• Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

      $7 USD  or more




This album is a commemorative collection of that like past albums of artists who have appeared as features for Pantherion Speaks Radio. This present one is of the poetic stylist who calls himself JC ONECAN CANNON... or simply... ONE. The individual tracks may be acquired here by donation only or on his website. A donation suggestion for the entire collection of works is listed here


released February 28, 2015

ALL vocals by JC ONECAN CANNON. Original Instrumental beat ''Dreaming'' - Old School Relaxed Smooth Miles Davis Sampled Jazz- Hip Hop Beat FREE DOWNLOAD



all rights reserved


Pantherion Prime Riverside, California

Pantherion Prime is a pen name of mine...

it is an dentity... a personality that I use to scribe...
and describe the spiritually erotic notions and annotations
of my works in esotericeand rotic poetry.

I AM a multi-disciplinary artist who creates through sculptures through
poetry and music that could... and would reflect
the very essence of me... as a matriarchal man.
... more

contact / help

Contact Pantherion Prime

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Raise Them Up

In the wake of anger and apathy...
In the dawn of death and outrage...
As the sun rises on another mother's pain...

I implore you,
Raise men.

Don't react by breeding cattle.

Don't respond by training your sons to fear death
Raise them to refuse to die for nothing.

Instill in them to be wise and thoughtful in their decisions.
Instruct them to live this life with purpose.
Teach them that there are those who do not value their existence...
Make certain that they are not among them.

Be careful not to deny them their spirit of freedom
Be mindful not strip them of their willingness to live boldly.
Be brave enough to let them make mistakes and occasionally fail.

Raise them brave and strong.
Raise them wise and aware.
Raise them willing to die for something deserving of their incalculable worth.

Arm them with dignity and honor...
Protect them with confidence and consciousness
Enable them with discernment and judgment

Fear would have you make them sheep...
It would have you sacrifice pride for precaution
Reject the notion that self-preservation and subjugation are synonymous

In the face of temptation to raise them to be afraid...
Teach them that pride doesn't require a senseless sacrifice.
Being proud is not a good reason to die.

Raise them to protect their lives when others do not.
Raise them up.
I implore you...
Raise men.

©Copyright 2015 JC One Cannon.
Track Name: CONTROL
When I speak of Control...
It is a precious and precise concept.
An exacting and exalted measure.
A mighty and weighty commitment.
A willingness to not simply consume...
But assume responsibility of the thing.
To be more than just that which satiates and satisfies her...
Saturates and seduces her...
More than just the master that owns her.
But the safe haven that honors and respects her.
The place that receives and replenishes her.
The force that binds her.
When I speak of control...
It is a vast and revered notion.
A sacrosanct and sacred honor.
A desire to not just to be the vehicle of pleasure.
But the assurance of security.
The promise of privacy and protection.
Decency and discretion.
Something greater than the thing that feeds and fucks her...
Drinks and dominates her...
More than just to whom she submits.
But the voice that soothes and saves her...
The arms that calm and comfort her.
The one that KNOWS her.
And when I speak of control...
Let it not be confused with lesser things.
Childish delusions of assumed command...
Influence benefiting from ignorance...
Taking what has not been freely given.
And when I speak of control...
With a whisper.
Own it without asking for it.
I Am it and understand it without explanation.
More than words…
It is a consecrated agreement between He that has it...
And she that yields it.
But above all else…
When I speak of control...
It is thing that once assumed, it is forever etched into the fabric her being.
To be takes and treasured.
Prized and praised.
A thing of utter and absolute beauty …
A thing of power.
So, when I… speak of control…
It becomes a wondrous thing.
A THING of infinite meaning.
A coveted thing…
It becomes a wondrous thing indeed.

©Copyright 2015 One Cannon. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed without written and explicit authorized permission.
Track Name: WANTING

I want you open like wide eyes and bright skies.

Want you needing me like deception needs a disguise.

I want you to want me instinctively.

Impulsively embracing possibilities that defy practicality

Logically absurd realities that border on insanity

But yes…

I want you in that place of lunacy for me.

Wanting me in ways that seem simply amazing.

Fantasies wrapped around fallacy coated in abstract imagery

Dreams dipped in wishes draped across the cloth of whimsy

God dammit … I want you to WANT me.

To the point where it becomes downright silly.

Want you sitting, twitching betwixt your thighs

As your eyes stay tied to everything that I describe.

Wanting nothing more than to soar through clouds held aloft by you and my ability

to make you soft.

Holding fast to that ass as I reach out and grasp for whatever gets you off.

Every subtle sound compounds this mass effect

Yet gets directly to the point that I want the THOUGHT of me…to get you wet.

Because yes…

I want you to want me like that.

Contemplating trading in your cool points for conversation.

Deviation from your daily timetable for a place at your station.

The destination that you seek.

Where you savor the day with me.

Where you WANT to run away with me.

Do things that ring of creation and consummation.

Wanting me like dying sinners want salvation…

I want to be your definitive end.

The point where your day begins.

That moment where your life begins to take on shapes and colors that deny the

mind’s ability to comprehend.

I want you to want me like a kite wants the wind

to play within so it never, ever, ever has to touch the ground again.

I want you to want me like a lie needs your faith in order to be true.

Like water wants your hair to run through.

Damn it, I just want you to want me in the same the way that I want you.

Is that cool?

ãCopyright 2010 JC “One” Cannon. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or

redistributed without written and explicit authorized permission.
Track Name: spoken word, poetry and music, - WHAT IT IS
What it is…
There is nothing complicated about what we feel…
It is love.
The purest of all things.
The zenith of emotions.
Heights of which so distant, that when one falls…
They tumble forever.

I see nothing complex about this.
Nothing ornate or intricate.
Nothing hidden or contrived.
Just simple existence in a perpetual state of perfection.

It mends the broken heart…
Creating bliss from loneliness.
There is no elaborate description or depiction that makes it any less or any more than what it is.
It is the soft whisper heard above the crowd.
The cool breeze in the midst of warm summer’s kiss.
The finds what’s been lost or missed
In time healing all that hurts.

More than impressive expressions of fanciful phrasing…
It is an opening of one’s soul to infinite possibilities both vast and frightening.
Beyond the scope of counted losses and expensive gains
It is the casting off of one’s fears in the name of holding something precious…
Something amazing.

It is love.

These words are not words.
They’re vibrations of sound becoming vacant utterances.
Prayerful promises of purpose.
Failing miserably in their intent to lend definition to something so ineffably unspeakable…
So entirely inexplicable.
These abstract scribbles serve only to convolute and confuse that which is already perfect in, and of itself.
Needing nothing more than a willing heart and open mind to be all that it already is.
It needs only to be recognized…
Seen for what it can be.

There is nothing complicated about this...
Nothing needing clarification or classification.
Nothing needing excuse, explanation, or quantification.
It …is… as eternal as hope
As limitless… as a child’s imagination.
It is the thing with which we all begin in its most pure and untainted state.
And that to which we return when all else has faded away.

It is why we laugh.
Why we sing.
Why we learn to say these silly thing.
It just is…
It is what remains of us when everything else loses all meaning and all design.
It is why… we learn… to fly
It is the one thing that never dies.
It is … why we even begin to try.

It…is… what it is…

The song to which we dance away the moments of our otherwise pointless lives.
It resonates without sound or symbol.
Provokes without preference or prejudice.

It simply is.

And to it we can only hope to add the very best of what we are.
And maybe one day…
Hold it in our hearts until it ignites the sky, turning us to stars…

And when we are gone…

That shining example remaining as an undying light…
Reminding the world that we knew it.

But more importantly…

That we gave it.
Because in the end…
That’s all there ever, really, truly was…

It is love.
©Copyright 2015 One Cannon. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed without written and explicit authorized permission.
Track Name: RED DRESS
Red Dress
I saw you...

Cloaked in the shade of a red dress.
Hidden behind radiant cloth that simply served to obscure my view.

Better yet---
I...see... you...
... naked.

Revealed as though previously denied me.

I.. see.. you...
...laid bare for mine eyes as I visualize the warmth of your inner thighs.

Removed are its beautiful rouge hues as it lay strewn across the floor of my bedroom.
Refracted light, reflecting off freshly freed flesh…
Having been liberated from the constraints of claustrophobic clothing and cramped confinement…

And I won’t deny it

I see it…
Pleading for attention…
And it is given, as proper placement of wet kisses and a firm caress.
Holding in hand breasts, and back, and ass with unapologetic affection.

6-inch heels remain in play as they make possible perfect angles and aligned anatomic access…
As vein-laced thick-ness remains ingratiated with precise penetration and phallic placement.
9 and a half inches entering from a flawless vector of 45 degrees as your body heat exceeds the recommended 98.6 degrees.

I saw you…
In THAT red dress.
Pleased with the task at hand of undressing your preconceptions,
I lead in with the deliberate intent of taking everything that you THOUGHT you knew…
And bending you into positions originally intended for the karma sutra.

This is that time you will never forget.
In fact… you will re-live it…
and over…

This is that point when memories begin to blend in to what’s happening…
And you can’t tell whether you're remembering or living-- in-- this moment.

Tempo shifts as shit gets thick.

Our hearts pound through our chests and breath’s held in check by a steady flow as we move up on the down beat…
Holding for half note…
Before moaning on with a deep stroke.

Movements become music and I feel your pulse through my instrument.
Veins throb and walls tighten when the cadence of our arrangement continues to hit.
Gliding towards and inevitable end kept distance by insistence as you whisper....

“Oh Shit! This --- feel --- so --- good.”

As well it should.

Otherwise, what would be the point?
What other reason could there be to work this intensely…

Scream this loudly…
Scratch backs this deeply…
Curse so freely as you plead passionately…

“Fuck me. Oh dear God ... please... fuck me…”
And I oblige as muscles constrict and hips begin to shift while something wicked this way...

Legs wrap and hold tight as you whisper “Right there, right there, please… just... stay... right... there.”

Having done as you request, I am rewarded with waves of convulsion and concussive force as your essence is set forth unto the night.

There is calm after the storm and on the horizon sits… that… red… dress.

Symbolizing a white flag raised as you lay dazed and spent. Trembling softly, eyes closed, breathing shallow and quick.

Your screams still echo.
Your fingers still grip.
Residual flutters of sporadic after-shocks send spasm through your core.

That… red… dress watching us from the distance.

We lay in the shadow of heavy air and memories made.
Living… remembering… satiated and satisfied somewhere in-between our place in the sky and that dress watching us from the floor.

©Copyright 2012 JC One Cannon. All rights reserved. Neither the whole, nor any portion of this material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed without written and explicit authorized permission.
Track Name: JC I AM ONE CAN Cannon - TATTED UP
Tatted Up…
She is tatted up.
Bold images and shapes draped along the lines of her surface.
The woman she is… made visible with ink.
Colored in shades of black and earth tones.
Scribed in symbols and painted as her soul lay etched across her skin.
Her personality is worn in her flesh like scripted intimacy.
A deluge of ideas and concepts tracing her growth and journey.
Her ease with the pain leaves me in awe.
Her relationship with the edge and her fascination with the needle captivate me.
Beautiful markings gracing the expanse of her surface and seeping into her essence.
Painted with ink that drinks in life and gives forth her story.
Light dancing across her external self
Screaming the song of her origin
Singing her tale as it reflects off her shine.
Amazed am I.
Thick chocolate limbs adorned in majestic artwork.
These are not accessories.
So much more than just an assertion of individuality.
These are those images inscribed on ancient walls left for those who would be so fortunate to find them.
Hieroglyphics carved into her persona as a way of marking her past.
These are brushstrokes of divine inspiration on skin as soft as baited breath.
These are creative manifestations of who she is.
Her thoughts made tangible, touchable reminders.
She is painted with lines and signs that illustrate depth too complex to be spoken
Characters too magnificent to merely be inferred.
Her attitude, tattooed on her splendid form…
Breadcrumbs left along herself to let her find her…self
Too much to ever be held captive by words.
These are her dreams.
Colored in the colors of her skin.
Painted is she.
Tinted by careful selection and dyed in the hues of life.
7 layers of regenerative canvas, sculpted and designed by her desire.
Her truth made visible with ink.

©Copyright 2009 One Cannon. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed without written and explicit authorized permission.