Best Cannon Poems
The ocean shatters on the banks of my despair
where I stand above the cliffs in mournful yearning there,
amid the thunder and the lightning
that cracks the black of night
I curse the rocks below that took his precious life.
Oh Cannon Lee, Oh Cannon Lee!
my merman of the sea,
so beautiful a creature the world has never seen.
To gaze upon his beauty is to wake up in a dream
and drift forever in those tranquil eyes of green,
those dreamy eyes of my darling Cannon Lee.
I met him on the shore of Evermore
where he lay upon the rocks, his tail torn,
battered by the raging storm, so cold and so forlorn,
dying in the wake of early morn.
I wrapped myself around him, beneath my ermine cape,
and felt his shallow breath upon my tear-stained face
as he took me with a kiss
to his land beneath the sea,
the only place where he could ever live and breathe.
Visions of Atlantis were painted in my mind,
a castle on a cliff where liquid valleys wind
amid the blue and green
and all the shades of light that fall between,
the difference of awake and in a dream.
And in that final hour
his heart began to beat as mine,
and I knew for evermore that I would never find
a love so deep, complete and so divine
as the love that stole my heart, my soul, my mind,
my darling Cannon Lee.
And now I stand upon the cliff of Evermore,
and fall into those dreamy eyes of green once more.
~~~
Author: Elaine George
Inspired by: Edgar Allan Poe
A man with a creative dream
On an arid afternoon
Admiring God's creation
Relaxing in the sunlight
With his cowboy hat
Giving him a little shade
Watching the cumulus clouds
Shading the desert wasteland
Captured all by the artistic eyes
Of a man named T. C. Cannon
Inspired by Abe's
Native American Ekphrasis
The ocean shatters on the banks of my despair
where I stand above the cliffs in mournful yearning there,
amid the thunder and the lightning
that cracks the black of night
I curse the rocks below that took his precious life.
Oh Cannon Lee, Oh Cannon Lee!
my merman of the sea,
so beautiful a creature the world has never seen.
To gaze upon his beauty is to wake up in a dream
and drift forever in those tranquil eyes of green,
those dreamy eyes of my darling Cannon Lee.
I met him on the shore of Evermore
where he lay upon the rocks, his tail torn,
battered by the raging storm, so cold and so forlorn,
dying in the wake of early morn.
I wrapped myself around him, beneath my ermine cape,
and felt his shallow breath upon my tear-stained face
as he took me with a kiss
to his home beneath the sea,
the only place where he could ever live and breathe.
Visions of Atlantis were painted in my mind,
a castle on a cliff where liquid valleys wind
amid the blue and green
and all the shades of light that fall between,
the difference of awake and in a dream.
And in that final hour
his heart began to beat as mine,
and I knew for evermore that I would never find
a love so deep, complete and so divine
as the love that stole my heart, my soul, my mind,
my darling Cannon Lee.
And now I stand upon the cliff of Evermore,
and fall into those dreamy eyes of green once more.
~~~
Author: Elaine George
the kids are going nuts
one almost keeled over
one inquires about the whereabouts
of the large-caliber pipe pistol
one gives the spheroid
a handshake and hug
the arm like an tartarean
eclipse with a surreptitious
star-nosed mourning
mole on the end of it
one gives the projectile
a high five, invented by a
basketball player with
four fingers
but what about him?
who is he under the
cycloidal velvet? how did
he get this gig?
did he expect models
draped over vintage tanks?
rubenesque ladies straddling
the missiles?
can he take the costume home?
who is responsible for it's wash?
does he put a cancer stick
in his touch hole in the car park?
does his lady-indoors
own a rammer?
he wishes the day would end
go home for a grapeshot
that he could be elevated
at forty-five degrees
and sent airborne towards
the automatic doors
Echoed giggles remain hysterical in Spring
Abundant greenery grows tall along the river
Both sides of the banks merge their foliage
Connecting branches together overhead
Trees become an arching canopy above it all
Creating shade for children paddling on
Now bouncing on the Cannon traveling down
On inner tubes absconded from some ugly trucks
Filled with air to carry them to who knows where
Dark waters run cold and deep in Spring
People don’t mind because the sun is hot
The river keeps them cool on Summer’s path
Soon to come again around the bend
The mountain takes a breath of fresher air
Winter melts along the river distance in a mist
A cold dip, another drink, steeped in mystery
Slips into a dream of drifting
Beyond the twisting and the winding
Spinning from the past into the future
We all sail on together in a song worth listening to
Ducks and fish and even bugs float by
Who just happen to be there for a good time
On the fly
Tubing through the narrows splashing
Try not to get wet while laughing
On an adventure bending space and time
It goes on for hours if not longer
Sometimes forever if you sing along and try
*Authors Note: Cannon River- Minnesota. I have never been there but I understand it is a blast.
patch of cannas
double dwarf almost red....
fog shrouded
A gaping hole
It’s dark and lonely
A soft wind dances through the deep cannon
Things here feel sad and empty
And the light is far away and unseen
It’s cold
There is nothing
And this cannon
it lives right in the very depths of my very being
Mocking me
Making a joke out of my smile
Burning my inner light on a low fuel
Fading my unseen love
Making it hard to breath
Consuming me
Until I am nothing but the simple dust
Dancing through its lonely caverns
It rests 'neath spreading sycamores on the small-town square,
A venerable old relic of the Civil War affair.
The sun casts a fleeting glint as it rises anew each dawn,
On the brass barrel of the cannon on the court house lawn.
Oft' on languid summer days I like to pause and muse,
About its past and the brave men who once comprised its crews.
Tho' long silent it still has a powerful story to tell,
As in the heat of battle it spewed its shot and shell.
I wonder where and by whose skilled hands it was made.
Did Johnny Reb or Billy Yank light the fuse for its grenade?
Was it present at Gettysburg, repelling with deadly barrage,
The cavalry of General Pickett's daring but fatal charge?
I proudly recall that my great-grandpa was in the artillery.
Could he have manned it at the Battle of Franklin, Tennessee?
Did it accompany General Sherman on his march toward the sea?
Did it witness the surrender to Grant at Appomattox by Lee?
Little children now happily scamper on this stately old piece,
That fought for the North or South and saw the battles' cease.
Old soldiers with far away stares recall its flaming roar,
Watch the children play and silently pray, "No more war!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
In time, in time, always in time
The prophets always say
There is no time in heaven
It just gets in the way
Perhaps the madness of my life
Has seeped inside my mind
Perhaps the sadness of my heart
Has reaped the poorest kind
For chains and locks are what they gave
To middin folk as me
And others hang from castle wall
Or from a tall oak tree.
This is my time, in dark and dank
With brain of silence, bruised and blank
And all for a tatty small and hot
They gave me a preacher and a prison shot
They gave me a time to fail in the gloom
Of a black hearted cold cruel room
And who will remember me
She will and no other
The day they stole me from my mother.
Like being shot out of a cannon,
I charged out of bed,
Took one look around me,
My spirits, they bled,
Jumped back into bed,
Hoping to sleep,
Another twenty-four years,
Before out of bed I again leap.
When all the words a king may say
Lay lifeless on the ground
And windstorms blow them far away
With not a single sound.
Then no one any worry pays
As acquiescence he seeks
But ears awake and eyebrows raise
When e'er the cannon speaks.
She speaks to warriors from the east
And armies from the south.
And words of wisdom should, at least,
Fall tumbling from her mouth.
And when she sings, she hums her song,
Her voice in dulcet choir,
She whispers from her dragon's tongue
Her words like dragon's fire.
So, in the night when all is still
She rests her weary head
And looks out over yonder hill
Where angels fear to tread.
As daylight shows once more, she'll preach
And boldly yip and yell
To sermonise another speech
And send them all to hell.
Human cannon
They shot him out of a cannon and lost his legs
He flew low over a forest that took his arms
And torso, his head landed in a hexes’ glade
From trees dripped gore like strawberry jam
They flew up with their brooms collected what
Was left of him and made a stew, and he
Thought what a blessing they didn’t get his legs.
Children out, picking blueberry put his head
In a plastic bag, which the gave to the doctor
Who put him un a glass jar? And when
The last patient was gone had a few drinks
Asked question the head could not answer.
Eventually he- still the head-was packaged and
Sent to a museum.
A museum is a spooky place at night stuffed
With dead animals and there is no lion’s roar.
When the interest in his had abated
They put him on a top shelf where the head
Gathers dust while wondering why he is not
Thirsty or hungry.
Little five year old boy
Just riding his bike
When a man came along
And cruelly ended his life
The boy was sweet
And gentle as can be
How could anyone take a life
With such Animosity?
He had his whole life ahead of him
And it was sadly cut short
His beautiful smile, his laugh
Are no more
I hope there is justice
For this poor little soul
Though now he's at peace
In the arms of the Lord
Rest in peace little angel
And though our hearts break
We know you're in Heaven
And out of harm's way
A Question of Cannon Fodder
Drenched in the blood
Wept in raining puddles of agony
The wretched and forgotten
Mud of centuries
He fell by knees and palms
Dead to the feet of living
A Splashing tattoo of scarlet drumming
On the futile embrace
Of histories life spent warring
Driven by battle
Riffle, bomb, bow, lance, cannon, arrow and missile
And to thunderous skies
Where blasted shell burst wreaked its revenge of lies
Turned his eyes
And to heavens stars of eternal bliss
As to permanent darkness
Raised his fists
And cried to the voice
Of perpetual emptiness
And ever unanswered promises
A question of tears
Raised from a single heart inside a human chest
Screamed in hopelessness
“ARE YOU ENJOYING THIS ?”
‘When will I anchor here again?’
The sailor’s heart then cried.
He asked it of the wind and wave,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The horizon called and still he stalled,
looking long from the landward side.
He wanted to shout his farewell out,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The mist began to veil the hills
where he left his weeping bride.
Would she hear his wretched sad goodbye?
But ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The captain’s call and the bosun’s pipe
could not now be denied -
so he whispered prayer to return back there,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
And for all the moons and different stars
and a thousand change of tide,
he raged to be away from home,
but ‘shh’, the sea replied.
The storms blew and the cannons roared
and somehow our sailor died.
His bonnie over the ocean wept
and ‘shh’, the sea replied.