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Posts Tagged ‘life’

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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.

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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.

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The others scoff

and scold her,

“Are we not

the only children

of the Great Divine?

Are we not

the epitome of creation?”

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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.

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© 2014, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-posted from 2014 – revised)

 

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Time Out

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They leak outIMG_5538

from the calendar –

seconds, minutes lost.

They steal away

into the fog

and freeze to winter’s frost.

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I close my eyes

and there’s an hour

missing from the day.

It turned into

a floppy kite

and spring blew it away.

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Dripping

through my fingers

another day has gone,

evaporated

yesterday

from summer’s placid pond.

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And soon a year

has fallen

bright confetti on the ground

and I wonder

if we’ll ever have

the time to just slow down.

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© 1992, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(….and another 26 years has flown by since writing this….)

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(a re-post)

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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.

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(c) 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post, revised)

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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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IMG_9820

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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.

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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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IMG_9642

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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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