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New-fallen

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I still remember

your winter mourning

when you were dark-empty

.

and I reached

through the ether

and wrapped my arms

around your shadow

tasting your hard tears

.

and you stood taller than light

with grief,

new-fallen and noble

as the snow.

.

.

(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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We chose to climb this mountain

through old brambles, over ice

.

cursing barbs that scratched our ankles

damning thorns that tore our veils,

.

splitting stones that skinned our reason

as the thunder rolled our tongues.

.

Now we reach the sacred fire

and our hair turns scarlet

.

as we catch the embers, naked

and the circle dream awakens

.

to paint balm across the valley,

bleeding light into our wounds.

.

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(c)  1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(An old poem, revised and dedicated to H.D. Rhoads, my mentor years ago.)

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IMG_6980

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At your center

lives a piece

of the sun

waiting since always

for stillness,

for a spark of desire

to fly inward,

to focus on a Self

larger than worlds.

Dwell there awhile

and the light

will follow you home.

.

.

(c)  1982, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Photo taken in 2013

Autumn Leaving

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Falling brittle down

through the fog

I crack and break.

.

You take me carefully

to your hearth

once more –

we knew I’d never last

till winter.

.

When the fog lifts

I crumble,

await another spring.

.

.

(c) 1982, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(From 1982, never before published, so pretend it’s new. 😉 )

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Splash

.

In the middle

of the bridge, I’ll stop

.

and drop my secrets down

to the fast-flowing waters

.

where they’ll agitate confession

howling over the falls

.

to evaporate a rainbow

in that splash where every river

.

meets its absolution

in the sea.

.

.

(c) 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

 

Coming of Age

.

He says she’s over the hill,

that she’s dancing

with entropy

toward the valley below

.

but she hears the call

of flickers, and the chitter

of squirrels,

and she sees ahead

.

lush meadows, tall trees,

and moss-covered stones

on the path

by a sapphire river.

.

There, she’ll follow the scent

of her own deep roots

to a range of mountains,

their tops hidden

.

in the subtleties he missed

between the lines

on her face

when e’er she smiled.

.

.

(c)  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

Bit by bit

May we someday reach that critical mass….

Mindfulbalance

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good. What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. 

Clarissa Pinkola-Estes, You Were Made For This

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