Steam

.

We fan the embers

turning to flamingo flames

parsing the silence

.

like a blue-white star –

fire so hot there is no smoke,

just the melt of time.

.

Vermilion night,

soft sizzle of sparks afire –

it begins to rain.

.

.

©  2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.

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Driving West on Caper Street

.

Almost there.

The sun slides easily

across lawns,

slips through cracks

in fences.

Sidewalks shimmy in the heat.

.

I turn left

down the street

where your house,

like a crimson dragon,

rears up

on its haunches

to see how closely

I curb my wheels

this time.

.

.

(c) 1982, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(Another one re-written from 1982….)

 

 

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Safe Keeping

.

She holds a sphere

of white hot light

in hands stretched high

to reach the night.

“Oh Eros”, she prays secretly,

“come take this round

of your creation,

guard its flame

forever more

and I’ll dance gratefully

in the embers,

one man’s fire

seared into my palm.

.

(c)  1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post)

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Candle Holder

.

.

She feels the golden stand

between her palms,

follows every curve

with fingers

searching for the essence

of a splintered block of tree

as he spun and shaped it

on his lathe,

then polished gently

with his sacred oil.

.

Now she lights the candle

and watches

as the blush of flame

smooths up the walls

inside her heart

and out into the night.

She muses on a memory

and wonders

if he’ll ever know

how his soul-fire

lit her world

and turned the sky

a warmer shade of light.

 .

© 2013, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

(a re-post)

.

Candle holder in photo created by the DutchMan.

 

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Intimate Star

(from 1995)

.

They told her

he didn’t exist,

that she had only fantasized

the shaman man

who read between

the secret lines,

whose eyes saw into

every dance

and behind each mask.

They told her

there’s no such thing

as one she’s always known

and loved,

that no one could have eyes

so deep.

They said it’s a fool’s pursuit,

she’d never find

such an intimate star.

But she touched one

and lived to tell the story.

.

(c) 1995, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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Candle Holder – 2013 posting

.

She feels the golden stand

between her palms,

follows every curve

with fingers

searching for the essence

of a splintered block of tree

as he spun and shaped it

on his lathe,

then polished gently

with his sacred oil.

.

Now she lights the candle

and watches

as the blush of flame

smooths up the walls

inside her heart

and out into the night.

She muses on a memory

and wonders

if he’ll ever know

how his soul-fire

lit her world

and turned the sky

a warmer shade of light.

 .

© 2013, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

.

Candle holder in photo created by the DutchMan.

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Tea

 

He wakens her

with cinnamon,

stirs the waters

with his fire

and that which had gone still

is moved

and that which had gone silent

speaks

and what had been uncertain

rises steaming from her heart.

.

.

(c) 1995, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Too Hot to Touch

Above the fences,

beyond walls

outside our self-wrought barricades

our hearts connect

anode, cathode, *

to some cosmic battery.

We cannot touch

our ions would explode

and all the world

would melt.

Yet our magnetic tears

are mixed

producing heat and light.

Without you

I could not see

to write another poem,

nor would I have

the energy

to smile.

.

(c) 1979, 2015  Betty Hayes Albright

.

* Lame metaphor based on what I remembered from chemistry and physics classes –  electric batteries, anodes and cathodes, etc.

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