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Archive for the ‘Poetry 2010 – present’ Category

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Bone-deep in winter

meadow trees are sleeping, but

time skates on thin ice.

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(c) 2022  Betty Hayes Albright

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Water-color by my grandmother, Lilly Bjornstad

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Underneath the frost it turns,

hidden in a fog it churns —

winter snaps its coiled whip

cracks the ice but holds its grip.

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It wraps the trees in shiver beads,

chews on shadows, spits out seeds

to grace the gardens flocked in sleep

waiting for that northward leap

of the wandering,

prodigal sun.

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(c) Betty Hayes Albright  2014, 2021

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(Re-posted from 2017)

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Wishing everyone a Happy Winter’s Solstice — and may your holidays be filled with love, joy and peace!

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She likes feathers –

leaves of lace,

wings in willows

kissed with grace,

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trails of moonlight,

velvet strings,

dew-lit grass

and faerie rings.

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She likes watercolors

in the trees

and lichen stirring

in the breeze

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and mossy fractals

around lagoons

and gossamer tendrils

in founts and plumes.

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She likes sea spray

on crystal clear

and Agape in

the atmosphere

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and deep behind

a filigree shawl

undulations

on the wall.

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She likes feathers,

leaves of grace,

time on the wing,

a kiss on the face

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and ribbons dangling

from the mirror

and sweet suggestions

in her ear.

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© 2021  Betty Hayes Albright

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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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