Posts Tagged ‘freedom’


Come meet me

in the secret garden

living green

and dancing yellow,

join the bees

and beg their pardon

where the hive

grows sweet and mellow.


Free of fear

and saved from doom

let us dance

in yonder meadow

where the wild ones

stand and bloom –

spare the truth

and spoil the credo.


Oh my love,

let’s long abide –

dance the tango

free from care.

Meet me

on the other side –

unloose your heartstrings,

take the dare.



© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright



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Let go of my string,

the fog is a-scatter,


I’ll keep to the wind

flying high o’er the surf


as it pounds out its reason

on shale and stone.


The full moon’s aweigh

and Neptune’s at play –


let go of my string, and

it’s up and away.



© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright


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Deep in the folds

of the flannel of night

we hear the drums call –


     ba ba boom.


Our eyes open wide

as we chew through the shackles

and dance ourselves free –


      ba ba boom.


Up the spiral we climb,

our candles held high

to shatter the gloom –


     ba ba boom.


At the top we leap clear

of gravity’s hold

on the weight of our words –


     ba ba boom.


We land on the sun

where we tear off our masks

and meet our true Selves –


      Ba Ba Boom, Ba Ba Boom!



(c)  1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post, revised…. written in 1993)

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are free flow

like liquid gelatin,



filling any form.

Why must we chill them,

make them set?



(c) 1982, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


Original pencil drawing from high school,  (c) 1965


(Poem written in 1982, re-posted from 2012)

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He steams her edges

and, like stamps

on a postcard


she curls in the heat

falling free from the corner

of mythology


to be saved

by the fire

in his hands.



(c) 1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post, revised)

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We throw our burlap robes into the fire,

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


Come weave new cloth with capers of the dawn,

in rosy flowing garbs we’ll carry on.


Each seam we’ll sew with needles made of gold

and silver threads embroidered on each fold


and then with pockets full of wind and sky

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



© 2015, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post)


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She stifled her passion

with a bone cork

and Earth became

a rocking jug

with aching sides

and tears that leaked

through cracks

and there was naught

but a dry brown light

across the sky.


The gods looked down

and cursed.

They pulled loose the plug

and ground it to dust

with flying fists

until Earth trembled

and roared

its mountainous heat

into the sky

in a billowing boundless fount

of love un-damned.



(c)  1995, 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.


(c) 1996, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright


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(A Mayberrie poem – prelude to the conclusion of the series.)

It’s been 6 months since the previous two poems were posted, so to refresh: the king was leaving a bloody battle to return to Mayberrie, hoping to reunite with his beloved. And “she”, from the opposite direction, had also made up her mind to make the journey to Mayberrie to search for him.)


Through the Door


The journey through the woods

to the castle

loomed before her now

with a reborn urgency.

She only hoped to find the king,

to look into his eyes again.

The sun glared brightly

even as dark clouds pressed in

from the coast.

The woods seemed strange, uneasy now

but still she trusted

this familiar trail,

and singing softly to herself

she began her trek to Mayberrie.


By midday the clouds

began to shroud the sun

and distant thunder

echoed through the trees –

what new storm was this?

Rain began to hiss

through the trees

and she dared not stop to rest

but nibbled on a biscuit

as she hastened on her way.

It would be late afternoon

before the towers of the castle

rose above the trees.


The rain fell harder now.

She pulled her shawl

tightly ‘round her head

as a sudden chill

rose in her breast.

The loud tromp of horses

echoed just beyond the rise,

their sharp hooves pounding harshly

even in the mud.

It was happening too fast.


Before she could dive

into the darkness of the brush

a troop of soldiers

red-faced and unsmiling

spotted her.

She fled into the woods,

her shawl trailing behind her

as she heard the men dismount.

It’s her, one cried,

I saw the flashing of the ring!

Their voices cut through the gray

and spurred her on –

she knew the lady of the woods

lived just beyond

the trees ahead

and so her heart

rose to her throat

when just within a soldier’s grasp

she stumbled through the open door

and fell into a swoon.


The king granted his injured men

to take an easier path

while he traveled with no guard –

he must do this all alone.

Dark clouds along the coast

impelled him now to hurry

and it wasn’t long

before a heavy rain

began to fall.

Then suddenly his horse came to a halt

without command –

there was a strange, uneasy fear

rising in the forest.

Like a knife

cutting through the afternoon

he felt the cut of treachery

and without cue

his steed turned off the trail

and headed down an old deer path

guided by his own sense of doom.

Through the thickening woods they fled

as far away he heard the angry shouts –

could it be they’d take his crown so soon?

The thunder of the troops

grew close

but then he saw ahead

a familiar stand of trees –

he was very near

the old lady of the woods.

He felt the tension in the muscles

of his horse

and let himself be carried,

knowing he must make it

through the cottage door.


© 2013  Betty Hayes Albright


To be continued with final poem, “Skipping Stones”….


To read previous poems in this story, please click on the “Mayberrie” tab above. Links to each poem are listed, chronologically.

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Just a rough draft…


When the man drove away

with my potted elms

resting carefully

in the back

of his red pick-up truck

I wept.

But they’ll be unbound now,

free of all containment.

Birds will come

to nest in their branches,

deer will rest in their shade

as roots and limbs

spread deep and high

in fertile earth

and in my memory.


(C) 2013 Betty Hayes Albright


Finally moved and back online, after two exhausting months. Hoping to get back to WP soon and get caught up!

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