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Posts Tagged ‘growth’

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There are times

love is a fine rain

misting down

all for naught

evaporating before

it can hit the ground

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but sometimes

love peels back the rain

exposing sun

sending heat

palpitations to the earth

handing us a rose.

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(c) 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Shadorma November

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They accelerate

to new heights

I can’t comprehend,

fly where I’ve never been

leaving behind

dangling apron strings

unhuggable contrails

in the sky.

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They return

weeks later

circling

my head

landing

on new ground

taller now

with hugs

stronger than mine.

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©  1986, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Written in 1986 when my sons

(teenagers at the time) flew to Oklahoma

to work on my uncle’s farm.

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She searches for a pulsetree-in-hand

her fingers kneading earth

beneath rocks and stones

to reach the heart of Gaia.

There she rides the quake

of nature’s first womb

lifting her face

to catch the genesis

of sun and rain

wind

and moon

till seedlings birth

their promises.

Labor replete

she bows her head

and the gods kiss the dirt

beneath her nails.

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(c) 1992, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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Photo originally used with permission of Jason in 2012 at  http://loveuniversallove.wordpress.com/

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A tree knows.

It knows the animal of time

that climbs up its trunk,

wrinkling hours into bark.

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.

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(c) 2003, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post, revised)

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We toss our burlap robes into the fire,

with no one left to preach, gone is the choir

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so weave bold cloth with capers of the dawn,

in rosy flowing garbs we’ll carry on.

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Each seam we’ll sew with needles made of gold

and silver threads embroidered on each fold

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and then with pockets full of wind and sky

like sacred silken kites we’ll learn to fly.

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© 2015 Betty Hayes Albright

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Happy New Year!

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Music rises from her garden,

goes off key

and disappears

into the sky.

Curious, she digs

with her bare hands

past dead roots

and rotting leaves

into birthing soil.

And there she feels a rhythm

pounding in the earth,

and the rise

of sacred humming

in her ears.

She drops a seed

into the hole

and out sprouts a melody

that grows into a tree.

Wind sings in its branches

and for the first time

in her life

she understands the words.

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© 1996, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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