Posts Tagged ‘Love’




I give my body

for your tables

and your chairs,

for bracelets

and for drums.

You hammer me

into your floors,

untie my shiny knots

beneath your feet.

Can you hear me whisper?


My branches stretch

to stars and wind

and fold you close at night,

and in the dawn

you grind me

into sawdust

for your pathways

and your barns –

you dance a jig on me.

Can you hear me sigh?


My leaves

suck the poison

from your air

and shield your faces

from the heat.

Then tenderly

they cover Earth

with patchwork colors

suckling winter into spring.

Can you hear me howl?

I am Tree.



©  2012, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(re-post from 2012)



Read Full Post »


A path leads down to the river,

the river runs down to the sea

where the gulls

and the zephyr that follow

bring naught but a daydream to me.


He rides his steed to the chapel,

he coaxes his lamb to the lee

while the music

and footprints that follow

bring naught but a fancy to me.



(c)  1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(A Maeberie series poem, re-posted from 2012)


Read Full Post »


Grief does not tip-toe

it comes

on lead feet

leaving deep prints

in the earth

to collect our tears

and send them over-flowing

to the stream

that joins all sorrow

winding to the sea.

And in the walk-about

where we are left to keen

wildflowers bloom around

the weeping willow tree.



©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright


Read Full Post »




Gray sky

like Sunday’s paper

spreads in starchy folds

across the morning,

driving rain

through unripe shadows

sprinkling clues

on birding trees.

And where the purple

crocus blooms

I find a broken

bamboo stick

and draw wet hearts

in the earth.



(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post, revised)

Read Full Post »


Are they really lifeless

those empty arms

of winter

branching leafless

in naked grace?

Gaia says no,

that deep in frozen dreams

memories thicken,

sweet syrup

of other times gone

and dreams to come.

Till then these aching limbs

reach out to the silence,


but not barren.



© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright 


(a re-post)

Read Full Post »

      With apologies to Carl Sandburg*


Love wears no shoes.

It uncoils barefoot

in the sand

and wiggles

like a slinky

between bare souls

playing in the waves

as it arcs

from skin to skin

across the shore.



(c)  1995, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


*Carl Sandburg wrote a poem with this same title, which has the following line:

“There is a pair of shoes love wears and the coming is a mystery.” 

(I beg to disagree. 🙂 )


(a re-post, revised)


Read Full Post »



She pouts in a corner

it seems

the gods play rough


at times

crushing her breath

into a knot


pulling her head-first

through a barrel

of tear-salt


staining her face

with keens

shoulders wracked


it should have been me

I’m old

he was young.


She folds

into a corner

when the gods play rough.



©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright



Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: