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Archive for the ‘Poetry 1990’s’ Category

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Where do we hide

when Mother Nature

swings her fist

into the mesh

of continuity?

Who engineered these promises

we thought were tempered steel?

The shrapnel of reality

cuts through our paradigm

as we shield our eyes

from fire

and the collapse of illusion.

Where do we draw our water now?

How can we bake our bread?

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(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

 

Thoughts and prayers to those affected by hurricanes, fires, droughts, floods, violence, and other disasters of late. May the help they need so badly be forthcoming.

(Originally written for Kobe, Japan after their disastrous earthquake in 1995.)

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It was a long, silent fall

into the days

where “Dad” was spoken

in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows

and he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

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(C) 1997, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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9.13.56 Abe Hayes

 

Dad and me 1955

1955 – Deception Pass, Whidbey Island, Washington State

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(A tribute to my dad, who passed away twenty years ago this month.

My apologies to those who have read it previously.)

 

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prism from Pixaby

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Polish clean

your cutting rocks

my jagged stones

till dawn reveals

prisms.

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(c)  1993, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post. Image from Pixaby)

 

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She whittles

on a block

of solitude

until it’s gone

and pieces lie

about her feet

and slivers

bleed her hands

carving

out another poem

that only he

will understand.

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(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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She stifled her passion

with a bone cork

and Earth became

a rocking jug

with aching sides

and tears that leaked

through cracks

and there was naught

but a dry brown light

across the sky.

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The gods looked down

and cursed.

They pulled loose the plug

and ground it to dust

with flying fists

until Earth trembled

and roared

its mountainous heat

into the sky

in a billowing boundless fount

of love un-damned.

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(c)  1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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She burrows under

leaves and twigs

slides past thorn

and nettle

chews through

her own roots

to mate with worms

where the soil is dark

and sweet.

Earth fills her ears

with lullabies

and she sleeps

sealed

in tomorrow’s rose.

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(c) 1992, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

 

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Do you remember

silver man,

when we were two wings

flying one dream

beneath warm quilts?

One night

I couldn’t breathe

and tore the covers off

when you couldn’t fathom

the unseen and threw

your pillow down.

We rolled

from the edges

of the bed

and let the feathers

settle

into the spread of time.

Still now and then

one catches my eyeIMG_5141

floating to the floor.

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(c) 1993, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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