Posted in Poetry 1970's, tagged Beloved, eternity, immortality, infinity, oversoul, poem, Poetry, spirituality, superconsiousness on October 24, 2020| 14 Comments »
.
She dares to rise
through molten rock
cutting loose
from the unforgiving core
of gravity
free of the burning bush
and the howl of the tempest.
.
Into the open sky she flies
past moon and sun,
the spin of stars
beyond the fabled edges
of the cosmos
.
until no longer up or down
nor right or left
she spirals forth
into the numinous arms
of the Beloved.
.
.
© 2020, 1976 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(A revised version of an old poem from 1976.)
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged childhood, death, Goldbug, grief, immortality, life, loss, Love, poem, Poetry, Richard Scarry, sorrow on May 25, 2018| 56 Comments »
.
.
It was your favorite book,
the one with Goldbug*
hidden in every picture.
You’d turn the pages
and find him peeking
from the window of a car
or riding in the back
of a fire truck.
.
When you grew up
you had your own cars and trucks
and never failed to wave
and beep your horn
when you drove away.
.
A year ago today
you left this realm
but you are not gone.
I feel you standing next to me
as I water the grape ivy.
Your wind chime rings
when the air is perfectly still.
The little wooden cats
you carved for me
change position during the night.
Something invisible
tickles my arm.
.
You tell me in a dream
not to be sad
and you wave at me
from the windows of everywhere.
I wave back
and turn another page.
.
.
© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
* from Richard Scarry’s – Cars and Trucks and Things that Go
.
Cats carved by my late son, Arlie, when he was 8 or 9.
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged alpha and omega, Compost, death, immortality, life, nature, poem, Poetry, rose, seeds on January 11, 2018| 36 Comments »
.
If you must choose
be not the rose
nor the wintering compost
but rather the seed,
the capsule that knows
beginnings and endings
are the sacred vines
which weave immortality.
.
.
(c) 2013, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(a re-post, revised)
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged birthday, Children, death, grief, immortality, life, music, nature, parenthood, poem, Poetry, son, spirituality, wind chime on July 28, 2017| 40 Comments »
.
.
I hear it sing
through the kitchen window
your old wind chime
its long weathered pipes
clanging across the wetlands
echoing up the hillside.
You wave to me now
smiling
from the crest
of a mighty gale
roaring through the heavens
and away.
.
© 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(For my late son Arlie, who would be turning 45 on July 29th)
.
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged death, flowers, gardens, grave, immortality, life, mother, mother's day, poem, Poetry, presence on May 9, 2016| 23 Comments »
.
There’s still a tender scar
from the cutting of your grave
two months ago.
No matter, you would say.
You’ve flown into the springtime
where you’re planting bright impatiens
in the shady spots of trees
and hanging popcorn fuchsias
from the limbs of everywhere.
You see a million colors:
bearded iris, bright petunias
shades of greenery
puffs of petals
bobbing in the sun.
.
Back home I listen
to your favorite symphony.
The room fills with the scent of roses,
How’d you do that, Mom? I ask.
No matter, you would laugh.
.
© 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(This is for my mom who passed away peacefully on March 3rd at the age of 98.)
.
Posted in Poetry 1980's, tagged Barbara Pierce Seibold, eruption, immortality, laughter, loss, Mount St Helens, Poetry, volcano on May 18, 2012| 34 Comments »
32 years ago today, Mt. St. Helens erupted in Washington State, killing 57 people, including one of my dearest friends, her husband, and her two young children. Barb was always full of laughter, always saw the funny side of life.
.
The poem below was written shortly after her death:
.
Mt. St. Helens on May 18, 1980
.
.
(In memory of Barb Pierce Morris Seibold, 1947 – 1980)
.
You laughed above the heads
of those who couldn’t see
your wings,
but those of us with vision
always flew along with you.
Even in the rain
you’d soar above the mud
with a smile and a wink.
.
But just this once
your takeoff was too slow.
St. Helens grabbed you
in her smoky claws,
and with one spicy belch
she burned your wings away….
.
I found a bird
the cat brought in,
buried it
in forget-me-nots.
I heard your laughter
rising from the dust
and then it flew
to the curlicue clouds.
.
.
(c)1980, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
.
For another “Barb” poem (written 2-1/2 months before she died): https://raindancepoetry.wordpress.com/2011/08/28/down-moon-river-on-a-cement-slab/
Click on image for more info.
Seasonings 