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Archive for the ‘Poetry 2010 – present’ Category

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Moon like an opal

hanging from a coral thread

veiled by fairy clouds.

 

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(c) 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-post, revised; photo from 2013)

 

 

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Is grief a particle

or a wave

that washes over

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the speed of light

bending space around

our massive loss?

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Or is it just

the parenthetic spark

in an equation

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the final proof

that love

connects us all?

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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They say it’s coming

strong winds

unusual for June.

Large trees bursting

with foliage

are at risk.

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They say his heart

was enlarged

(with generosity)

at risk

for a death

out of season.

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Tomorrow when the storm hits

I will go outside

and stand among the trees.

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© 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Let’s go

his body cries

as he clings to the edge

of everything he knows

pulling and stretching

the nuances of air

between each feather

posturing the sun

on his back.

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Then it comes for him,

the breath of Gaia

rushing in

rushing out

teasing his wild

hungry wings

till he captures her

exhaling

and lets go.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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To my son Arlie, (1972 – May 25, 2017)

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Now I understand

the keening wail,

the rocking forwards,

backwards

so different

from the lullaby

the cradling

from long ago.

It’s forward, release,

forward

release

the pain

as it bursts through

a damn

in the solar plexus.

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The medics came

from experience

guessing it was a heart attack.

He had keened

his own losses

too many times.

We rock and release,

rock

and release

the keening wail,

the keening wheel

that won’t stop turning

around and around

and around.

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(c) 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Shaman man,

you knew every fold

hidden in the riddling

curtain of reality.

You saw the bare

bones of motive,

the underpinnings

of facade.

You were strength and power.

But you also knew tenderness,

the sweet kiss

on the cheek of a lover

slumbering in your bed.

But alas, you also knew

when to go.

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Oh Shaman man

do not doubt another season,

a time not jaded

by an overdose of obstacle.

For when we touch

again, we’ll have

a thousand years to spare.

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© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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What is it about

the wailing

train at night?

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I would hop

a car with just enough

hay to make a pillow

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lie there swaying

full moon strobing

through the open doors

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can’t tell if it churns

north or south

I’m just passing through.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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