The Contours

I see the contours of the land

a panorama of the hills and valleys

laid our before me like a topical map

the hills and the valleys all in context

the streams and the damned dams

standing in the flow of this love 


I see the contours of the deep

the silvery shimmer on the covers

of the sea swirled by the windy wave

the canyons and the chasms all erect

with the enormity of the thought

of the way that things might be


I see the contours on the wind

the flutter of the leaf on the tree

the tail of a child’s kite in the park

tipping first this way and then that

but without thought of a morrow

the tall sail bending all a’billow


I see contours of yourselves

shadows of the black on black

simply all too far out ahead of me

the old genes full of philanthropy

without thought of the sinews

God, I do see the contours all


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!
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to The Contours

  1. Morgan says:

    Wonderful Verbal Textures :) Happy Friday and Have a Fantastic Week End~


  2. kiwiskan says:

    hate to say it but it looks like our current weather map


  3. those contours are the fingerprint of God


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s