The World Of Tezcatlipoca

*
"...the fourth state of water in its plasmic state ...
elements as plasmic water have programmed goals which
they follow like earth encompassing genies.

In soft light
amid hues
of barbaric green.
walled edges of
the cenote's fortress
shine as eyes of the Cyclops,
bloodlshot and ringed
with nettled stone

A break in the clearing    -
then ramshackle growth
broken with vengeance
of uprooted vine
confronts the eyes of a jaguar*
(axe-breadth apart)
between canopies of trees
millenial rot,
algae and monkeys
carved in
a jungle setting
the shape of an iguana's room

* the same

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

Brushstroke

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Chrysalis

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Colette

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Voyage

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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In The Cenote

Under a candlelit operetta
of stars,
the vertigo horizon trails
to a shudder
until,
swallows the size of kites
handstand in flying motion
about pools of water
then glide within reach of the cenote,*
cisterns deep
and flagellant
scars in earth
that cradle still hands
of pale, pumice stone.

All the tears
of old Mexico
refurbish this soil,
anxious in blessing
a brittle toil
in sisal* groves
harvesting hennequin*
to symbolize pity
in flat expanse
of Mission stone.

* A deep natural well. The term is of Mayan origin.
* Hemp.

Paul Cameron Brown

Reading The Tides: Petroglyph Park

    " ... A universe of ineffable gaudiness spun
    itself out in his brain ... a promise
    that the rock of the world was founded
    securely on a faery's wing."
    THE GREAT GATSBY

    Perceiving the universe
    as an orchid stem,
    wild hibiscus
    crane & heron breaking water
    - voyage of elliptical, pea-shaped
    canoe down dancing images of
    the underworld.

    This temperature charged,
    climate-controlled glass
    geode designed to war on
    moss and stone munching
    aphid lichens seems everybit as
    fanciful as any animal totem.

    Grim crevice in the rock
    (animistic female orifice)
    fertility turtle swollen with
    eggs carrying Earth thru
    gorged labours of darti...

Paul Cameron Brown

The Bay Of Cortes

    The sea is a requisitioned article in my possession.
    Above, in fat circles of conformity, glide
    turkey vultures, their combs
    a rich obscenely red.

    The guano rocks are isles and stepping stones
    of bird waste.
    They lie thick and bedeviled with fish fur,
    a dull lavender cached hard to the sun
    seems to shine a metallic harvest white
    as desert rocklets scattered to the breeze.

    A speck of a fisherman dots the horizon.
    His craft a barque in loneliness across the sea.
    Dolphins inveigh the richness of the depths,
    persuade latitudes to drift about their wake.
    Pelicans sour the parabola distances between light and sound,
    become chancy over this distant breath of song.

    Above the cliffs a...

Paul Cameron Brown

Entry Point

Ants colonized it
-    huge abodes littered with the dead
(leaves, sticks, the occasional granulated insect
piled high, totemic-fashion)
reaping a fortune in scenery,
though probably not food Ojibways were next    -
their tell-tale encampment by
pocket-sized waterfall,
inlets off a winding cataract
& moss, loam-thick with black soil
a future arboreal dream
inching over rock, darling crevice
for northern orchid, then kiss
of red death the hybrid trillium
& more sinister cousin,
jack-in-the-pulpit
for Indian foragers.

Animistic limestone shone hands,
poked thru the forest with stealth,
petroglyphic lava beds
-    a cougar pouncing    -
runic carvings the cold in the
Giant's stone nostrils billowing
off the lake li...

Paul Cameron Brown

The Clearing That Is The Trees

    "They know they are going to the filth of numbers and laws,
    to the games anyone can play, and the work without fruit."
    Lorca

    I want to go walking in troubled marshes
    where cold gray coves leave off the mind
    and the scent of rushes twist the wind
    as fall covers dungeons of angry sparrows.

    I want to go quickly to troubled marshes,
    hear the squeak of brackish waters
    over crocks of sponge bubbles crabbing
    their surface.

    I desire stands of dead brush
    to wave in grave solemnity,
    whimpering little houses
    off forest glades to flicker
    out lamps with
    large dogs poised on verandahs
    like stone gargoyles.

    I want to handle anguish as if
    it were an interesti...

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