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Posts Tagged ‘dreams’

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What is it

that makes us dream

an alternate reality

as if such possibility

had fleshed in,

begot life?

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(c) 1981, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Re-posted from 2012, originally written in 1981. 

Photo taken in 2008.

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He shells

those cornered dreams

that rub us raw

secreting love

around torn edges

polishing

with his own tears

pearls of poetry.

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(c) 1995,  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Re-posted from 2012)

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(From 1976)

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Awaken me,

I’m sleep walking.

In jigsaw dreams

I shadow-box

flailing fists

against the air

to shake away the trappings.

Pry open

these amnesia-clouded eyes

that they may see

beyond this tangled trail of woe –

I long to hear

the Phoenix sing.

Come knead my heart

with cosmic yeast

until my spirit rises up

to navigate the river

that will take me

to the sea.

Please awaken me.

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(c) 1976, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Originally published in “Living Color”, (my humble chapbook) in 1976.

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(a re-post)

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Last night

I saw your moon

silver,

waxing full

between the clouds,

its hug

wrapping me to sleep.

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This morning

I saw your sunrise

coral,

spreading low

through the clouds,

its breath

flushing over my cheeks.

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Tonight

I see your sunset

violet,

easing down

below the clouds,

its rays

combing out my dreams.

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(c)  1982, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Written in 1982, taken out of mothballs and revised.)

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Pause

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It all begins to crinkle,

the leaves, the sky

the boundaries of our vision.

Green ruffles turn to gold,

romaine edges of a dream

that curls and wrinkles

in the sun’s retreat.

Our shadows too turn ragged,

we feel them

stretch

and fold

their origami corners

that we too may slumber

in the pause

between now and again.

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(c) 2000, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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In dreams you know

the who of me.

You press me to your chest

like a missing rib, bare

and white.

You breathe into my lungs;

your blood is fire

in my veins.

The visions in my heart

are your visions;

the toil of your brow

fills my cup.

We melt secrets

between our limbs.

In dreams you know

the why of me

and I know the everywhere

of you.

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(c)  1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

 

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The sea folds back

upon itself

does not permit

the easy love

nor duplications

of a dream,

and she no longer rides

that broken wave –

it is behind her now.

But still she knows

the sacred vessel

of their love

will navigate

the undertow

and when the tide

wraps high again

she’ll be here

watching, waiting,

on the shore.

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© 1996, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(a re-post from 2012)

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(New header photo taken by my son, Jason Judd, on the Oregon coast.)

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(re-post of a Mayberrie poem)

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Come sing me a song,

beat hearty your drum,

my love, let me hear you

deep in the night.

I feel your eyes

sweeping the skies

searching for peace

in the waxing moonlight.  

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Reach out to the stars,

play loudly your heart,

your song is my blessing,

may love never part.

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Someday we’ll dance

’round the fire again –

love, send me a sign

that you’re all right.

I feel you out there

and send you my care,

come sing me a song

if just for tonight.

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Reach out to the stars,

play loudly your heart,

your song is my blessing,

may love never part.  

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© 2013, 2015  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A Mayberrie poem)

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She flew on a zephyr

in gossamer dress

and feather-weave shawls,

white ribbons behind her

and forget-me-nots.

Her hand reached out

in tender fair

to touch the brow

of the man with blue eyes.

Sprites leaped to the sky

at the moment of crossing

and through the low willows

a mandolin played

and the beating of drums

as every muse gathered

to dance in the glade.

And when she awoke

her breast was afire

while beyond the cliffs

and past the dry plains

the man with blue eyes

stirred in his sleep

and smiled.

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© 2015 Betty Hayes Albright

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I’d be honored to have you visit my Mayberrie Series.

It has yet to be decided where this poem fits in with the “story”.

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Last year’s garden fasts beneath our feet

till winter takes its petulant retreat

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but come again, that longing ancient beat

where Gaia’s past and pregnant future meet

in winds roused from a quickening mystique.

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Some say that olden love is obsolete,

a dreamer’s sigh must ever be discreet

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but like the spring’s confident repeat

those sighs ignite a lover’s sacred heat

and lo! The cycle is once more complete.

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© 2015 Betty Hayes Albright

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Too labored? Too sing-songy? Ack!

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P.S. Hoping to catch up with everyone soon! 🙂

I know it’s been a very long, frozen, treacherous winter for some and hope that springtime arrives soon for us all.

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