Crystal rings

under my soapy finger

like the singing bowls,

and the ribbon

of the flute.


I follow to the Bodhi tree,

to the circles of Dante,

to Mary Magdalene

and her Lover,

to a footprint in the desert,


and there, the chalice of Socrates,

Blake’s grain of sand,

a whirling Dervish,

the hem of a robe.


It is all there —

even Gaia herself

is not tethered.


Master, Master,

there are no words

on this journey,

no words at all –

hush, my Beloved,




© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright 





Knit, purl, knit, purl,

give the spool another whirl,


pray I do not drop a stitch,

just let me add another inch,


never mind – make it two

and soon I’ll have a wrap for you,


any shape, any size

in Dutch blue just like your eyes.


Put it on o’er your head

or wear it as a shawl instead,


hold it tightly like a hug

or roll it out like a rug,


spread it on your bed at night

or in the closet out of sight.


He loves me, he loves me not,

doesn’t matter, I’m still caught


stuck inside a ball of yarn,

unravel me between your arms,


then hold me to your face – pretend

that I can kiss your face again.


Knit, purl, knit, purl,

give the spool another twirl


and when at last we’re all unwound

I will put my needles down.



© 2013, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright


(re-posted from 2013)

Iron Cocoon


betty 1971



we danced to our favorite

solo of drums

till Keith turned on

Folsom Prison Blues

and we dosey-doed

in a square-dance spoof,

Tom’s arm


but feeling no pain,

for we couldn’t see

through the smoke in the room

and we would be young forever.


When the haze finally cleared

to reveal gray hairs

we still felt the beat


as butterflies —

and it’s not really bad

being older.



© 1992, 2019 Betty Hayes Albright


(Re-post, reminiscing about the good old days, Iron Butterfly’s hit song “In a Gadda da Vida”, and Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues”.)


Blurry photo from 1971 (age 24), taken at an outdoor rock concert at Seattle Center. 

Dig the hat!  😊  

(I’m pushing a stroller with 6 month old son sleeping inside. He happens to be 48 today. Geez, time flies….)

Without End


You are the beloved.

Light pumps through your veins,

breathes around your bones

in great gulps

of daring.


You are the sacred numen,

the burning bush,

the insatiable flame

forever consummated,

but never consumed.



(c) 2012, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright






The time arrives

when the walls come alive

and we see

between the molecules,

the shimmer and the might –

and every barricade

becomes a door.



(c) 2002, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright


(Image from a copyright free site, in 2011.)


After a little time off, I’m hoping to catch up with everyone soon!

My thoughts are with everyone who is affected by the U.S. government shutdown (directly or indirectly, as we all shall be soon).  I’m very saddened by the direction our country has taken the last two years.  This too shall pass – hopefully.


Between Junes


Afternoon gloom —

I know it will soon

be time to tread the snowy path home.


A distant candle

lights the way

to my fire, my books, and my love.


And tomorrow the sun

will rise a bit sooner

dispelling the darkness a little bit longer,


melting away

the frostbitten edge

of this unsung penumbra of night.



(c) 1988, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(An old, unpublished poem, taken out of mothballs.)





path in woods by Jason


Sunlight hugs our path

curling around each corner

leading with promise.



(c) 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

(Photo by my son, Jason Judd)


Wishing everyone a Happy Solstice,

a Merry Christmas,

a wonderful celebration of the season,

and fulfilled hopes for the New Year.  💚



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