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Posts Tagged ‘enlightenment’

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Tight-clenched bud

lets go

its knotty grip

and rigid reveries

.

yields its petals

to the pull

of sunlight

through the trees

.

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.

.

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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We toss our burlap robes into the fire,

with no one left to preach, gone is the choir

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so weave bold 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 sacred silken kites we’ll learn to fly.

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© 2015 Betty Hayes Albright

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Happy New Year!

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A little weird, I know, but maybe this will resonate on an intuitive level.

From 1995, and related to previous poem.

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In the red room

we awoke from our deep sleep.

 .

In the orange room

we opened up the window.

 .

In the yellow room

we saw past the horizon.

 .

In the green room

we balanced on our toes.

 .

In the blue room

we leaped from the tower.

 .

In the indigo room

we landed in the sun.

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In the violet room

we slept on pure white silk.

 .

In the red room

we awoke from our deep sleep….

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(c) 1995, 2013 Betty Hayes Albright 

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It was one blue-sky summer

of beach love and freedom

and baby-oil tans,

but most of all, hunger

for the daring wild truth.

We danced apart

from cold philosophers

returning to their graves

and the icy leanings

of faithless professors.

It was that long emblazing summer

when heat ignited bodies,

when sun kindled our souls

that Nietzsche’s God returned

from the dead.

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© 2013  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(remembering the summer of ’67)

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Spirit comes, a gentle giant –

no trumpets or glare,

no explosions of air,

just strong hands that lift us

above the sharp slopes,

just warm arms that cradle us

up to the top

of the mythical mountain

we’ve climbed for so long.

 .

We throw off our packs

and become light

as horizons beyond us

widen like a smile

on fertile plains.

They spread like butter

on slices of eternity

whispering, whispering:

We are the giant

Within.

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© 2000, 2012 Betty Hayes Albright

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(This was first posted in Aug. 2011, but has been revised and retitled. Seems I can never get a poem to just sit still.)

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