The Poet's Perspective

Welcome to the Poet's Perspective!

Hello and welcome to my new Blog, The Poet's Perspective. In coming months I will be sharing poems, photos and commentary, inspired by this great peninsula. I will do my best to keep it exciting and inspiring, and your input is appreciated. I hope you enjoy The Poet's Perspective.

Best Regards,

capecodjon

The Decedent's Garden

In the decedent's garden the blossoms live on.
Far beyond when the smiles and kisses are gone-
The widow refuses to move his favorite chair.
For she is now the one seeking comfort there.
She remembers the "I do's" with the iris purple hues.
The yellow coreopsis glistened bright with morning dews.
The bees browse Rose Of Sharon in a timeless display,
Reminding her of planting them one sunny day in May-
When they both were so much younger, their vigor at its prime-
Now with sadness, she takes note that all things had their time.
The snow-white wedding dress, the slate grey potters shed.
The way she caressed every hair upon his head-
The adoring eyes, the promises, the illusion of permanence-
Yet still the blooms of summer remind her of his presence.

The Rhythm of The Wind

I want to breathe with the rhythm of the wind.
Walk in time with the tide.
Be flexible as the dust from the maelstrom's first spin.
Matched by wisdom of the day the gull first cried.

To be ready as the breeze to influence what surrounds-
Yet yielding as the flotsam where the summer surf pounds.
Opportunistic as the fox who guards the tidal edge-
Solemn in considering my honor and this pledge-

To be oceanic when tempted into panic-
To attempt to be peaceful on days seeming doleful-
To sort through the fear, lend a sympathetic ear.
Dissect sadness along its seams so as to purify my dreams.

The Phantom

A phantom floats in cloaks of gray.
To mourn the closing of the day-
With all his might he shrouds the light.
To bring us to our nighttime sight-

So slight, yet perceptible.
The consequential chill-
That embodies all the parallels.
Of our own sense of will-

What mimicry doth the old owl afford-
To the desolate moans of human discord-
What lessons to take from such phantasmic whispers?
When enveloped in darkness the naked soul shivers.

To peer from precipices into uncertain darkness-
Makes certain those ciphers that lean towards our likeness-
Sign point our way down those inky dark paths.
Scouted by arrays of unlikely seraphs-

Where orphans lean upon surrogates-
And each knows the place of their ages.

All lodged in a niche that indifference besets.
We can look towards each other as sages.

For as I say to my son.
Ne'er claim to know another's heart.
We can only entertain theories.
Mere perspectives do we impart.

Be not so sure your benevolent words.
Have the same weight for they as for you.
Seek helpings of viewpoints in seconds and thirds.
Before insisting bare essence be true.

And never hedge doubt of instruments.
When fog shrouds the ability to see-
Be not smitten by shiny implements.
Lest ye fly straight into a tree-

And as we each are solo navigators.
Of aforementioned inky dark night-
Each be well-served with many parameters.
For deciding which direction be right!