Rosetta Stone

The poet

Speaks in language

At once graphic & archaic

Intending meaning



The reed

Bruised but unbroken

In the just Creator’s hand

What fallen soul won’t



The key

To deciphering poetry

Lies not in towers of academe

But on the worn mantle

Of familiarity


Heart wounds

That are finally incurable

Or love’s pressed wild flowers

In the creases of the soul

Interpret all


The heart

Holds the hieroglyphics

By which all the disingenuities

Of both minds & mouths

Are laid bare


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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One Response to Rosetta Stone

  1. masterful metaphors


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