Posted in Poetry 2000 - 2009, tagged awareness, birds, environment, fulfillment, future, Gaia, growth, nature, poem, Poetry, seasonings, seeds, Trees on April 1, 2017| 12 Comments »
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A tree knows.
It knows the animal of time
that climbs up its trunk,
It knows that rain
falls between suns
and that baby birds
fly their nests
and return full of eggs.
A tree knows
that endings
swallow their own tails
to become tight brown nuggets
falling in circles,
flavoring earth with the future.
A tree knows.
And what it knows best
is to give.
.
(c) 2003, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
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(a re-post, revised)
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Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged birds, Earth, electric wires, future, Gaia, hope, Love, nature, philosophy, poem, Poetry, snow, William Wordsworth on January 7, 2017| 13 Comments »
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She sips hot tea
and watches snow
fall through the trees
and those ugly electric wires
that slice across her view.
She sighs…
“The world is too much with us,”
William Wordsworth said so long ago.
What would he say now?
Children play outside
with phones stuck to their faces
and never look up.
.
It doesn’t stick.
She turns from the window
to her beloved books:
poetry, philosophy,
nature, metaphysics –
millions and billions of words
strung in constellations of idea.
.
She imagines stirring them up
into one large pot
over a hot fire
and wonders what the bottom line
would be – the final alchemy.
Perhaps this one plea:
to speak our love now
before the die is cast,
before we sign our exodus;
to lift ourselves
by bootstraps woven
with the dreams of Gaia.
.
Her tea has gone cold.
She turns back to the window
where the snow is finally sticking
and the trees are turning white.
And seventy times seven birds
are perched upon the wires.
.
© 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Poetry 1990's, Uncategorized, tagged future, hope, Love, poem, Poetry, spirituality, weaving on September 12, 2016| 18 Comments »
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The seer gazes
past her spinning wheel
and there she eyes
the weave of Yin and Yang
in threads of sun
and yarns of moon
where hope,
like a soft cloth,
polishes the future.
.
(c) 1994, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(a re-post – again my apologies to those who have read it before.)
Posted in Deep Water, Poetry 1990's, tagged brink, Deep Water, future, Love, mountain, past, poem, Poetry, present, sea, time on January 19, 2015| 25 Comments »
(re-posted from 2011)
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She remembers
the future
when rain
crashes deserts
and old seeds
explode
into rivers of flowers
and mountains lean down
close to the sea
and there is no abyss
to slice reality.
.
(c) 1994, 2015 Betty Hayes Albright
.
Note: this post and the Mayberrie series are all part of the “Deep Water” category – for the DutchMan.
May you be well and safe from quakes and droughts, floods and fires, storms, and all things severe. May you be surrounded by love.
Posted in haiku or senryu, Poetry 2010 - present, Poetry for children, tagged autumn, future, haiku, maple seeds, nature, poem, Poetry, spinning on October 15, 2014| 15 Comments »
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The air is spinning!
Squadrons of maple-copters
take the fertile earth.
.
(c) 2014 Betty Hayes Albright
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(Image from morguephoto.com – free photos.)
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged forestation, future, Gaia, grief, hope, Poetry, seeds, Trees on February 22, 2012| 47 Comments »
.
.When a tree is taken down
we grieve its silhouette collapsing
from a stricken sky.
It leaves a phantom
in the corner of our eye,
the shadow of a stolen trunk,
the staunching of osmosis.
And so we wet the earth
with tears
and scatter seeds
among the foddered roots
and lo!
we hear a Gaia song –
a forestation aria
of green
that fills
the empty valley
after we are gone.
.
© 2012, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
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Seasonings 