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Posts Tagged ‘eternity’

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Time is no straight line,

it is a serpent

crossing the room sideways

like a glance.

It burns rubber

careening

around every corner

tossing irony,

like bits of confetti

into our pockets.

Time dances a circle

around the fire of desire

then churns out to sea

on a wave of kelp,

unraveling one dream

weaving another.

It flip flops

in crazy eights,

bounces like a rubber ball

on a hot sidewalk

reflecting all angles

oblique and acute

but always right.

At its best

time is a spiral

lifting our vision

until the end

when it shrinks into a dot

in the palm of our hand,

and with one breath

blows us away

into the heart of forever.

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© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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Shaman man,

you knew every fold

hidden in the riddling

curtain of reality.

You saw the bare

bones of motive,

the underpinnings

of facade.

You were strength and power.

But you also knew tenderness,

the sweet kiss

on the cheek of a lover

slumbering in your bed.

But alas, you also knew

when to go.

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Oh Shaman man

do not doubt another season,

a time not jaded

by an overdose of obstacle.

For when we touch

again, we’ll have

a thousand years to spare.

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© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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She holds a sphere

of white hot light

in hands stretched high

to reach the night.

“Oh Eros”, she prays secretly,

“come take this round

of your creation,

guard its flame

forever more

and I’ll dance gratefully

in the embers,

one man’s fire

seared into my palm.

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(c)  1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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When the veil lifts

we see the bones

of the universe

and it doesn’t matter

the color of an eye,

an unread poem,

a broken thread,

the forgotten name.

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And everything matters –

the curve of a smile,

a loaf of bread shared,

the feather of a crow,

each dandelion spared.

What matters is the fingerprint

we leave on the flame

before we’re dowsed with slumber

and it all begins again.

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(c) 2004, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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It softens the edges

of tree and crow,

blunts our point of view.

We can turn a corner

in the fog

and never know.

See the old man

in the mist?

He is a shaman

shifting our perspective

with his white breath.

He knows that fog

is a giant, downy feather

that blesses our fever,

then suspends us

between all that ever was

and all that ever can be

in the alpha-omega soup

of possibility.

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© 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post from four years ago. )

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our.

It’s one more slippery

snow-white day

when every bird

has stolen away

.

except for one

in the old elm tree

who watches my window.

But does he see me,

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or just the reflection

of love left behind?

I blow him a kiss

through the half-opened blind.

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And as each new season

transfigures our view

perhaps he won’t mind

that I’m watching him too.

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© 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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On another planet

orbiting a different star

in a distant galaxy

on the edges of the universe

I wonder

what time it is.

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(c) 2011, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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