Yellow Hair

    With that lime green hairnet
    commonly used by butterfly dispatchers -
    something your aunt might have commandeered
    to put her hair up donkey's years ago,
    I unjarred the bottle of air &
    with a pair of forceps
    tried to wrangle the life juices
    from a Polyphemeus[1] in a manner akin to Ulysses
    in that cave three millenia ago;
    his gentle bleating like the whine
    of the net across the gelatin fabric
    of air or the flash of a tomahawk gliding
    across Custer's golden hair.

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

Turncoat

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Gossamer Threads

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Juniper Trees

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Chemin De Fer

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.

Lolita Gardens

    A man weeps at your ankles,
    climbs the stairs to peek-a-boo
    panties, with finger clasps,
    a Rapunzel lowering your hair,
    the long-matted braids
    a skilful weaver turns to gold.

    An ivy forest in
    a castle impregnated with doors,
    the prince overhears the code
    "let down your hair" and,
    with perilous grasp,
    mounts the stirrup wall,
    foot to clasp,
    searching cloud grey &
    storm blasts for billowy mists
    green within this empress queen.

    Walking plasticine ledge
    in the shower with a mermaid
    soaping her perfumed treasure trove,
    at an intersection within that woman,
    her tulip trees explode -
    faeryland syrupy,
    tasting of apricot and sugar c...

Paul Cameron Brown

The Necklace Garden

    For my part, I spied red berries
    on a currant bush
    lush in August;
    the canopy of leaves
    a nesting place for hornets
    clocking one hundred
    in & out of their ice-castle hive.
    Birds had fled in horror,
    there was a pallor
    around the sun
    and nearby a Hubbard squash
    grew like Topsy
    already several baskets in size.

    I threatened suicide
    in this herbivorous garden
    amid wild canaries and butternuts;
    my jangled nerves a lobster colour
    only calmed by more grievously
    afflicted tobacco hornworms,
    their skins pierced by the radar alum
    of wasps.

    Transformed into insect angels
    strumming away the afterlife,
    they arrived as ghosts to c...

Paul Cameron Brown

Amherst Island

    In winter, you were
    a flash of light,
    tundra against
    Arctic floor

    Warm breath
    stirred yr
    summer's breast
    and I saw
    windblown hair
    the colour of kelp
    transfix
    the lavender print
    of a scalp strewn
    shore

    Later,
    tiny bits
    from
    a calico dress
    became domiciled wings
    off butterflies,
    miniature bitterns
    ever more shadowy
    strewn across the Barrens,
    an unbridled strength from that

    Faraway isle released to orchestrate sunlight
    amongst all colonies that flower -
    a statuesque Red Admiral,
    Banded Purple,
    feckless Comma
    all aswirl to the
    pipes of a Devil's Paintbrush...

Paul Cameron Brown

Gray Hairs.

        Once on a time a lady quarrelled
        With the witty Douglass Jerrold,
        Because that he had been so bold,
        To hint that she was growing old.

        She said her hair was dark 'till one day
        She used an essence turned it gray,
        O, yes, said he, tincture of time
        Affects the hair in this our clime.

James McIntyre

Cold Passion

        Some dead undid undid their bushy jaws,
        and bags of blood let out their flies.. .
                    ? Dylan Thomas

    The land is barren
    wears straw wisps
    as an unkempt man
    might razor stubble.

    The land is dry, a faded yellow
    in its barrenness.
    A sky broods from afar,
    a stalactite sun accounts merely a jot
    above that thin road into despair.

    Grass lies everywhere dead,
    faded tongues above an
    earth afflicted with scleroderma,
    deadliest of skin disturbances,
    forerunner of deeper pestilence.

    An erasing wind whips the fields
    further into bereavement;
    turns tiny bits of chaff to pursue themselves
    in a mad St. Vitus dance
    of cold...

Paul Cameron Brown

Twinkling Of An Eye

    On twin tails of a comet
    penguin men polka dot
    the night -    -    -
    waddle white suits
    past pale the white Empress Night,
    flickering graveyard stars
    - -a pitcher of inky black
    upended in a choir and manger

    II.
    Lowing of the clouds
    lowering overhead like bombardiers
    rifling the Firmament,
    black braying back.

    III.
    Millpond, satin and creamy,
    then buttercup crush of waves

Paul Cameron Brown