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Posts Tagged ‘enlightenment’

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(Remembering the summer of ’67)

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It was a blue-sky summer

of beach love freedom

and baby-oil tans

but most of all

a hunger

for the daring wild truth.

We danced far away

from dead philosophers

returning to their coffins

and the icy leanings

of cynical professors.

And so it was

that long, fiery season

when heat ignited bodies

and the sun

kindled our souls

that Nietzsche’s god

rolled over

in his grave.

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(c) 2013, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post from 2013, revised)

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Beyond the unforgiving core

of gravity

she births herself

through molten rock

and hard-pan crust

into the space that soars

above the rant of tempests,

of burning bushes,

sun, moon,

the spin of stars

and far beyond

the fabled edges

of the universe

no longer up or down

but circling straight

into the riddle

of her Self.

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© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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A re-post from 2013.

This was rewritten from an old poem, published

in my 1976 chapbook “Living Color”.

 

 

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We throw our burlap robes into the fire,

with no one left to preach, gone is the choir.

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Come weave new cloth with capers of the dawn,

in rosy flowing garbs we’ll carry on.

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Each seam we’ll sew with needles made of gold

and silver threads embroidered on each fold

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and then with pockets full of wind and sky

like kites, without their strings, we’ll learn to fly.

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© 2015, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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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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It comes in darkness

like a gentle giant

no trumpets or glare

just strong arms

that lift you

above the sharp slopes

to the top

of the mountain

you’ve climbed for so long.

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You throw off your pack

and the valley widens

into a smile

and the sun spreads

like butter

on loaves of eternity

and you finally see

that it’s you, love –

you are the giant.

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© 2000, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(originally posted in 2012, now revised)

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Tight-clenched bud

lets go

its knotty grip

and rigid reveries

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yields its petals

to the pull

of sunlight

through the trees

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all the while

Gaia smiles

and sends for

honeybees.

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(c) 1977, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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He cuts away gold-threaded robes,

rips the collar from his voice,

kicks away the leaded boots

and finds that he can dance

beyond the trappings

of the mortar

and the folly of prestige.

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And as he breaks the bindings

that had camouflaged his heart

he finally sees

the great divine

shining from the mirror

and meets himself.

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(c) 1996, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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