At Slack Tide

There is a space
between the tides
where the sea is calm
It’s where the currents sleep
wearied as they are
by the tug-of-war
of eternal lunacy

Here is the place
I’d drop my anchor
where tides are slack
It’s where the sea’s at peace
and where I’d sleep
were Life to offer
me safe harbor

But sailors know
the slack tide’s gift
isn’t one of tranquility
It’s here the decision is made
to navigate the channel
which at running tide
leads to shipwreck

“I have occasionally had the exquisite thrill of putting my finger on a little capsule of truth, and heard it give the faint squeak of mortality under my pressure, an antic sound.” ~ E.B. White


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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6 Responses to At Slack Tide

  1. kiwiskan says:

    Yes, unfortunately we can never just stay in those tide pools… Love this poem – and the quote


  2. kiwiskan says:

    Reblogged this on kiwissoar and commented:
    sums up some of my feelings this morning. Thanks Peter


  3. Talia Hardy says:

    This is so good Maureen.


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