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Posts Tagged ‘life’

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She thought it was

the autumn sun

shining on the dogwood tree

but no

the leaves themselves

were flushed

defying the gray

with red-gold embers

self-lit in the gloom.

It was the spark

within the dead,

the nuances of yesterday,

the fire of life

banked against all odds.

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(c) 2010, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-post, revised)

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He always came home

from school

with pockets full

of stuff he found

on the side of the road –

nails and screws,

shiny rocks

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and one day

a bent bottle cap

roughly shaped like a heart

which he painted red

for me.

.

I find it still

in my jewelry box

place it in a bowl

next to the shiny rock

roughly shaped like a heart

which I spotted

just this morning

in the sun

on the side of the road.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(for my late son, Arlie) 

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It was a long, silent fall

into the days

where “Dad” was spoken

in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows

and he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

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(C) 1997, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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9.13.56 Abe Hayes

 

Dad and me 1955

1955 – Deception Pass, Whidbey Island, Washington State

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(A tribute to my dad, who passed away twenty years ago this month.

My apologies to those who have read it previously.)

 

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She stifled her passion

with a bone cork

and Earth became

a rocking jug

with aching sides

and tears that leaked

through cracks

and there was naught

but a dry brown light

across the sky.

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The gods looked down

and cursed.

They pulled loose the plug

and ground it to dust

with flying fists

until Earth trembled

and roared

its mountainous heat

into the sky

in a billowing boundless fount

of love un-damned.

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(c)  1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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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.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(For my late son Arlie, who would be turning 45 on July 29th)

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There’s no warning.

Grief leaks from my eyes

staining my cheeks

the same way

my blouse

became soaked

with milk

between feedings

when he was an infant.

It’s what happens.

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(c) 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Arlie 12 19 08

Arlie in 2008

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Betty73

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1973 – Happy days. Arlie sitting on his great-grandmother’s lap with older brother Jason.

 

 

 

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Love can be

a thousand swifting years

spread out

like water colors

through the pastel pleating

of a weathered paper fan.

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Or love can be

that brief intense

lightning fanned

to consummation

by the hungry edges

of a thousand swifting dreams.

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When someday

they fold her up

and tuck her fast away

it’s that flash of light

she won’t forget.

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©  2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post, rewritten)

 

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