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She tells him with glee

that the robins have arrived

right on time

and the first honeybees

are busy in the heather.

.

He pretends to listen

but she knows he doesn’t hear –

he’s busy paying bills

also right on time

.

so as usual

she just notes the new arrivals

on her calendar

and mentions them

in the rough draft

of a poem.

.

.

© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Silk Dust

.

After her shower

she writes a poem

in the condensation on the mirror,

then watches it evaporate.

.

It was all about the fragrance –

the coconut

in her shampoo,

the rose water on her face.

.

She remembers what he liked –

Emeraude and Chantilly Lace

while he wore English Leather

which drove her over the edge.

.

They’d dance past the chaperones

and steal away to his car,

Lou Christie on the radio

and lightning striking twice

.

and later in her room alone,

his scent still in her hair

the poems would magically write themselves

in the silk dust on the mirror.

.

.

©  2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Gifted

.

Now we understand —

time is not a fleeting thing,

it is we who fleet.

.

Now we understand –

time does not have any wings,

it is we who fly.

.

Now we understand –

there is only one present

for us to unwrap.

.

.

© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Sorry I’m way behind reading blogs again. Am missing you all, and will hopefully start catching up soon, little by little. Please forgive me if I don’t comment much.  (Fibromyalgia and chronic back pain are the usual culprits, and I know many of you can relate to these “invisible” health problems.) 

Loving thoughts to everyone. ❤❤

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Kindling

.

I remember

when twenty-five years

was my whole lifetime.

.

Now a quarter century

is just another tumbleweed

bouncing down the street –

.

a little bit battered,

a lot more dust

but what wonderful kindling

I’ll be!

.

.

© 2019, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

.

Fifty doves

fly as one –

a hundred wings

on a string

.

like a cloud

caught by the sun

in a glint

and a flutter

.

before they all

disappear

to swerve in the curve

of caprice.

.

.

© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

Wist

.

It doesn’t seem

that long ago

you came

but could not stay.

.

Our paths were crossed

and time got lost –

seems only yesterday, and yet

.

the moon still beams

and waxes full

above the sea

beyond the knoll

.

where we grew young

so long ago

when Eros came to play.

.

.

© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(Just another entropic scribble.  🙂  )

.

Winter Solstice

.

Frosty colors

fall like snow

through trees —

 

precipitations of sun

filling the tangle

of briar and wood.

.

A lone sprite sings

her winter song

as doves wing overhead,

 

their tail feathers spread

to polish the lens

of the sky.

.

.

(c) 1996, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.(Re-posted from 2011, revised.)

.

Happy Winter Solstice!!  🌲 🌞 🌲

(And to our friends south of the equator a Happy Summer Solstice! 😎 )

Wishing everyone a peaceful holiday season!

 

 

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