wan cat eyes
    in amber dark glowed pale honey
    in alchemy or blur of soft movement
    was caress to stars' elopement
    with the sky.

    This woman summons fire,
    stokes furnaces to quicken parchment leaves
    of flame-thick desire,
    honed soft on ripples
    skin tones were curvaceous
    drift of oars, vivacious breast on buttock's

Paul Cameron Brown

The Evening Sky

Rose-bosom'd and rose-limb'd
With eyes of dazzling bright
Shakes Venus mid the twinèd boughs of the night;
Rose-limb'd, soft-stepping
From low bough to bough
Shaking the wide-hung starry fruitage--dimmed
Its bloom of snow
By that sole planetary glow.

Venus, avers the astronomer,
Not thus idly dancing goes
Flushing the eternal orchard with wild rose.
She through ether burns
Outpacing planetary earth,
And ere two years triumphantly returns,
And again wave-like swelling flows,
And again her flashing apparition comes and goes.

This we have not seen,
No heavenly courses set,
No flight unpausing through a void serene:
But when eve clears,
Arises Venus as she first uprose
Stepping the shaken boughs among,
And in her bosom glo...

John Frederick Freeman

The Loveliest Face And The Wild Rose

The loveliest face! I turned to her
Shut in 'mid savage rocks and trees; -
'Twas in the May-time of the year,
And our two hearts were filled with ease -
And pointed where a wild-rose grew,
Suddenly fair in that grim place:
"We should know all, if we but knew
Whence came this flower, and whence - this face."

The loveliest face!    My thoughts went around:
"Strange sister of this little rose,
So softly 'scaped from underground;
O tell me if your beauty knows,
Being itself so fair a thing,
How came this lovely thing so fair,
How came it to such blossoming,
Leaning so strangely from the air?

"The wonder of its being born,
So lone and lovely - even as you -
Half maiden-moon, half maiden-morn,
And delicately sad with dew;
How came it ...

Richard Le Gallienne

Venus' Runaway

Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
Called Love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blind;
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst ye, say?
He is Venus' runaway.

She that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kiss,
How or where herself would wish:
But who brings him to his mother,
Shall have that kiss, and another.

He hath marks about him plenty:
You shall know him among twenty.
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

At his sight, the sun hath turned,
Neptune in the waters burned;
Hell hath felt a greater heat;
Jove himself forsook his seat:
From the centre to the sky,
Are his...

Ben Jonson

Shamrock

    Is there anything prettier than that -
    to stare into your manifold spaces
    toward the hook & vine
    of cathedral leaps,
    the vaults & crypts
    as go-betweens of an earthy worship,
    the supine female form?

    By quiet pools,
    thrush in the thicket
    with red berry behind its eye,
    miniature sun
    proceeding by the branch
    to undress the bark
    with leaves as
    passionate culprits
    kissing dark.

    Clasped hands
    upward lies the sky
    my masterpiece angel,
    I bite lush meadows,
    tread spongy brooks,
    endear daring small of back,
    crevice taste nape and neck,
    a beatific pilgrim nearing
    a fleshy way-station,
    first charting his co...

Paul Cameron Brown

Aphrodite

On a golden dawn in the dawn sublime
Of years ere the stars had ceased to sing,
Beautiful out of the sea-deeps cold
Aphrodite arose, the Flower of Time,
That, dear till the day of her blossoming,
The old, old Sea had borne in his heart.
Around her worshipping waves did part
Tremulous, glowing in rose and gold.

And the birds broke forth into singing sweet,
And flowers born scentless breathed perfume:
Softly she smiled upon Man forlorn,
And the music of love in his wild heart beat,
And down to the pit went his gods of gloom,
And earth grew bright and fair as a bride,
And folk in star-worlds wondering cried,
Lo in the skies a new star is born!

O Beloved, thus on my small world you
Rose, flushing it all with rosy flame!
Changing sad thought...

Victor James Daley