Posts Tagged ‘eternity’


On another planet

orbiting a different star

in a distant galaxy

on the edges of the universe

I wonder

what time it is.


(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.


(c) 1997, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright


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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Sisyphus knew what it meant

to push the huge mundane

up steep slopes

only to be crushed by repetition.

He avoided carpal tunnels

and somehow kept on pushing

since the mountain was still there,

and there was no free lunch, they said,

and no supper either.

His only pay was eternity

and Zeus always kept the change.


(c) 1996, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post from 2011)


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The sea folds back

upon itself

does not permit

the easy love

nor duplications

of a dream,

and she no longer rides

that broken wave –

it is behind her now.

But still she knows

the sacred vessel

of their love

will navigate

the undertow

and when the tide

wraps high again

she’ll be here

watching, waiting,

on the shore.


© 1996, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright 


(a re-post from 2012)


(New header photo taken by my son, Jason Judd, on the Oregon coast.)

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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.



(c) 2015, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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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.


© 2012, 2015  Betty Hayes Albright 


(a re-post)


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Love never asks

our sweet permission.

It plumbs the unfathomable,

swings us every which way

through a hole in time

into the evermore.


Neither does love knock.

Instead it scintillates through windows,

even a broken one.

It warms us with tattered yarns

of an old blanket

on a dark night.


Love never grips

but surrounds us lightly

like an untethered halo.

And long after we forget

passion, pain, pleasure, silence

we can still be sure

of the bottom line:

Love remembers Love.


© 2015 Betty Hayes Albright

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When his ship sails

past the edges

of the sea

she waits, a beacon

in one hand

while with the other

she lovingly rearranges

every little pebble

on the beach.


(c) 2014  Betty Hayes Albright


(photo from 2008)

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Time is no straight line,

it is a serpent

crossing the room sideways

like a glance.

It burns rubber


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

and at the end

it shrinks into a dot

in the palm of our hand,

and with one breath

it blows us away

into the heart of forever.


© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright


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Oh Shaman man,

you knew every fold

hidden in the riddling

curtain of truth.

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.

© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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