The Poet's Perspective

   In wanting to make sure I keep up the posts and don't let myself forget to post something, I'm going to post some... interesting creations of mine that have come from time to time.  As is stated on both the header for this blog as well as the header for my relatively unused twitter account, I consider myself a poet.
   I don't believe that being a poet immediately gives me a new perspective, but I'd rather like to think that the perspective I have allows me to write what I hope is good poetry.  And while we are on the topic of what I call "The Poet's Perspective," I'd like to share with you a poem I wrote that goes by that name.

The Poet’s Perspective

I took a friend of mine to this place

And I asked him to tell me what he saw.

He took all of two seconds and said “grass.”

With further pushing, I got from him:
“Trees, a fence, some cars, homes.”

I looked at him, waiting for more,

But all he said was “my legs are sore.”

He asked if we could go, but I said no.

Instead, I gave him a show.

So I told him everything I saw, every detail.

I see a forest of blades, reaching together

For ages and ages along, right up to a metal rail

That separated the beauty from those who don’t bother

To look while they hustle from a to b,

In their sinister metal machines,

Rolling over hard smooth blacktop they don’t even see

And complaining about some reckless teens.

I see two giant wooden poles penetrating the ceiling

Of the forest of grass, reaching for the stars,

Stunted only by the clouds they are feeling,

Lacking the Curiosity that it takes to get to mars.

Finishing, I looked back at my friend,

Saying “You don’t use the services your eyes lend

To you, while I, I have the poet’s perspective.