Orifice

To perforate in adumbration,
as obviator, the sphincter muscle
of intensity; then paint
the world in aperture,
a picture of one's mind.

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

Brébeuf

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Brushstroke

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

Casting Rocks

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

The Hydaspes

Paul Cameron Brown, Simple Poetry

English

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Adversaries

He held his hands like plastic    -
his vestments the finer
calling of his trade,
vocation as modern strummer
of Nature's laws
Engineer in brief    -
wine glass in hand
bestowing the more salient points
of mawkish disbelief with
cigarette to numb the spine.

The Reverend
looked down on fire,
caught papryus smoke in the bellows
of his chest,
made laundry of
the Plumber's intellect    -
tore savage parchment
from the soft cheesecutter's
contemporary breath.

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

Unpaginated

    Orchestrating violins thru whisky sky
    clouds slide like billiard balls
    a Jackie Gleason-Fats Domino
    ricochet off greener velvet;
    my pheasant escaping snow.

    Jack Ketch the hangman
    in brilliant plumage,
    a touch of Borgia in
    long, murderous hands.

    The light of Capone in
    steeple-dark eyes
    running like a
    haunted ship
    around the white, facial disc.

    Offset. Bold type.
    I see you through pages
    of my history book
    only you're unpaginated.

    Unclench the fist,
    watch for effervescent islets,
    erotic mounds of Venus or
    protuberances called Marquesas
    off my left hand.

    Omens are the cloth
    of dreams, scissors

Paul Cameron Brown

Warhorse

    Taken as metaphor ...
    Ophelia's funeral oration,
    derogatory snout
    of the Morning Glory
    breathing pollened fire
    overladen steps of the church.

    II
    Limestone rock
    caulking in grey
    limpid cracks ...
    doublet and hose
    then gold doubloons
    down sunlit honey
    where a smear of red lichen
    onto brown-yellow moss
    colonizes rock.

    III
    Poor Ophelia, dicing
    for a sedentary-free Hamlet,
    duty-free of fissures + frost.

    IV
    Elusiveness,
    water rushing over stone
    torrent of words
    (Ophelia receiving these),
    red hand of the berry
    swollen shut,
    prisoner in the dock
    bird of quarry, pit
    &am...

Paul Cameron Brown

Claws

Unfolding gazes
throw over
the little reality
surly door.
The dumb
clatter
of ripples
shudder the better life.

Paul Cameron Brown

Investiture

Our nights have cruel eyes
And have cast us about too thinly,
Fallen upon us,
Divested the attention of the wind.

Night comes to develop us,
Will polish our minds with
A precision lasting 'til daybreak.
Its damp coolness peaks with wretched effect.

Autumnal decay
Whereby the slow process of vegetation
Displeases the nostril,
Is but a preamble to greater violence
Leading tepid legislation in an orchestra
Toward greater effect.

The thin harmony of our lives
Positions no alarms whereby
We might use them.

The fabric mixture of existence, nothing but investiture,
Props to heighten necessary lies,
Strains at extinction,
The volcanic instrument life itself.

Goals are these same vehicles
To operate weak desir...

Paul Cameron Brown