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Posts Tagged ‘Love’

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Come meet me

in the secret garden

living green

and dancing yellow,

join the bees

and beg their pardon

where the hive

grows sweet and mellow.

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Free of fear

and saved from doom

let us dance

in yonder meadow

where the wild ones

stand and bloom –

spare the truth

and spoil the credo.

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Oh my love,

let’s long abide –

dance the tango

free from care.

Meet me

on the other side –

unloose your heartstrings,

take the dare.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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She keeps it in a wooden box

between soft layers of cotton —

the arrowhead

he found in the desert.

It still bears his fingerprints —

invisible, like the many poems

she composes in her head

but never writes,

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poems she sends

across the valley

hoping they’ll lodge

in his dreams

some heavy night.

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She imagines them

circling his body

like halos of concentric light,

or perhaps brushing his face

with kisses

silky as a feather.

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But then, like the arrowhead

she draws them home again

tucking them safely away —

sonnets nestled in her soul

between reluctant layers

of silence.

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© 2014, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post from 2014)

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I hope everyone is staying well out there. Will try to catch up with you all soon. ❤

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After her shower

she writes a poem

in the condensation on the mirror,

then watches it evaporate.

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It was all about the fragrance –

the coconut

in her shampoo,

the rose water on her face.

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She remembers what he liked –

Emeraude and Chantilly Lace

while he wore English Leather

which drove her over the edge.

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They’d dance past the chaperones

and steal away to his car,

Lou Christie on the radio

and lightning striking twice

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and later in her room alone,

his scent still in her hair

the poems would magically write themselves

in the silk dust on the mirror.

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©  2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Now we understand —

time is not a fleeting thing,

it is we who fleet.

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Now we understand –

time does not have any wings,

it is we who fly.

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Now we understand –

there is only one present

for us to unwrap.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Sorry I’m way behind reading blogs again. Am missing you all, and will hopefully start catching up soon, little by little. Please forgive me if I don’t comment much.  (Fibromyalgia and chronic back pain are the usual culprits, and I know many of you can relate to these “invisible” health problems.) 

Loving thoughts to everyone. ❤❤

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It doesn’t seem

that long ago

you came

but could not stay.

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Our paths were crossed

and time got lost –

seems only yesterday, and yet

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the moon still beams

and waxes full

above the sea

beyond the knoll

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where we grew young

so long ago

when Eros came to play.

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© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Just another entropic scribble.  🙂  )

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Frosty colors

fall like snow

through trees —

 

precipitations of sun

filling the tangle

of briar and wood.

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A lone sprite sings

her winter song

as doves wing overhead,

 

their tail feathers spread

to polish the lens

of the sky.

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(c) 1996, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.(Re-posted from 2011, revised.)

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Happy Winter Solstice!!  🌲 🌞 🌲

(And to our friends south of the equator a Happy Summer Solstice! 😎 )

Wishing everyone a peaceful holiday season!

 

 

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Beating of deep drums,

puff of smoke on horizon

and then you were gone.

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More is said in love’s silence

than we can e’er say out loud.

.

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©  2012, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Reposted from 2012, revised.)

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How is it that grief

stays so fresh year after year?

It must be the salt.

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© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Grace

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She dammed her feelings

for him

with a bone cork

and Earth became

a rocking jug

with aching sides

and tears

that leaked through cracks

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and there was naught

but a dry, brown light

across the sky.

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And when the gods looked down

they cursed the plug

and ground it to dust

with their fists.

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Earth shuddered

and roared

in a great awakening

of heat and light

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until at last

there rose

in her breast

the endless rainbow fount

of love undamned.

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(c)  1995, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Revision of an oldie, first posted in 2011.)

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We fan the embers

turning to flamingo flames

parsing the silence

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like a blue-white star –

fire so hot there is no smoke,

just the melt of time.

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Vermilion night,

soft sizzle of sparks afire –

it begins to rain.

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©  2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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