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Posts Tagged ‘Gaia’

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Baby spider, no bigger

than a pinhead

snuggles next to the sink

for three days,

sustained by dust motes

and a sip of water

from a speck of mist

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until this morning

when she fluffs him

into a tissue

and he rides willingly

through the house

and out the back door

to the garden, and then

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as if knowing,

he drops down

into the leaves

of the orange Calendulas

which have just begun

to bloom.

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(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Baby leaves unfurl

from trees planted long ago —

tendered new in spring.

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© 2012, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Originally posted in 2012… revised.

(Photo from 2012)

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The old Shaman

placed his hands

on the trunk

of an ancient tree

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fitting his fingers

between the ripples and creases

of the bark,

until he heard a whispering –

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“Oh, spare me from

the greed of the axe

and the fickle see-saw

of humanity!”

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But from the distant edge

of the forest

the old Shaman also heard

the growl of a chain-saw

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and he smelled the exhaust

and the gasoline,

and he heard the shouts

of timbering men

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and so he bowed his head

and wept,

as a drop of pitch

landed on his cheek.

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(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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O vernal sun,

come sweeten the rain

as you plant your secrets

under thick moss —

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lend the forsythia

pots of gold

and warm the stones

that circle our garden —

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let poppies buzz

and sword ferns uncurl

as Earth becomes great

with tender.

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(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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An old one, never published here… that I know of.  

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Wishing everyone in the northern hemisphere a beautiful Springtime!  🌷 

And to all of us – north, south, east, west – may love, wisdom and peace someday reign on this mixed up world of ours. 💚

 

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Earth’s belly growls

when the wind

scours the valley

and rain swells the sky.

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Shadows loosen,

pressing more tightly

under rocks,

clinging closer to fences

and trees.

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Flickers arrive

flashing new red

under their wings

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while down below

the garden stirs —

and Gaia’s favorite color

is green.

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(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Crystal rings

under my soapy finger

like the singing bowls,

and the ribbon

of the flute.

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I follow to the Bodhi tree,

to the circles of Dante,

to Mary Magdalene

and her Lover,

to a footprint in the desert,

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and there, the chalice of Socrates,

Blake’s grain of sand,

a whirling Dervish,

the hem of a robe.

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It is all there —

even Gaia herself

is not tethered.

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Master, Master,

there are no words

on this journey,

no words at all –

hush, my Beloved,

hush.

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© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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The day comes

when his totem

tumbles to the ground

and he commands silence.

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He empties his pouch

of tooth and claw,

spreads his eagle wings

and flies to the top

of the mountain,

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and with one last glance

at the ashes

and the shattering,

he sighs, and

disappears

into his own truth.

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(c)  1996, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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We can’t be held down,

we’re a ball bouncing back,

an unsinkable raft,

a bowl that won’t crack.

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We can never be slain,

our core’s made of steel,

wherever we’re punctured

we readily heal.

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Trample on us

and we’ll spring back to life,

we cut to the truth

like an ever-sharp knife.

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We’re a magical candle

that never stops burning,

a wise inner child

who never stops learning.

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Knock on our window’s

unbreakable glass,

mow us down, we’ll grow back

like invincible grass.

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Light as a bubble

we can’t be detained —

we’ll rise towards the light

and ever remain.

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©  1976, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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We need to vote — for wisdom, love, truth, integrity, compassion, understanding, tolerance, kindness, common sense, and justice.  We need to vote for candidates who will encompass as many of those traits as possible (no matter their party).

We need to vote for those who will join the rest of the world in protecting Mother Earth.  We must change this downhill slide, for the sake of our children, our grandchildren, and all future generations. Thank you.  ❤

Love, B.  ❤

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selective focus photo of white petaled flower

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Sunlight shrinks away

behind the thin of poplar trees,

spiders throw red shadows

in the paths of tired bees,

spells of a waxing moon are cast

and dragonflies change speed

with just a touch of madness

as summer goes to seed.

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(c) 1993, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post from 2011 – revised)

.Photo by Ithalu Dominguez on Pexels.com

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IMG_7879b

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It’s almost too much –

the bee in the center of the rose,

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the hummer mating

with the hot pink flute of August,

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puffs of clover in the honey

tied up in a bow

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with golden mari

and the lion’s yellow dandi.

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Oh glorious!

I must sometimes turn away –

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no wonder that the fly

needs a thousand eyes.

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© 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Photo taken in 2014, Edmonds, Washington

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