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Offering

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She still remembers

his deep embrace    

in the open entryway

.

and the salty taste of urgency

on the tongue

of an April day

.

and their offering

to the gods

as it hung in the sun to dry

.

to fluff and fold,

but tenderly —

in the wrinkles of goodbye.    

.

.

(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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O vernal sun,

come sweeten the rain

as you plant your secrets

under thick moss —

.

lend the forsythia

pots of gold

and warm the stones

that circle our garden —

.

let poppies buzz

and sword ferns uncurl

as Earth becomes great

with tender.

.

.

(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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An old one, never published here… that I know of.  

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Wishing everyone in the northern hemisphere a beautiful Springtime!  🌷 

And to all of us – north, south, east, west – may love, wisdom and peace someday reign on this mixed up world of ours. 💚

 

March

.

Earth’s belly growls

when the wind

scours the valley

and rain swells the sky.

.

Shadows loosen,

pressing more tightly

under rocks,

clinging closer to fences

and trees.

.

Flickers arrive

flashing new red

under their wings

.

while down below

the garden stirs —

and Gaia’s favorite color

is green.

.

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(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Florets

.

The poetess opens

like a book

bound in silk

with florets in the margins

and gold-edged pages turning

.

and turning

with every breath

of the Muse

reading over

her shoulder.

.

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© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Journey

.

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,

hush.

.

.

© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Yarn

.

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.

.

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© 2013, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-posted from 2013)

Iron Cocoon

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betty 1971

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In-a-Gadda-da-Vida

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

in-a-cast-in-a-sling

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

in-a-light-a-day-now

as butterflies —

and it’s not really bad

being older.

.

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© 1992, 2019 Betty Hayes Albright

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(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”.)

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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….)

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