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Archive for the ‘Poetry 2010 – present’ Category

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The tree turns into bone

while its leaves

turn into feathers

in the alabaster light

just before the sun goes down.

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Ninety feet up

a young eagle leaps

around his nest

of sticks and straw

flapping his wings

like wide miracles

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until the sun finally sets

and they fold again

hugging his wild sides –

every bone and feather

neatly back in place.

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© 2021   Betty Hayes Albright

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Inspired by watching the Redding, California eagle cam. I highly recommend! The three eaglets will fledge in 2-3 weeks.

Sorry for my absence here… hoping to eventually catch up with everyone.

Also hope you’re all well — I’ve missed you all. ❤

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Washing dishes and

longing out the window

at trees

when suddenly

the ends of the universe touch

like the tips of two wings

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and I’m there

at that center

where nothing exists

but a bubbly plate

and the clear hot water

rinsing it clean.

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©  2012, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright 

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Re-posted from 2015, previously titled “Clear”.

Also published in Skipping Stones in 2018.

This is a revised version — hopefully improved. 😊

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We watch for him in the valley

by the riverbank

in the green of the moss

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but on the bridge

to the other side

all we find is our own loss

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till whispers in the trees remind:

just send love,

not sad goodbyes —

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no maudlin sentiment

for him,

he’s just over the rise.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Sunshine through the squall

rainbow arching to the west –

pot of tea, steeping.

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Feral cat sleeping

in her bed outside the door –

steam rises from trees.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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The day

we peel away

the tentacles of belief

will be the day

we discover

that unwavering ray

of truth.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Pecking poppy seeds

chickadee does not see me.

Old cat sees us both.

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(c) 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Photo by Skylar Ewing / Pexels.com

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Little garden pond

longs to be round as the sky —

Moon reflects on that.

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(c) 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Image from copyright free source in 2012)

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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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