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Archive for the ‘Poetry 1970’s’ Category

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She dares to rise

through molten rock

cutting loose

from the unforgiving core

of gravity

free of the burning bush

and the howl of the tempest.

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Into the open sky she flies

past moon and sun,

the spin of stars

beyond the fabled edges

of the cosmos

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until no longer up or down

nor right or left

she spirals forth

into the numinous arms

of the Beloved.

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© 2020, 1976  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(A revised version of an old poem from 1976.)

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We can’t be held down,

we’re a ball bouncing back,

an unsinkable raft,

a bowl that won’t crack.

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We can never be slain,

our core’s made of steel,

wherever we’re punctured

we readily heal.

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Trample on us

and we’ll spring back to life,

we cut to the truth

like an ever-sharp knife.

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We’re a magical candle

that never stops burning,

a wise inner child

who never stops learning.

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Knock on our window’s

unbreakable glass,

mow us down, we’ll grow back

like invincible grass.

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Light as a bubble

we can’t be detained —

we’ll rise towards the light

and ever remain.

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©  1976, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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We need to vote — for wisdom, love, truth, integrity, compassion, understanding, tolerance, kindness, common sense, and justice.  We need to vote for candidates who will encompass as many of those traits as possible (no matter their party).

We need to vote for those who will join the rest of the world in protecting Mother Earth.  We must change this downhill slide, for the sake of our children, our grandchildren, and all future generations. Thank you.  ❤

Love, B.  ❤

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(From 1976)

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Awaken me,

I’m sleep walking.

In jigsaw dreams

I shadow-box

flailing fists

against the air

to shake away the trappings.

Pry open

these amnesia-clouded eyes

that they may see

beyond this tangled trail of woe –

I long to hear

the Phoenix sing.

Come knead my heart

with cosmic yeast

until my spirit rises up

to navigate the river

that will take me

to the sea.

Please awaken me.

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(c) 1976, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Originally published in “Living Color”, (my humble chapbook) in 1976.

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(a re-post)

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(Originally from 1976 – revised)

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We can’t be held down,

we’re a ball bouncing back,

an unsinkable raft,

a bowl that won’t crack.

We can never be slain,

our core’s made of steel,

wherever we’re punctured

we readily heal.

Trample on us

and we’ll spring back to life,

we cut to the truth

like an ever-sharp knife.

We’re a magical candle

that never stops burning,

a wise inner child

who never stops learning.

Knock on our window’s

unbreakable glass,

mow us down, we’ll grow back

like invincible grass.

Light as a bubble

we can’t be detained,

we’ll rise towards the light

and ever remain.

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©  1976, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Someday wisdom, love and truth will prevail.  Never give up!)

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(from 1979)

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When our skin

grows thin

and our eyes

have finally dimmed

we’ll blow on that

charred piece of coal

(the one that never cooled)

until it catches fire again.

We’ll crawl inside

and melt cold bones

into an alabaster stone

and there we’ll carve

our epitaph:

Never Say Die.

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(c) 1979, 2015  Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-posted from 2011)

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IMG_5649

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(written for my young sons in 1979)

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Children, lay your presents down,

come look and see what I just found –

a tree outside all flocked in snow

that doesn’t need a wire to glow;

playful squirrels – the romping kind

that you never have to wind.

A snowman’s outside every home,

not one is made of Styrofoam.

There’s peace and quiet for your heart

not found inside a shopping cart,

and living color in a smile

that’s brought to you without a dial. *

The wind is singing up the street

to rosy cheeks and dancing feet,

to easy laughter, mellow sighs,

whispering of the grand surprise

that comes on winter’s longest night –

the promise of returning Light.

So children, lay your presents down,

behold the gift that Love has found.

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© 1979, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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* Waaay back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, certain t.v. shows were “brought to you in living color” (as opposed to the more common black and white) – on televisions that still had dials. Funny – seems so antiquated now.

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(From 1976 – when health food stores were a novelty.)

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Carob nuggets,

stone-ground wheat,

papaya juice

squeezed fresh and sweet,

creamy milk

raw from the cow,

alfalfa sprouts

and protein chow,

tomatoes,

all organic grown,

honey vacuumed

from the comb,

garden herbs,

home-made wine,

molasses drops

and seaweed brine,

yogurt culture,

wheat-germ cakes,

soybean patties,

rose hip flakes –

eat them chopped up,

mashed or diced

till you are what you eat:

high-priced.

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© 1976, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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(Photo from morgueFile free photos)

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(from 1979)

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She paints what is reflected

in tears that are neglected

and laughs at the picture

that she sees.

Still her thoughts become infected

with words that were rejected

and she knows that craziness

comes in degrees.

But the world will stand corrected

when her bones are resurrected

and she asks,

“How did you like my last strip-tease?”

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(c) 1979, 2014  Betty Hayes Albright

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This is a re-post, in memory of the eruption of Mt. St. Helens and the loss of a dear friend.

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“Down Moon River on a Cement Slab” *

           To Barbara Pierce Morris Seibold   (1947 – 1980)

(Originally written for Barb on her 33rd birthday. Just 2 months later she died in the eruption of Mt. St. Helens on May 18, 1980, along with her husband and two children. She always made me laugh, always found humor in any situation. The last verse was added after she died.)

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We had a frog called Inky-Dink

until the pond went dry

and it was time

to go to school.

We threw our homework

in the mud

and laughed

at Mrs. Eagle-Eye.

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I slammed your finger

in the locker door,

your nail turned

black and blue.

You laughed

and drained it with a pin

that had a different

point of view.

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Then walking home

we yelled at muddy trucks

that splashed our knees

with scum,

and laughing, kicked

fresh Girl Scout cookies

down the street

to spite the crumbs.

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On Saturdays

we shopped downtown,

they couldn’t keep us

on the ground.

I lost you

on the 13th floor

but always heard you laughing

through the elevator door.

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Dick’s fries were still 11 cents

we ate them

in your green Corvair

and laughed and sang

to KJR

then chased some boys

but not too far.

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Once on a dare

we broke into

the secret tunnel

beneath the school.

Our stockings snagged

on gurgling pipes

we swore the air grew hotter

but all the time

we laughed our alma mater.

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After senior finals

you threw your gym shoes

from the car.

They landed on a frowning cop

who didn’t want to celebrate.

You laughed

at the $30 fine

and went to graduate.

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One day we met

with shining rings

and home grown bellies

laughing at the years gone by.

We drove to show

a favorite teacher

how we’d learned to multiply.

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added a few months after Barb died:

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No roadblocks ever

held you back

how could you know St. Helen’s

would have heartburn on that day?

She belched,

I felt the earth shake

when you died

and all was ash.

But somehow from deep inside

I know you’ll have the final laugh.

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© Betty Hayes Albright 1979, 1980, 2015

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*  Title comes from the time a DJ on the radio said, “And now we’re gonna float down Moon River on a cement slab” as he spun that popular song. We laughed till we cried. (Guess you woulda had to be there. 🙂 )

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(Revised from a 1976 poem.)

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Beyond the unforgiving

core of gravity

she births herself

through molten rock

and hard-pan crust

into the atmosphere

above the rant

of storms,

the burning bush,

the moon and sun

and spin of stars

far beyond

the fabled edges

of the universe

no longer up or down

but circling straight

into the riddle

of her Self.

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© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

 

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