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Archive for the ‘Poetry 1990’s’ Category

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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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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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It blows in

from the sea,

that ancient wind –

splitting in half

around the mountain,

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and where it meets itself

on the other side

it clashes thunderously,

failing recognition.

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(c) 1994, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright

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