Archive for the ‘Poetry 1960’s’ Category

Ashes – 2011 posting


(c) 1964, 2011  Betty Hayes Albright


Just experimenting – reblogging this from my 1960’s blog.

Summers of Love ~ poetry from the 1960's

(written 1964 –  age 17)


I finished it off last night, my love,

with the embers I had kept

when you blew out your half of our love,

I finished it off and I wept.


With ashes you had left behind

I fanned a spark that remained

and when it was lit, burnt my half of our love

and watched it like someone deranged.


I watched the thick smoke disappear

and knew I could never pretend.

These ashes could never be otherwise

so I scattered them into the wind.


(c) 1964, 2011 Betty Hayes Albright

Pencil drawing – (c) 1965, 2011

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. . . . . (reposted from my 1960’s blog)


Falling from the prom

first love stuck

to the seat of the car

till Beach Boy good vibes

lit my quarter-carat ring

as it snagged on my impatience

and scratched at your freedom

and one rainy Monday Monday

in a miscarriage of spring

you returned it to the jeweler

who confessed the stone was flawed.


Ten stairs down

in a choke-filled, red-eye cave

we found a collage

of wine-bottle candles

and short black beards

where daddy-o played chess

and argued on absolute bongos,

and espresso-laced poets

beat cement floor philosophy,

and black leotards

on bar stools sang

in dilettante protest

till someone spun Baez

and laughed

when I asked for just some tea.


No cooking in rooms,

we ate pop-tarts cold,

connected the dots

in philosophy

pretending to like home-made beer

and the rain fell

on Glen Yarborough

and we knew the war

wasn’t over

but Camus didn’t care

and Nietzsche’s God was dead

so we slid brown leaves

to the A & W

and waited for mail

from home.


It began in May,

that shoeless summer,

long hair hung low

between hot bikini tans,

salt water steamed

from our backs,

eyelashes and dimples

crossed the railroad tracks;

there were lines

and moves,

and always forget-me-nots

growing from our cleavage.


He followed me

to green music nights

to deep-lidded eyes

in bell-bottom mirrors

where we listened to Dylan

and danced to the Doors

and slid down the hill

playing and laughing

between tangled hair

and a purple-beaded dawn.


House-mother asleep

I slipped with you

in the bark-soft rain

up waterfalls

to your winking lake

where you wet my lips,

St. Christopher pressing

into my breast

and the red canoe

rocked over the edge,

smiling at

tomorrow’s raised brows.


He said he liked

the way I walked,

sang Dean Martin

with his motorcycle cocked

till I went with him

to Sehome Hill

and he stopped being Dean

and the meadow grew thorns

as he twisted my slap

grinding into the shock

knowing I’d never tell,

for back then

women blamed themselves.



your ‘59 Fairlane

got us there

to cruise Birch Bay

and puzzle over

the Ode to Billy Joe

and we answered yes

to Gracie Slick

while smokey sunsets

stopped the show

and you held your stomach in

as we laughed

across a Sunday-funny dream.


We rode the night

on magic carpet street signs

where Joni sang hairflowers

and headband crochet,

and the Taco Time spilled

and stuck to bare legs

as I felt your jacket comfort

in Sergeant Pepper incense

and the pull

of your blue-light eyes.


© 1993, 2012 Betty Hayes Albright


(For poetry from the 1960’s, you’re invited to visit my “coming of age” blog at

http://rememberingthesixties.wordpress.com .

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(children’s poem, written 1965 – companion to “Voice of the Rain”)


I’m here again birds,

climb my back for a ride,

I’ll teach you to dance

as we swoop and we glide.


Now I’m off to the trees,

hello, hear me wail!

I’ll make your leaves tremble

by wagging my tail.


I’ll bring you rare seeds

that blossom and flower

and leave you enjoying

a gentle spring shower


Ahoy, blow me down,

your boat is too slow

but I’ll rub your sail

and help you to go.


Now run and find shelter,

I’m in from the sea,

spinning and dizzy,

my eye cannot see.


Goodbye, I must go now,

some sand dunes need changing,

and lo! There’s some dust

that needs rearranging.


(c) 1965  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a children’s poem, written waaaaay back in high school)


Rain says on the window:

it’s joy-tears I weep,

hush now, my patter

will sing you to sleep.


Some days it shouts: Ha!

You’re all wet, April fool,

my friend it was warm out

but now you’ll be cool.


And rain will play tricks

and fall in hard stones,

or crystals of whiteness

and silvery cones.


And these say: Come play,

let me nip at your ear

until a warm day

makes me all disappear.


(c) 1965, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright


to be continued in “Voice of the Wind”

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came mocking Time, one day

with her ageless face

and the sun in her eyes.

She laughed at the way

I danced to the ticking

of a mere clock,

and she said in a voice

that rang out like moon-chimes:


Come let me show you

the land of Right Now,

a place that is free

from the chains of your time.

It’s a world where light

shines out of Truth’s eye

and the smile on my face

will fill you with peace.


I started to follow

but just then a whistle

made me turn back –

it was noon in the valley

and I would be late!

Turning to look

at her beauty once more

I found she had vanished

into Everywhere.


(c) 1965 , 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

(Prose version written in 1965… revised into poem 1969)

Original pencil drawing (c) 1995, 2014

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(A children’s poem, written in high school, 1965)


Shoes won’t let the sunshine in

and so I take them off and laugh,

I fling them on the nearest rock

and run pell-mell across the grass.


Shoes disguise the ground, you see,

each step feels just the same

on dirt, the sandy beach, the rocks

and even walking in the rain.


It doesn’t bother me at all

if thistles stick or stingers sting,

I’d rather be barefoot with ouch!

than never to feel anything.


(c) 1965, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright


(c) 1973  Published by Graded Press in “Three/Four” Magazine (for children)


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