Frozen

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Bone-deep in winter

meadow trees are sleeping, but

time skates on thin ice.

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(c) 2022  Betty Hayes Albright

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Water-color by my grandmother, Lilly Bjornstad

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Morning

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Sunshine through the squall

rainbow arching to the west –

pot of tea, steeping.

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Feral cat sleeping

in her bed outside the door –

steam rises from trees.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Ray

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The day

we peel away

the tentacles of belief

will be the day

we discover

that unwavering ray

of truth.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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By Design

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On the walls

of the Great Divine

our soul-prints adorn

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all-ways expanding

ever creating

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for we are the artists

and we are the beholders

and we are the curators

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in kaleidoscope halls

beyond the reaches of time.

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(c) 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Deep July

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Come meet me

in the secret garden

living green

and dancing yellow,

join the bees

and beg their pardon

where the hive

grows sweet and mellow.

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Free of fear

and saved from doom

let us dance

in yonder meadow

where the wild ones

stand and bloom –

spare the truth

and spoil the credo.

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Oh my love,

let’s long abide –

dance the tango

free from care.

Meet me

on the other side –

unloose your heartstrings,

take the dare.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Honorable Mention

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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.

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He pretends to listen

but she knows he doesn’t hear –

he’s busy paying bills

also right on time

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so as usual

she just notes the new arrivals

on her calendar

and mentions them

in the rough draft

of a poem.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Silk Dust

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After her shower

she writes a poem

in the condensation on the mirror,

then watches it evaporate.

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It was all about the fragrance –

the coconut

in her shampoo,

the rose water on her face.

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She remembers what he liked –

Emeraude and Chantilly Lace

while he wore English Leather

which drove her over the edge.

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They’d dance past the chaperones

and steal away to his car,

Lou Christie on the radio

and lightning striking twice

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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.

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©  2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Gifted

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Now we understand —

time is not a fleeting thing,

it is we who fleet.

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Now we understand –

time does not have any wings,

it is we who fly.

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Now we understand –

there is only one present

for us to unwrap.

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© 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

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I remember

when twenty-five years

was my whole lifetime.

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Now a quarter century

is just another tumbleweed

bouncing down the street –

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a little bit battered,

a lot more dust

but what wonderful kindling

I’ll be!

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© 2019, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Wist

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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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