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Archive for the ‘Deep Water’ Category

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She keeps it in a wooden box

between soft layers of cotton —

the arrowhead

he found in the desert.

It still bears his fingerprints —

invisible, like the many poems

she composes in her head

but never writes,

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poems she sends

across the valley

hoping they’ll lodge

in his dreams

some heavy night.

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She imagines them

circling his body

like halos of concentric light,

or perhaps brushing his face

with kisses

silky as a feather.

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But then, like the arrowhead

she draws them home again

tucking them safely away —

sonnets nestled in her soul

between reluctant layers

of silence.

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© 2014, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post from 2014)

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I hope everyone is staying well out there. Will try to catch up with you all soon. ❤

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It doesn’t seem

that long ago

you came

but could not stay.

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Our paths were crossed

and time got lost –

seems only yesterday, and yet

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the moon still beams

and waxes full

above the sea

beyond the knoll

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where we grew young

so long ago

when Eros came to play.

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© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Just another entropic scribble.  🙂  )

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Beating of deep drums,

puff of smoke on horizon

and then you were gone.

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More is said in love’s silence

than we can e’er say out loud.

.

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©  2012, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Reposted from 2012, revised.)

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Grace

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She dammed her feelings

for him

with a bone cork

and Earth became

a rocking jug

with aching sides

and tears

that leaked through cracks

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and there was naught

but a dry, brown light

across the sky.

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And when the gods looked down

they cursed the plug

and ground it to dust

with their fists.

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Earth shuddered

and roared

in a great awakening

of heat and light

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until at last

there rose

in her breast

the endless rainbow fount

of love undamned.

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(c)  1995, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Revision of an oldie, first posted in 2011.)

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We fan the embers

turning to flamingo flames

parsing the silence

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like a blue-white star –

fire so hot there is no smoke,

just the melt of time.

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Vermilion night,

soft sizzle of sparks afire –

it begins to rain.

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©  2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Many years ago

and still

you’re with me

in the silent deep

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where time spins faster

before our eyes –

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it won’t be long

until that blur

is just a knowing smile.

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©  2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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She still remembers

his deep embrace    

in the open entryway

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and the salty taste of urgency

on the tongue

of an April day

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and their offering

to the gods

as it hung in the sun to dry

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to fluff and fold,

but tenderly —

in the wrinkles of goodbye.    

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(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Yarn

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Knit, purl, knit, purl,

give the spool another whirl,

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pray I do not drop a stitch,

just let me add another inch,

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never mind – make it two

and soon I’ll have a wrap for you,

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any shape, any size

in Dutch blue just like your eyes.

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Put it on o’er your head

or wear it as a shawl instead,

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hold it tightly like a hug

or roll it out like a rug,

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spread it on your bed at night

or in the closet out of sight.

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He loves me, he loves me not,

doesn’t matter, I’m still caught

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stuck inside a ball of yarn,

unravel me between your arms,

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then hold me to your face – pretend

that I can kiss your face again.

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Knit, purl, knit, purl,

give the spool another twirl

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and when at last we’re all unwound

I will put my needles down.

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© 2013, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-posted from 2013)

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The day comes

when his totem

tumbles to the ground

and he commands silence.

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He empties his pouch

of tooth and claw,

spreads his eagle wings

and flies to the top

of the mountain,

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and with one last glance

at the ashes

and the shattering,

he sighs, and

disappears

into his own truth.

.

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(c)  1996, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Kiln

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drawing3 1965

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Broken words

soak in the cold brine

of memory,

soften in our hands

like cinnamon clay.

Let us carve new curves

fit for the touching,

ready for the fire.

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© 1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(Pencil drawing from 1965.)

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