These Are Days

These are days

Of fast moving clouds

They move in like relatives

Kick up a storm & move out again

Leaving stained sheets & dirty dishes

But on days like this I am reminded

That we’re made for bluebird days

That cloud & rainfall are but

Natural inconveniences

Champagne flutes 


The high winds

Like currents of the sea

Swirl in their atmospheres

On their backs clouds play charades

Distorting face & form till transformed

An angry pirate melds into a ballerina

Before melting at last to distant mist

Along the western ridges

Still covered with snow

From the winter


Toward sunset

A fine red haze arises

Over the island horizon

Love preparing her bed for her lover

Who falling slowly blushes pure crimson

As he slips so silently between her sheets

Each tree & flower each bird & beast

Holds its breath at the glory

Following this passion

Till all things sigh


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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4 Responses to These Are Days

  1. Morgan says:

    Lovely form …Beautiful words :) Very nice Peter!


  2. den169 says:

    Simply outstanding.


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