Posted in meditation, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged death, grief, life, Love, meditation, poem, Poetry, spirituality on November 29, 2020| 23 Comments »
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We watch for him in the valley
by the riverbank
in the green of the moss
.
but on the bridge
to the other side
all we find is our own loss
.
till whispers in the trees remind:
just send love,
not sad goodbyes —
.
no maudlin sentiment
for him,
he’s just over the rise.
.
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© 2020 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged addiction, death, grandchildren, grief, poem, Poetry, two poems mashed together on August 28, 2020| 37 Comments »
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He liked two things
when he came to our house:
his Buzz Lightyear placemat
and the scent
of Jergens cherry-almond
by the sink.
.
We judge the addict
who will do anything
for his next fix.
.
The last time he came
he was 16
and we had pizza
and he wanted to use
the worn-out placemat
for old time’s sake.
.
We look down, look
away,
close our eyes.
.
He said he was reading
The Catcher in the Rye –
a favorite of mine, I told him
as he was leaving.
.
We pretend that we don’t see –
.
until it’s our own grandson
who dies of an overdose
and our hearts break apart.
.
When he is gone
I wash my hands
breathing his presence
in the scent
of Jergens cherry-almond
by the sink.
.
We don’t always recover
from the underlying condition
of being young
and oh so invincible.
.
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© 2020 Betty Hayes Albright
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(This is about my dear grandson Jacob who died last March at the age of 24.)
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Posted in Poetry 1980's, tagged 40 years ago, Barbara Pierce Seibold, death, eruption, Mount St Helens, poem, Poetry, volcano on May 18, 2020| 44 Comments »
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Forty years ago today – May 18th, 1980 – Mount St. Helens erupted in Washington State, killing 57 people, including one of my dearest friends, her husband, and her two young children. Most of those who died were camping in the supposed “safe zone” around the mountain. No one imagined that the volcano would explode sideways to the north, ending the lives of those who thought they weren’t in danger. (100 miles away in the Seattle area we heard two explosions, like sonic booms.)
Barb was always full of laughter, always saw the funny side of life. The poem below was written shortly after her death. (This is a re-post.)
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Mount St. Helens on May 18, 1980
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(In memory of Barbara Pierce Morris Seibold, 1947 – 1980)
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You laughed above the heads
of those who couldn’t see
your wings,
but those of us with vision
always flew along with you.
Even in the rain
you’d soar above the mud
with a smile and a wink.
.
But just this once
your takeoff was too slow —
St. Helens grabbed you
in her smoky claws
and with one spicy belch
she burned your wings away….
.
I found a bird
the cat brought in,
buried it
in forget-me-nots,
then heard your laughter
rise from the dust
and fly
to the curlicue clouds.
.
.
(c)1980, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in haiku or senryu, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged death, grief, life, Love, memory, poem, Poetry, senryu, timelessness on October 31, 2019| 41 Comments »
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How is it that grief
stays so fresh year after year?
It must be the salt.
.
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© 2019 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged Amazon Rain Forest, breath, death, fire, Gaia, life, oxygen, poem, Poetry on August 26, 2019| 39 Comments »
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My lungs are on fire,
my breath is smoke.
Help me, please help me!
I can see it falling —
the last straw.
.
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(c) 2019 Betty Hayes Albright
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As most of us know, the Amazon Rain Forest (often referred to as “the lungs of the earth”) is on fire. This great forest provides 1/5th of the earth’s oxygen – every 5th breath we take. So far, the fires are out of control. I heard on the news that millions of animal species have perished. We need more than thoughts and prayers on this one….
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged candle, comfort, death, grief, hope, loss, Love, poem, Poetry, tenderness on May 17, 2019| 41 Comments »
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When we hurt,
grief wants nothing more
than to light a candle
and sit with us
in our keening.
.
If we look it in the eye
we’ll see
its soft depth
as it holds us tenderly
to the flame.
.
And when we’re ready
we’ll hold it in return
and watch the spiral
of warm smoke
rise to the sky.
.
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© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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Photo from Pixabay
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged connection, consciousness, cosmos, death, dream, life, poem, Poetry, time, timelessness, wisdom on August 7, 2018| 63 Comments »
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I dreamed
he was a little boy again,
sitting in his red wagon
waiting for a ride
.
but he talked
like a wise, old man
and showed me a scroll
of his life –
.
diagrams, notations
I couldn’t understand.
.
“I’m shifting manually
through the cosmos,”
he said.
.
I woke
with an ageless song
playing in my head.
.
.
© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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*This was an actual dream, early this morning, about my late son, Arlie. I jotted down his words, not fully understanding them at the time. Later, when I told his older brother about the dream he agreed: only Arlie would say something like that.
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Arlie on left, and big bro Jason.
Both photos taken in 1976.
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged death, grief, hope, life, light, loss, Love, poem, Poetry, spirituality, tears on July 14, 2018| 63 Comments »
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Late at night
after she washes her face
and slips from her dress
.
she becomes a teardrop
quaking with grief
on the tip of God’s tongue.
.
But there —
see how the light
shines through.
.
.
© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged childhood, death, Goldbug, grief, immortality, life, loss, Love, poem, Poetry, Richard Scarry, sorrow on May 25, 2018| 56 Comments »
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It was your favorite book,
the one with Goldbug*
hidden in every picture.
You’d turn the pages
and find him peeking
from the window of a car
or riding in the back
of a fire truck.
.
When you grew up
you had your own cars and trucks
and never failed to wave
and beep your horn
when you drove away.
.
A year ago today
you left this realm
but you are not gone.
I feel you standing next to me
as I water the grape ivy.
Your wind chime rings
when the air is perfectly still.
The little wooden cats
you carved for me
change position during the night.
Something invisible
tickles my arm.
.
You tell me in a dream
not to be sad
and you wave at me
from the windows of everywhere.
I wave back
and turn another page.
.
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© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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* from Richard Scarry’s – Cars and Trucks and Things that Go
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Cats carved by my late son, Arlie, when he was 8 or 9.
Posted in Poetry 1990's, tagged death, flight, joy, life, peace, poem, Poetry, prayer, seagull, sorrow, wings on May 18, 2018| 27 Comments »
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I’d fly on white wings,
one of joy
one of sorrow
balanced
on crosswinds
above
and below
to mate
in mid-flight
with a prayer.
.
.
(c) 1990, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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(A re-post from 2011)
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My thoughts and condolences are with Santa Fe, Texas today, and with all those affected by this most recent school shooting. When will it stop?
Click on image for more info.
Seasonings 