Posts Tagged ‘infinity’


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.)


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When the sun

and all three moons

have set

into the purple sea

it is the rarest dark of nights

and time to climb

the promontory

to her telescope.


She aims it through

the far-flung stars

always drawn to one

on the edges of the galaxy –

a small, twinkling sun

much like her own.

Perhaps it also holds a brood

of planets in its warmth

and maybe there

another set of eyes

is looking back.


The others scoff

and scold her,

“Are we not

the only children

of the Great Divine?

Are we not

the epitome of creation?”


She knows the gods

are not so small

and impotent,

and soon she’ll find

another fertile world.

Shaking her head at arrogance

she polishes the lens.



© 2014, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(re-posted from 2014 – revised)


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I’ll see you

in each color

of the rainbow

inside a bubble


on the sea.


I’ll find you

on the wing

of a hummingbird

or at the bottom

of a spot

of tea.


I’ll meet you

in the middle

of an Oreo


on the edges

of a rhyme.


I’ll love you

at the tip

of the hour hand


on the backside

of time.



© 1981, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 


(Written in 1981,

first posted here in 2012.

And the years keep flying by. 🙂 )


Thank you to “Own Shadow“, for reading through my archives and suggesting it be put up again.


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In a great heat


stir the nothingness

into boundless waves

to seed the multiverse:


Octave after octave

of radiance and light –

seven times seventy

explodes through the emptiness

with stars, planets, moons.


Life-forms rise and fall

across the infinitude,

and here and there

some find the path

to their effulgent source.


And those few tell their truth

in parable and allegory

hoping to teach others —

but most misunderstand

and instead create gods

forged in their own images.


Yet now and then

a smoldering ember

bursts into white flame

and Mother/Father smiles

as another shimmering soul

spirals home.



© 2014, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright


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(Revised from a 1976 poem.)


Beyond the unforgiving

core of gravity

she births herself

through molten rock

and hard-pan crust

into the atmosphere

above the rant

of storms,

the burning bush,

the moon and sun

and spin of stars

far beyond

the fabled edges

of the universe

no longer up or down

but circling straight

into the riddle

of her Self.



© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


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Washing dishes,

longing out the window

at trees

when suddenly the ends

of the universe touch

like the tips of white wings

and I’m there at that center

where nothing exists

but a soapy plate

and the clear hot water

rinsing it clean.  


©  2012 Betty Hayes Albright 

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We carve our words,

our paintings, sculptures,

music, dance

into the walls

of space and time

knowing one day

all will crumble down.

Even earth

will be consumed

by an aging sun someday.

But Cosmos gathers each creation,

weaves it into infinite Mind.

No thing is lost

except the empty shadow –

nothing really disappears,

not even love.


© 2012  Betty Hayes Albright 


Photo is of “The Little Mermaid” statue in Copenhagen, Denmark

photographer unknown (photo found on Microsoft clip art site)

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(with apologies to Charles Dickens)


Was Madame DeFarge

recording events

or was she creating reality

with the click-click

of her needles?

Yarn spun from infinity,

scarf stretched to eternity –

like you and me

in the worst of times

we knit and pearl them

into our best.


©  1999, 2016   Betty Hayes Albright


If memory serves me correctly (from high school!) Charles Dickens’  A Tale of Two Cities takes place during the French Revolution and begins,  “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.

Madame DeFarge was an old woman who sat on the sidelines, always knitting and observing events. It was implied that she was somehow encoding history into her knitting – an idea I found intriguing.


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