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Where do we hide

when Mother Nature

swings her fist

into the mesh

of continuity?

Who engineered these promises

we thought were tempered steel?

The shrapnel of reality

cuts through our paradigm

as we shield our eyes

from fire

and the collapse of illusion.

Where do we draw our water now?

How can we bake our bread?

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(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

 

Thoughts and prayers to those affected by hurricanes, fires, droughts, floods, violence, and other disasters of late. May the help they need so badly be forthcoming.

(Originally written for Kobe, Japan after their disastrous earthquake in 1995.)

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He always came home

from school

with pockets full

of stuff he found

on the side of the road –

nails and screws,

shiny rocks

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and one day

a bent bottle cap

roughly shaped like a heart

which he painted red

for me.

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I find it still

in my jewelry box

place it in a bowl

next to the shiny rock

roughly shaped like a heart

which I spotted

just this morning

in the sun

on the side of the road.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(for my late son, Arlie) 

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..

It was a long, silent fall

into the days

where “Dad” was spoken

in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows

and he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

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(C) 1997, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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9.13.56 Abe Hayes

 

Dad and me 1955

1955 – Deception Pass, Whidbey Island, Washington State

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(A tribute to my dad, who passed away twenty years ago this month.

My apologies to those who have read it previously.)

 

Fall Indeed!

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Gramma Krackers

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I love when flowers

go to seed

and chickadees

come to feed

and there’s no need

to deadhead,

nor to weed.

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© 2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(re-post… a Gramma Krackers poem)

When it’s Dark

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prism from Pixaby

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Polish clean

your cutting rocks

my jagged stones

till dawn reveals

prisms.

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(c)  1993, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post. Image from Pixaby)

 

Prometheus

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After the fire plays,

after he’s gone

she leaves her heart

in ashes

nestled on the bed

and slips outside

to bury time

in earth

where it belongs.

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And sometimes

there’s a spark

when her trowel

hits a rock

and she smiles

at the thought

of that blazing

stand of man

and how she became

a goddess

when he touched her

with his flame.

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(c) 1996, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-post from 2012, revised)

September Still

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Shadows grow hungry

the sky is in knots,

apples are mellow

the faeries draw lots,

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rabbits have vanished

from safe hiding spots,

hawk flies in circles

connecting the dots.

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© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-post)

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