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Archive for the ‘Poetry 1990’s’ Category

Carnival

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On waves of teal sea-shine

we catch a glossy ride

to chase our lost horizons

and race the rising tide.

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We lean to gather white-caps

and taste their salty plumes

till purple weaves a blanket

and wraps us ’round the moon.

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(c) 1992, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Frosty colors

fall like snow

through trees —

 

precipitations of sun

filling the tangle

of briar and wood.

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A lone sprite sings

her winter song

as doves wing overhead,

 

their tail feathers spread

to polish the lens

of the sky.

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(c) 1996, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.(Re-posted from 2011, revised.)

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Happy Winter Solstice!!  🌲 🌞 🌲

(And to our friends south of the equator a Happy Summer Solstice! 😎 )

Wishing everyone a peaceful holiday season!

 

 

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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

.

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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IMG_4456

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Courting honeybees —

blossoms consummate the past

their future assured.

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(c) 2019 Betty Hayes Albright

(From a scribble written in 1998 – rewritten into a Senryu.)

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Photo taken in 2011, on our deck.

 

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beautiful blooming blossom botanical

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From a seed

dropped by a crow

at the bottom of a rockery

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it rises tall

and sturdy now

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with Fibonacci spirals

and a halo of gold.

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I wonder

if passersby see

the scintillating glow –

.

or just a wistful shadow

nodding across their path.

.

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(c) 1999, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Photo by Lukas, Pexels.com)

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Poem from 20 years ago, never published…. 

Still hoping to catch up with everyone soon!

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O vernal sun,

come sweeten the rain

as you plant your secrets

under thick moss —

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lend the forsythia

pots of gold

and warm the stones

that circle our garden —

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let poppies buzz

and sword ferns uncurl

as Earth becomes great

with tender.

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(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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An old one, never published here… that I know of.  

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Wishing everyone in the northern hemisphere a beautiful Springtime!  🌷 

And to all of us – north, south, east, west – may love, wisdom and peace someday reign on this mixed up world of ours. 💚

 

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Earth’s belly growls

when the wind

scours the valley

and rain swells the sky.

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Shadows loosen,

pressing more tightly

under rocks,

clinging closer to fences

and trees.

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Flickers arrive

flashing new red

under their wings

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while down below

the garden stirs —

and Gaia’s favorite color

is green.

.

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(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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betty 1971

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In-a-Gadda-da-Vida

we danced to our favorite

solo of drums

till Keith turned on

Folsom Prison Blues

and we dosey-doed

in a square-dance spoof,

Tom’s arm

in-a-cast-in-a-sling

but feeling no pain,

for we couldn’t see

through the smoke in the room

and we would be young forever.

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When the haze finally cleared

to reveal gray hairs

we still felt the beat

in-a-light-a-day-now

as butterflies —

and it’s not really bad

being older.

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© 1992, 2019 Betty Hayes Albright

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(Re-post, reminiscing about the good old days, Iron Butterfly’s hit song “In a Gadda da Vida”, and Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues”.)

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Blurry photo from 1971 (age 24), taken at an outdoor rock concert at Seattle Center. 

Dig the hat!  😊  

(I’m pushing a stroller with 6 month old son sleeping inside. He happens to be 48 today. Geez, time flies….)

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New-fallen

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I still remember

your winter mourning

when you were dark-empty

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and I reached

through the ether

and wrapped my arms

around your shadow

tasting your hard tears

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and you stood taller than light

with grief,

new-fallen and noble

as the snow.

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(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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We chose to climb this mountain

through old brambles, over ice

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cursing barbs that scratched our ankles

damning thorns that tore our veils,

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splitting stones that skinned our reason

as the thunder rolled our tongues.

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Now we reach the sacred fire

and our hair turns scarlet

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as we catch the embers, naked

and the circle dream awakens

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to paint balm across the valley,

bleeding light into our wounds.

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(c)  1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(An old poem, revised and dedicated to H.D. Rhoads, my mentor years ago.)

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