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Archive for the ‘Poetry 2010 – present’ Category

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On the walls

of the Great Divine

our soul-prints adorn

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all-ways expanding

ever creating

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for we are the artists

and we are the beholders

and we are the curators

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in kaleidoscope halls

beyond the reaches of time.

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(c) 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Eternity came calling

on me one day

with her childlike face

and her kind, ancient eyes.

She laughed at the way

I danced to the ticking

of a mere clock

and said in a voice

that tinkled like moon chimes,

 

“Come let me show you

the land of Right Now,

a place that’s free

from the chains of your time.

It’s a world where the sun

shines from truth’s eye

and the smile on my face

will fill you with peace.”

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I followed a minute

but then a loud whistle

stopped me in my tracks.

Tomorrow perhaps —

it was noon in the valley

and I would be late.

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I headed downhill

but turned to look back

at her beauty once more

and found she had vanished

into Everywhere.

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(c) 2020, 1969, 1965  Betty Hayes Albright

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Written in high school, 1965. Published in chapbook “Living Color”, 1976; previously posted here in 2014.

This is a newly revised version. I guess it’s about time! 😄

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He liked two things

when he came to our house:

his Buzz Lightyear placemat

and the scent

of Jergens cherry-almond

by the sink.

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          We judge the addict

          who will do anything

          for his next fix.

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The last time he came

he was 16

and we had pizza

and he wanted to use

the worn-out placemat

for old time’s sake.

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          We look down, look

          away,

          close our eyes.

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He said he was reading

The Catcher in the Rye –

a favorite of mine, I told him

as he was leaving.

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             We pretend that we don’t see –

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             until it’s our own grandson

             who dies of an overdose

             and our hearts break apart.

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When he is gone

I wash my hands

breathing his presence

in the scent

of Jergens cherry-almond

by the sink.

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           We don’t always recover

           from the underlying condition

          of being young

          and oh so invincible.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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(This is about my dear grandson Jacob who died last March at the age of 24.)

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pink poppy 2020

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Dance little poppy,

bow to ev’ry little breeze —

sunshine lands on all.

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(c) 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Photo taken last week. We had a lot of orange California poppies…this was the only pink one. I love ’em all. 💕)

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P.S. I just realized, today is my 9th anniversary on WordPress!!  Thank you to the many dear friends I’ve met here over the years.)

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Come meet me

in the secret garden

living green

and dancing yellow,

join the bees

and beg their pardon

where the hive

grows sweet and mellow.

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Free of fear

and saved from doom

let us dance

in yonder meadow

where the wild ones

stand and bloom –

spare the truth

and spoil the credo.

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Oh my love,

let’s long abide –

dance the tango

free from care.

Meet me

on the other side –

unloose your heartstrings,

take the dare.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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She keeps it in a wooden box

between soft layers of cotton —

the arrowhead

he found in the desert.

It still bears his fingerprints —

invisible, like the many poems

she composes in her head

but never writes,

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poems she sends

across the valley

hoping they’ll lodge

in his dreams

some heavy night.

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She imagines them

circling his body

like halos of concentric light,

or perhaps brushing his face

with kisses

silky as a feather.

.

But then, like the arrowhead

she draws them home again

tucking them safely away —

sonnets nestled in her soul

between reluctant layers

of silence.

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© 2014, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post from 2014)

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I hope everyone is staying well out there. Will try to catch up with you all soon. ❤

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She tells him with glee

that the robins have arrived

right on time

and the first honeybees

are busy in the heather.

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He pretends to listen

but she knows he doesn’t hear –

he’s busy paying bills

also right on time

.

so as usual

she just notes the new arrivals

on her calendar

and mentions them

in the rough draft

of a poem.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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After her shower

she writes a poem

in the condensation on the mirror,

then watches it evaporate.

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It was all about the fragrance –

the coconut

in her shampoo,

the rose water on her face.

.

She remembers what he liked –

Emeraude and Chantilly Lace

while he wore English Leather

which drove her over the edge.

.

They’d dance past the chaperones

and steal away to his car,

Lou Christie on the radio

and lightning striking twice

.

and later in her room alone,

his scent still in her hair

the poems would magically write themselves

in the silk dust on the mirror.

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©  2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Now we understand —

time is not a fleeting thing,

it is we who fleet.

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Now we understand –

time does not have any wings,

it is we who fly.

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Now we understand –

there is only one present

for us to unwrap.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Sorry I’m way behind reading blogs again. Am missing you all, and will hopefully start catching up soon, little by little. Please forgive me if I don’t comment much.  (Fibromyalgia and chronic back pain are the usual culprits, and I know many of you can relate to these “invisible” health problems.) 

Loving thoughts to everyone. ❤❤

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I remember

when twenty-five years

was my whole lifetime.

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Now a quarter century

is just another tumbleweed

bouncing down the street –

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a little bit battered,

a lot more dust

but what wonderful kindling

I’ll be!

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© 2019, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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