Another place, another time…


Another time, another place….

The loneliness man at Fort Hood volunteered for missions in Central American. He wanted to escape everything, and he wanted to taste the Hemingway’s tropical paradise. Once he sought death, now he wanted to be in the hands of new land, new songs and maybe. Find a reason to be alive.

He was in Atlanta, one day early. Morning flight to Honduras and he had some free time. He went to the strip bar near the Hotel. The beer was cold, and the song was good. The ladies were goddesses, dancing for desperate men. He watched the dancers, going from silky pantie and bra to bare skin.

He wrote in his journal.
“Perfume ladies, bare skin and fake smiles. Loveliest ladies in Atlanta, showing you the world and more.
Begging men, paying for a song, left with less when the pretty lady escaped.
Perfect smile, sensitive movement…

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The cold night whispered…


The cold night whispered…

The April rain hid my tears and I walked alone. Once great love turns indifferent and our love true turn to fathom dreams.

We spoke careless words, maybe true, maybe not? Maybe we were grasping at a miracle?
I told the rain, love died slowly and badly. I longed for her near, I longed to hear her heartbeat and her song.

My songbird, we knew rhyme and song and now, we know we could bleed.
The cold night whispered to me, the abyss of love dance, just great storms we shall know.
Now crimson love touches and silent goodbyes, leave us praying for more.
Now I sit by the sea, drinking the whiskey and remembering you. Do you remember me?

                      Dancing Coyote

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Outstanding video with great meaning. Some words. The poet and the naked lady…


 The poet and the naked lady…

I fell in love with a long-legged woman, her eyes of never-ending questions and her flowing auburn hair stole my voice and my eyes. I ate breakfast with her every morning after physical training for many months to listen to her talk of life and great dreams. She was almost six-foot tall, beautiful tan legs and the devilish smile of the Devil. One morning she asked me. You never ask me to roam with you. You are known to everyone, as the suicide boarder of the sea and the free climbers of every mountain from Big Sur to Washington state. You are the soldier poet in Monterey. You do not like me?

I told her. I didn’t want to lose your friendship. You are a special part of my life, and I didn’t want you to think I was like everyone. I do like…

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Be Inspired..!!

Trust that the future can still be beautiful even if it looks different than what you were expecting. Trust that even here, more is unfolding beyond what you have been able to see. Even when things have changed.

You may not be able to be everything to everyone, but you can still be everything you were meant to be by choosing to be present and ready to grow at every place on the journey. You do not miss out on what is meant for you when someone says “no” to you. You have not missed out on being able to know Love and Peace just because all that fell apart this year. You are still here, and this matters more than you know. You are going to have more opportunities to live, to learn, to grow.

Years from now, you won’t remember every conversation, every though or everything you accomplished…

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How, Not What – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon


Photo: by geralt at

“No wonder it comes as a relief to be reminded of your insignificance. It’s the feeling of realising that you’d been holding yourself all this time to standards you couldn’t reasonably be expected to meet.” Oliver Burkeman

How, Not What

Once, long ago, I asked about time,
what was it I wondered, and this was 
solved by a second hand, everything
a chronology, boxed and streamlined,
leaving me dis-eased, feeling disordered,
out of place, yearning for a sacred 
loitering, a soaking of space, awaiting
an unfolding, and I realised my question 
had changed, how was time?

Copyright 2022 ©Paul Vincent Cannon
All Rights Reserved ®

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