Woodsy Backwoods Poem

    I saw Bear
    shopping with Santa Claus
    at the North of 7 Plaza
    only he wasn't wearing a bib -
    only a cotton-wool imitation synthetic
    polystyrene white fluffy instead.

    I saw the Bear
    gracing a wall at the
    Old Trout Lake Hotel
    (part-time job),
    looking self-satisfied,
    smug back of the Mosque Lake Road
    but a self-starter, no less,
    lacking the wherewithal, nonetheless,
    to be a serious shit-disturber
    accolades & kudos aside, still
    circus Work is hard &
    good dancing difficult to come by,
    poor dish of custard, sticky stuffed bastard.

    yet the pay-off begins
    when Bear gets home
    with only grubs in the bank
    and maggots to show
    for his life's work, alas,
    no fireworks for free
    in the big grin as you den,
    leaf-off frenzy
    witch begins October
    month of orange zen
    zip up only can ya please.

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

Colette

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Guadalquivir

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Slaughterhouse

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Godiva

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.

Northwoods Poem

    I

    Watermelon,
    ears of skeleton
    wet nose with marshmallow
    I saw the Bear leaning on
    Santa for a favor.

    II
    Here's Bear, week's growth of beard,
    long bushy eyebrows
    still reeking of gin
    apparently wanted the penny-strapped Claus'
    to dump Rudolph,
    spray-paint his coat white
    use Bear's fleshy drinker's nose
    to lead the sleigh
    that crazy night.

    III
    A tiff erupted
    Rudolph almost lost it
    santa ended paying Hibernation fees
    though Bear grumbled he wasn't
    bedding Next to no knot of worms garter snakes.

Paul Cameron Brown

The Woodsman

    Barely annoying the woods,
    his cabin like our woodpile
    home now for chipmunks and birds,
    isolated by the lily pads -
    he eschewed all comfort.

    The view barely cognizant,
    the prospect of the Massasauga rattler
    and an occasional broken tin
    sharp at the edges
    was like water's drift
    audible, not yet seen.

    Toying with the cove,
    past island jetties
    & blueberry groves
    inside little giant's tomb;
    this man became ingratiated with lake treasure,
    his clearing a triumphant blast.
    He affixed his mark -
    blazoning human habitation
    on a lonely spot.

Paul Cameron Brown

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

Wanderlust

    Who administers to my needs?

    Is it the dandelion, so ant-encrusted, that
    yellow pollen dangles from a shiny abdomen
    suggestive of some actor's
    smeared and garish make-up?

    Or the cicada's song,
    difficult to describe,
    laundering thick summer heat?

    Perhaps, then, the Red Admiral butterfly
    especially active at the close of day and drawn
    to wooden lawn-furniture or the exposed human limb?

    If none of these
    breathes vigour or tonic
    through my nostrils,
    what of tubs of fresh water?

    Take pea-pods for crude, rudimentary boats
    and children as make-shift sailors,
    then they both shall spy the secrets of seas.
    Bold harbours will be their cues,
    astrola...

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

Swords And Roses

    Some lives have themes.
    Goldfish that stubbornly die;
    compatability only with distant lovers
    - flowers (but no sweet-breads)
    that wilt to the touch.

    Waiting. Charcoal-grey cat
    agreeably on a green linoleum table
    with light basking in....
    a tad playful,
    paws up,
    (classic boxer stance)
    but no one notices.
    Others oblique in their transparency,
    are unmindful of even the empty closet
    and greeting cards that smile hello.

    In the dark
    this room shimmers below
    life-raft status;
    chairs are buoys
    bobbing under waves
    of congealed fright.
    In the morning
    the first pigeons
    rifle over rooftops,
    mad flutterings like your eyes

Paul Cameron Brown