Feeds:
Posts
Comments

.

Trees turn to bone

and the leaves

turn into feathers

in the alabaster light

before the sun goes down.

.

A young eagle leaps

around his nest

of sticks and straw

flapping his wings

like wide miracles

.

until the sun sets

and they fold again

hugging his wild sides –

every bone and feather

neatly back in place.

.

.

© 2021   Betty Hayes Albright

.

Inspired by watching the Redding, California eagle cam. I highly recommend! The three eaglets will fledge in 2-3 weeks.

Sorry for my absence here… hoping to eventually catch up with everyone.

Also hope you’re all well — I’ve missed you all. ❤

.

Son Sets

.

Like those nesting dolls

in graduated sizes

my sons became

encased each year

inside of bigger boys.

Now grown and sealed

inside tall men

they’re unaware

I still see through

a mother’s eyes

to all those younger little boys

still playing deep inside.

.

.

(c) 1992, 2021  Betty Hayes Albright

(A re-post; also previously published in Skipping Stones)

.

This week my first born son turns 50….! 

(Hard to grasp, as I still haven’t accepted that I’m over 50! 😊 )

And I still often see that little boy still playing deep inside him. 

The Collector

We miss you, Ben Naga.

Ben Naga

THE COLLECTOR

When you talk
The air becomes filled with butterflies
And while you talk
…………………….Surreptitiously
I catch them in my hands
And put them gently in my pocket
And when I leave you
I go home
Take them gently from my pocket
And arrange them
…………………….Like this
On a piece of paper
So that when you find out what I am doing
And no longer let them loose when I am there
I can come home
…………………….And remember …

View original post

Thank you, Charles, for putting my thoughts into words. It has been an unbelievable day.

charles french words reading and writing

I was going to do a post on writing today, but with what is happening in Washington, D.C., I have to speak about this insanity.

I will start by saying that I support peaceful protest of all kinds, because it is guaranteed in our Constitution, but I never support protest that is violent, including from those with whom I agree politically. Violent protest is never acceptable. Please do not reply by comparing today’s actions to other protests; as I stated, I disagree with all violent protests. Besides that would be like a child saying “Well, he did it, so I am too.” The logic is ridiculous.

What is happening today, though, is far worse than violent protest. By breaching the Capitol and disrupting the Constitutional work of the government, these people, who were incited by President Trump have committed many federal crimes and are committing insurrection. They are attempting to…

View original post 226 more words

Winter Fire

.

I am the water

you draw from your well –

steep me

into your tea.

.

I am the slice of hot toast

on your plate –

let me melt

your fresh apple butter.

.

I am the evergreen

on your morning walk –

breathe me

into your shadow.

.

I am the eyes

meeting yours in the marketplace –

see the pangs

of my hunger.

.

I am the line

down the middle of your road –

follow me

through the desert.

.

I am the match

that lights your winter fire –

catch my sparks

in a jar.

.

I am the shooting star

in your fevered night –

wish for me

one more time.

.

.

(c) 1995, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post, revised….)

 

.

Untouched Snow

.

O magic tilt of earth,

we sing and dance

in this new wash

of winter.

.

Icy prisms

play the stars

.

while we gather

reds and greens

to weave ourselves

a holy wreath

.

as one tall candle

lights

the untouched snow.

.

.

(c) 1992, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(A re-post from 2011 — revised…)

.

Wishing everyone a holiday season

filled with love, joy, peace and good health.

Merry Christmas!!

You might recognize some of the poets in this new international anthology — published by Four Windows Press. It’s a beautiful book and I’m honored to be included in it.

fourwindowspress

Publisher: Four Windows Press, 231 N Hudson Ave., Sturgeon Bay, WI 54235

Distributor: Ingram

Number of pages: 370

Price: 20.95 Retail

Available:                   Through bookstores and online venues worldwide, including https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0999007777?pf_rd_r=QNSVAP9MMMBZFHENZZEP&pf_rd_p=9d9090dd-8b99-4ac3-b4a9-90a1db2ef53b or https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/no-more-can-fit-into-the-evening-thomas-davis/1138335652?ean=9780999007778

Web site: www.fourwindowspress1.com

Four Windows Press has released a major anthology of English-speaking poets, No More Will Fit Into the Evening, A Diversity of Voices. The volume contains a healthy sampling of work from 39 poets from the United States, Great Britain, Canada, New Zealand, and the Netherlands.

In the “Introduction” to the volume, the Editors, Thomas Davis and Standing Feather, both poets, say that “an early decision was made to invite poets either they knew about” from their years participating in multiple poetic communities “to submit ‘the ten best poems they had ever written.’” From the hundreds of poems submitted over 250 poems were included in the final publication.

Among the notable poets in the volume…

View original post 177 more words

Winter Solstice

.

This tall reach

of a winter’s day

scrapes silver dust

from a crumpled sky.

.

I turn to face

a southern glow

with eyes upraised

and heart thrice full –

.

O Sun, I’d woo thee

north again

to light this shadow land.

.

.

(c) 1993, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright 

.

A re-post from 2014… (poem written in 1993).

Wings

.

Washing dishes and

longing out the window

at trees

when suddenly

the ends of the universe touch

like the tips of two wings

.

and I’m there

at that center

where nothing exists

but a bubbly plate

and the clear hot water

rinsing it clean.

.

.

©  2012, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright 

.

Re-posted from 2015, previously titled “Clear”.

Also published in Skipping Stones in 2018.

This is a revised version — hopefully improved. 😊

.

Over the Rise

.

We watch for him in the valley

by the riverbank

in the green of the moss

.

but on the bridge

to the other side

all we find is our own loss

.

till whispers in the trees remind:

just send love,

not sad goodbyes —

.

no maudlin sentiment

for him,

he’s just over the rise.

.

.

© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

%d bloggers like this: