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Posts Tagged ‘eternity’

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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.

.

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.

.

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,

.

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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How many colors

fit on the head of a pin?

Seven times seven

the Seamstress says.

And we,

like eyes of needles

tuck and shape the space,

and time is but a basting thread.

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(c) 1997, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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Special note:  Today marks my five year anniversary on WordPress and the above was my first posted poem.  Thank you to all the wonderful writers I’ve met here during these five years. It has been an enriching experience reading your poetry and prose, and coming to know many of you as friends. My sincere appreciation! Looking forward to continuing on…. 🙂

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