Author Archives: Peter Notehelfer

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!

The Maple Leaf

I opened the cupboard expecting to find a can of clam`chowder And there it was right where I’d put it I lifted a maple leaf expecting to find a poem writ on its under `side celebrating the autumn foliage I … Continue reading

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Paideia

Truth is a verb It is living` out one’s beliefs in real time acting`out Liberty A child who watches a father cheat learns deception a mother hate finds bigotry Natural Truth as a noun school`taught is easy to recite Love … Continue reading

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The Yellow Leaf

Like trees which beneath their bark feel no sign of aging so under our skin we remain young Forever Young Bob Dylan said it as though evergreen our spent needles flew off in wind to be instantly replaced by fresh … Continue reading

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On Seriousness

Ah, the Gift! To take Troubles with a grain of salt to weep at others’ pain to laugh at our own conscious the gift of resilience In childhood we expected Life to end at toothache worlds to stop turning for … Continue reading

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On Living

Some surrounded by beautiful art live stagnant lives frozen by fears of losing all Beauty Some throw open doors & windows inviting`in the light the salty`breezes the bird`song Grace Living is letting go of what owns us to receive that … Continue reading

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On Resurrection

It has taken awhile to understand my own aging The first half of my life dominated as it was by learning mastering my vocation My mind obsessed in wrapping itself around the Truth by which my machine humming made profit … Continue reading

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The Wheel [A Sabbath Poem]

The wheel is meant for rolling Its spokes tuned like strings of a classical violin for music Hub to rim the spokes integrate the wheel’s power`potential multiply its strength Axle to tire The peddle propels the chain drives the gear … Continue reading

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On Reading

In your book between the pages in the creases crumbs of last night’s cookies witness my progress in your story I’ll never sell a tale so calorie`rich marred but by a snack at mid`night as I read but when I … Continue reading

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On Imagination

It is October still the earth burns The couple stands ankle`deep in charred remains dreams’ ashes Wind & fire are our hurricanes if we live in the parched West trees large & small but kindling Catastrophes crush some people leaving … Continue reading

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The Day the Poet Died

One sunny day in early August the poet up and died The song died with him dried up in his throat like a cut blade of summer hay What can I say he succumbed to poetry’s nemesis [what the coroner … Continue reading

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August Ends

August ends a drip from a hose long ago disconnected from its wall`faucet Well`run`dry The onions peel in their rows their pale orange skins browning in a sun Beach`bums Bumble`bees crawl over the last of the summer lavender fragrant to … Continue reading

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Old Man

They say he lives in the past that now the only room left to him in his old age After breakfast they wheel him out into the garden for bird`song now gone inaudible to his ear Old man For colors … Continue reading

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