The Poet's Perspective

The Many Moods of Scargo Tower

Photos From the Northside

    Welcome to The Poet's Perspective.

              I will be making a pilgrimage of sorts this weekend, venturing to New Hampshire. The last time I visited there was to get the last of my father's belongings when he died in 2002.

    I will return to pay my respects.

No doubt I will return to The Cape with some scenic photos.

     Today's post consists of several recent photos from the North side, Yarmouthport and Dennis, as well as a seasonal montage of views from atop Scargo Tower. I've also included some  poetry.

                                            Scargo Tower-Summer View

Autumn View

                                                                            Winter View

A real pumpkin patch!( Taylor-Bray Farm)

           Orphan Keys      

I have amassed a shrine of orphan keys.

And wonder what secrets are held in these.

What lockets lay rusting on ocean floors?

What padlocked hasps will creak no more?

What Packards and Hudsons no longer roar?

        What key used to open the woodshed door?

        As I am too an orphan, I appreciate their subtlety.

I therefore hesitate to dispose of them prematurely.

For orphans know more of what’s in store.

Than those outsiders judging so quickly.

        For orphans may seem cast in dust.

Apparently bathed in lasting rust.

But invisible dimensions exist. 

     I urge all to discover this.

 Highbush Blueberry takes peculiar form.

(Paths near Gray's beach.)

 Taking flight in Cape Cod gray.

(Almshouse Rd.)

 A burst of light obviates the thicket

(Almshouse Rd.)

Roots take hold-paths near Gray's Beach

 Water and Stone  

Over endless eons water drips upon a stone.

 Neither water nor the stone know that they’re alone.

But I am cast, by contrast, in awareness of solitude.

Yet like water and stone my life has been construed.

By incremental strains and seasonal change.

By knowing more of pain before maturity came.

By knowing life forces’ flows, both deliberate and astray.

And seeing living glory fade into a somber shade of gray.

And many drops upon the stone occur unnoticed.

When airs of worldly numbness do befall us.

‘Till the world deals unexpected punishment.

And invisible strains  prove apparent.

A depression in the stalwart stone.

A furrow in one man’s brow.

Yet they who stand outside themselves can never truly be alone.

As a raindrop can never be divided over stone.

So we should celebrate ourselves as water and stone.

For there’s no need to navigate when souls feel at home-

Clutch whatever comfort that comes to mind.

For the ties that bind aren’t so easily defined.

 Photos and text Copyright 2009 Jonathan Mayo 

1 comment »

Turkeys Running Amuck in Bass River

Running afowl

A group of Wild Turkeys seemed at ease amongst civilization today in Bass River.

Feeding on God knows what.

Ok, pose for the camera!!

Seven in all!

March in formation!!!

4 comments »

The Wonders of Autumn

Photo Essay-Monarchs, Sunsets and The Zen of VW repair.

Welcome to The Poet's Perspective. Today I'll be presenting a photo essay of autumn scenes and shots  from this morning's adventure.

Enjoy!

                                                                 Monarchs In Hyannisport

Fall colors-Harwich

East Reservoir-towards Bell's Neck

Hacker Conservation Area,  Harwich

Sunset at Gray's Beach, Yarmouthport

       It's strange how items from the past can revisit us. For me it culminated with an e-mail from a woman who saw this blog, and asked if I had sold her husband a VW Bus in 1998. Indeed I had. Her husband, John, had unfortunately succumbed to cancer several years ago.

She insisted that John would want me to have the Bus, so she offered it back. It was most likely good only for parts, in serious disrepair, but my excitement was still brisk.

I purchased this Bus 19 years ago, as an 18 year-old who had big dreams and scant resources. I installed an extended roof and called it home. Being young, scared and homeless seemed far less gruesome with this home on wheels.

     As time passed I eventually sold it to a friend, who fell ill and lost it at a storage auction. My cousin won the auction. I purchased it for the second time.

       I then resold it to John in 1998. According to his parents, he drove it all over the country. At some point he succumbed to cancer and the vehicle sat for a few years.

I  took in the orphan  last week and saw that my old riveted bodywork held up.(I hadn't yet learned to weld) I still saw signs of its past life, and remembered harder times when it carried me where I needed to go.

    I have been slowly dismantling it for useful parts

                         This morning's mission was to pull the engine.

                                 Lining up the necessary equipment-  8AM

                                                       Basic connections removed,

                                                       Raised and Supported-  8:40

Engine out-9:45 AM

My love for old VWs continues.

9 comments »

The Old King's Ghosts

Poetry and Photos for October

By Jonathan Mayo

Welcome to The Poet's Perspective. I have always been fond on October, Libra as I am.

Today I'll be sharing a new poem for Halloween on Cape Cod, some other recent work and photos from Osterville to Brewster.

Enjoy!

The Old King’s Ghosts

Now we’ve all heard the tale of old Ichabod Crane.

But what say you of local hauntings with lesser claims to fame?

They come this time of year, when the leaves turn yellow and red.

A grisly procession of clicking bones, the sinewy corps of the dead-

They prefer the Old King’s Highway, 6A as it’s known today.

Where with darkness dwells an evil so hellish, you’ll swear you can smell the decay.

The cemeteries sit high on the north side, although…

Its occupants repose in sodden holes, clammy, cold and low.

What tragic lives they led, mere mortals may ne’er see.

But these addled ghosts at their lookout posts keep eyes out for you and me.

On Cobb’s Hill in the village the bony skeletons walk.

With no tongues inside their bright white skulls, they all are loath to talk.

So instead they moan dryly, and haunt the villagers so.

So beware O’ children on all Hallow’s Eve, be careful where you go.

In the marshes dwell the ghosts of many shipwrecked souls.

Who relive their final moments as the mighty ocean rolls-

Go not therefore beachside on All Hallow’s Eve.

Lest ye catch sights so frightful, your eyes refuse belief.

At Scargo Hill, the dastardly demons know the drill.

From tower-top they belly-flop, explode and scream so shrill.

In Sesuit Harbor, a ghostly floater bobs and dips at the whims of the tides,

His grey self bloated, and features exploded, in the pickling only fine brine provides.

In the bonny flats of Brewster dwells a clammer who one day was stuck.

Drowned by the tide, with his bucket beside, Do hide! He now runs amuck!

So Beware O’ Children, of the Old King’s Ghosts-

Who patrol the coast in search of new hosts-

Be wary of what you see and believe.

Keep your guard on this All Hallow’s Eve!

                                               The Detective of Joy

To seek joy oft seems a detective’s task.

Trenchcoats collared high to cut the wind.

When the seeker learned long past not to ask-

It’s an ancient art to know how to begin.

Slinking forward to peer ‘round crumbling corners-

Looking into the eye of the sky and the tides-

Joy’s detective begs questions at the borders.

To know the inner peace such joy provides.

But the detective’s task is never done.

Across hills and dales elusive joys run-

To chase such culprits yields a thrill few will know.

The emptiness of failure, most would sooner forego.

But the detective isn’t in it for bling-

As the birds need no gold to coyly sing-

 Faithful Maidens

She awakes to the stillness of the waters at dawn.

Slippers on, then shoreward her feet are drawn.

She glimpses the horizon in hopes of a return.

Half a hemisphere away, he tends his powder burns.

Morning greeted by the smoke of ordnance.

Browning street-blood, teeth-clenching vigilance-

She reflects on the sweetness of the letters he’d send.

He spits sand and questions if he’ll ever feel again.

The story is repeated in boroughs near and far.

Faithful maidens cry, seeking answers from the stars.

All text and photos Copyright 2009 Jonathan Mayo

From Top-

1.Yarmouth

2.Nickerson State Park, Brewster

3&4. Micah's Pond, Osterville

5.Nickerson State Park, Brewster

6. Grasshopper- Nickerson State Park, Brewster

7.Beech Leaf Island-Centerville

8&9.Nickerson State Park, Brewster

     I am accepting new work  for winter garden preparation, bulb planting and fall cleanups. Contact me for details.

Here you see what a little love can do-deep seeding+careful maintenance= perfect grass.

5 comments »

The Opulence Of Highfield Hall

Welcome to The Poet’s Perspective. I recently had the opportunity to visit Highfield Hall in Falmouth. This Queen Anne style mansion was built in 1875 and restored impeccably between 2001 and 2007.

    The place has an opulence rarely seen, correct to the tiniest detail. The first thing I noticed upon entering  Highfield was the lack of creaks that so often plague older houses. It seems the restorers made sure every joint was tight.

   The history of Highfield Hall is worth noting. James Beebe, a dry goods magnate, purchased 700 acres in 1872, just uphill from the recently built train station in Falmouth. The train was integral to area’s new development, as now wealthy summer folks could arrive quickly and comfortably.

    Beebe’s Children then built Highfield.

“Brothers Pierson and Franklin and

sister Emily built a lavish "summer cottage"                      

in the Queen Anne stick style modeled after

 the British Pavilion in the great 1876

Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. Highfield Hall was completed in 1878, and its sister mansion, Tanglewood, where the J. Arthur Beebes took up residence, was finished in 1879. Thus began over fifty years of Beebes living and entertaining in their "summer cottages"at Highfield. In its heyday, the hill must have been a bustling scene. The miles of carriage trails, riding trails, gardens, two huge homes, and numerous outbuildings required a small army of servants to maintain. The Beebes even started a farm on Shore Street to provide produce for their Falmouth

and Boston residences.”  

http://www.highfieldhall.org/history.htm

     This is how I remember Highfield looking when I frequented the area as a teenager in the mid 80’s

Photo Courtesy of  Highfield Hall

The Restoration of Highfield Hall was an enormous undertaking.

Read details here.

http://www.highfieldhall.org/history.htm#Restoration

The following photos are from my recent tour.

3 comments »