Welcome to a new year of monthly literature from thedetroiter.com. This month we bring you three selected poems by Nicolas Canton.
Initially, what draws me to them is their ability to mend a rather contemporary sense of spirituality (small ‘s’) with the struggles of a rather timeless narrator, one who seems fettered to a dense and oft foggy world of self-companionship. Where I am inclined to revisit these works over and again is in their softness; a certain quiet that, provoked by Canton’s effortless lyricism, makes me want to stand on the hood of my car and belt them out to the world; a world that benefits from these poems whether it hears them or not. These qualities, I find, are paramount in Canton’s work.
Enjoy, and to be a part of thedetroiter.com’s lit section, see guidelines in our call for submissions here.
Poetry & Fiction Editor
He takes her breast in his mouth
and weeps for the uncertainty of tomorrow.
As confident as he is in that nurturing mound,
this could be the last feeding.
This could be the last taste.
Like his Father before him,
he never took the time to nurture
that which nurtured him.
Eventually abandoning co-dependence.
Robbing him of true independence,
and fostering an unfounded righteousness that cripples the soul.
My head aches from logic.
While so much insanity surrounds me
like fluid…drowns me.
An unknown hand lustfully embraces my ankle,
seducing my submersion,
preventing me from surfacing.
I can see peace and serenity through the liquid ceiling.
Panic becomes my friend.
What was once a hindrance,
now becomes an invitation…
a welcoming initiation to a world
free of misery, contradiction, and well…Logic.
I crave you.
I am enslaved by the idea of you.
I long to drink in your essence;
to wash down the meal of your presence.
Allow me to ingest scorched Earth
and experience a re-birth
into a world of Forever you.
Day passes into night, and you exit
before I have fully appreciated your entrance.
I bask in your smile and revel in your gaze
that a creature so heavenly
recognizes admirable “Me".
Words float past cherry lips
as do leaves on the wind of a Perfect Storm.
Only sweeter, and more deadly.
Because they are your words,
and carry the wit and lethality to slay me.
My love and inner being bleed heavier with each kiss…
with each utterance and spoken word…with each death!
I would breathe the scorched Earth to die that death each day,
and to be reborn into a world of, Forever You.
Nicolas Canton is a writer/poet, and a student of the human condition. He works in finance but continues to write in hope that his voice will bring to light everyday issues that relate to the human condition and transcend race, economic status, and religion.
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