On the Record

Let me speak on the record

The synapses are coming unglued

Day by day I now feel body mind spirit

separate within the tension of time

Futilely I look for my mind 


with these corrected eyes

but cannot remember where it was

I left it Or even when The other day

at prayer I was so dizzy as if to faint

I dare no longer close my eyes


And my step when I rise

from sitting has begun to dotter

The shuffle of an old absent of stride

as though uncertain in the moment

of wanting to eat or take a pee


And the mind wanders

like a Schubert balladeer through

an eternal meadow of wild flowers

which like the love of a maiden

lies now frozen under ice


Beauty seems so near

and yet forever out of my reach

On the village corner an organ grinder

turns his songs but no one listens

only a neighborhood dog


What holds us together?

What ties taste & thought & hope?

Is a man only as good as what he loves?

I wonder in the end what a man is

when looking in upon himself


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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2 Responses to On the Record

  1. can we see our own soul?


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