Posted in haiku or senryu, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged birch trees, endurance, Gaia, nature, poem, Poetry, senryu, survival, winter on February 17, 2018| 39 Comments »
..
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Birch trees catch my eye
deep in the trough of winter
white bark withstanding.
.
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© 2014, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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Partial of an original watercolor by my grandmother,
Lilly Bjornstad. (She painted this when she was about 100. She lived to 108.)
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(re-post)
Posted in Deep Water, Maeberie series, Poetry 1990's, tagged comet, Deep Water, endurance, Love, memories, passion, patience, poem, Poetry, time, waiting on December 27, 2017| 35 Comments »
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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.
.
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(c) 1996, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
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(a re-post, revised)
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, Shadorma, tagged endurance, eternity, Love, poem, Poetry, Shadorma, temporality on November 17, 2017| 24 Comments »
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Day and night
we must remember
take nothing
for granted
everything is in flux
love alone endures.
.
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(c) 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged age, colors, continuity, designs, endurance, hippy skirt, memories, ode, playfulness, poem, Poetry, skirt on June 28, 2017| 33 Comments »
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Skirt of many long colors
sewn in gathers
and tiers
.
brushing my ankles
with playful seams
cutting through the design
.
of mismatched patterns
wearing thin
after all these years
.
washing on delicate
hanging to dry
one more time.
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© 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Deep Water, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged closure, Deep Water, endurance, eternity, Love, passion, poem, Poetry on August 30, 2015| 11 Comments »
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Leave it open
just a glimmer,
may the circle
never close –
a tiny light
to breach a cloud,
one last petal
on the rose.
Hush beloved,
no more tearing,
though I needn’t
tell you this –
every word
an open door,
each new poem
a little kiss.
.
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(c) 2015, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
Posted in Deep Water, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged beyond time and space, Deep Water, endurance, eternity, Love, poem, Poetry on June 4, 2015| 12 Comments »
We carve our words,
our paintings, sculptures,
music, dance
into the walls
of space and time
knowing one day
all will crumble down.
Even earth
will be consumed
by an aging sun someday.
But Cosmos gathers each creation,
weaves it into infinite Mind
where no thing is ever lost
except the empty shadow –
nothing really disappears,
not even love.
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© 2012, 2015 Betty Hayes Albright
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(a re-post)
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Posted in Poetry 1970's, tagged endurance, epitaph, fire, Love, old age, passion, poem, Poetry on February 20, 2015| 6 Comments »
(from 1979)
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When our skin
grows thin
and our eyes
have finally dimmed
we’ll blow on that
charred piece of coal
(the one that never cooled)
until it catches fire again.
We’ll crawl inside
and melt cold bones
into an alabaster stone
and there we’ll carve
our epitaph:
Never Say Die.
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(c) 1979, 2015 Betty Hayes Albright
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(re-posted from 2011)
Posted in Deep Water, Poetry 1990's, tagged Deep Water, endurance, freeze, Love, passion, poem, Poetry, winter on December 27, 2014| 5 Comments »
(This is a companion to the previous poem.)
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What are these icy blades
that pull words crisp
through dunes of snow,
that draw my heart
to shiver
in your sea?
Fly if you must
beyond this salty mood
(still frozen to my cheek)
and I will wait
for winter’s hands
to thaw.
.
(c) 1993, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright
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(photo taken a few years ago)
Posted in Deep Water, Poetry 1990's, tagged Deep Water, endurance, fire, frozen, ice, Love, passion, poem, Poetry, snow, sublimation on December 27, 2014| 9 Comments »
(a re-post from 2012)
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And after the blaze, what?
Would they,
like snow on fire
end in vapor
against the starry night?
She stands below his mountaintop
frozen to her ache
and lights a match.
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(c) 1995, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Deep Water, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged burning bridges, Deep Water, endurance, Love, passion, poem, Poetry, river, saving the connection on August 19, 2014| 12 Comments »
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Don’t let the bridge burn,
I’ll bring silver pails
of water to dowse it
drawn from the whirlpool
of tears far below.
I will roll heavy boulders
up from the valley
to shore up the sides,
then pull old elm logs
from the forest around us
and tie them together
with ribbons and lace.
I’ll pound in the nails
with my bare fists
then toss you a rope
from the opposite side.
.
I would carry you.
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Don’t burn our bridge,
the chasm is deep,
our words wash away
in the undertow
and we must get them across.
.
© 2014 Betty Hayes Albright
Click on image for more info.
Seasonings 