Posts Tagged ‘Deep Water’


A path leads down to the river,

the river runs down to the sea

where the gulls

and the zephyr that follow

bring naught but a daydream to me.


He rides his steed to the chapel,

he coaxes his lamb to the lee

while the music

and footprints that follow

bring naught but a fancy to me.



(c)  1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(A Maeberie series poem, re-posted from 2012)



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Gray sky

like Sunday’s paper

spreads in starchy folds

across the morning,

driving rain

through unripe shadows

sprinkling clues

on birding trees.

And where the purple

crocus blooms

I find a broken

bamboo stick

and draw wet hearts

in the earth.



(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post, revised)

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Are they really lifeless

those empty arms

of winter

branching leafless

in naked grace?

Gaia says no,

that deep in frozen dreams

memories thicken,

sweet syrup

of other times gone

and dreams to come.

Till then these aching limbs

reach out to the silence,


but not barren.



© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright 


(a re-post)


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      With apologies to Carl Sandburg*


Love wears no shoes.

It uncoils barefoot

in the sand

and wiggles

like a slinky

between bare souls

playing in the waves

as it arcs

from skin to skin

across the shore.



(c)  1995, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


*Carl Sandburg wrote a poem with this same title, which has the following line:

“There is a pair of shoes love wears and the coming is a mystery.” 

(I beg to disagree. 🙂 )


(a re-post, revised)



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Earth freezes

when the comet

spreads his tail

like a dove.

She covers tiny trees

against the frost

and watches

till the fan of indigo

folds and disappears.

Once in a lifetime

or a thousand years

it matters not,

she’ll know him

by his steel blue

when he comes again.




(c) 1996, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post, revised)


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I am the water

you draw from your well

steep me

into your tea.


I am the slice of hot toast

on your plate

let me melt

your fresh apple butter.


I am the evergreen

on your morning walk

breathe me

into your shadow.


I am the eyes

meeting yours

in the marketplace

see my hunger.


I am the line

down the middle of your road

follow me

through the desert.


I am the match

that lights your winter fire

catch my sparks

in a jar.


I am the north star

in your fevered night

reach out to me, love

shine on me.



(c) 1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright



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Sometimes it opens

just a crack,

that heavy door –

and she will see

his lamp aflame

and though she’s not

the only one

to bring his tray,

his cup of ale,

she always comes

to mind the steel

in his eyes,

those eyes

that recognize the fool,

that see the masks

of dark agenda

in the winks of falsity.


She always comes

that he may rest awhile.


She lets him count

the gathers

and the pleating

in her bodice,

and she lets him

fold her hair

across his face

to hide his smile.

And she will stay

for just awhile

until the moon has risen

and he calls out

for the guard

to secret her away.



©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 


(a Maeberie series poem, revised)


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