The wildflowers in the field

bask in the glory of their sunshine

A glory fiercer than that of the nursery

with its tiny plastic pots all in a line

pansy petunia geranium daisy 


Walking out among them one

can feel as though he were naked

Unbranded by all the marketplace labels

stamped onto each article he wears 

levi’s redwing woolrich jockey


Nothing but his own fragrance

interrupts the essence of the earth

The sharp musty smell of the peaty sod

and from the trees up on the ridge

turpentine tang of pine needles


I give you the bouquet of roses

when what you deserve is the meadow

I offer a sentimental card when you long

for a collection of my random thoughts

my unwritten poetry unsung songs


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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3 Responses to Gifts

  1. The last stanza is utterly brilliant. I especially loved the line, ” I give you the bouquet of roses/ when you deserve the meadow.” There’s this idea that flower arrangements are more aesthetic than in their natural proportions. So the lover deserves a beauty that is natural and un tampered. Good work, love this one… It is so sunny


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