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Posts Tagged ‘Maeberie series’

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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.

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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.

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(c)  1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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

 

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Sometimes it opens

just a crack,

that heavy door –

and she will see

his lamp aflame

and though she’s not

the only one

to bring his tray,

his cup of ale,

she always comes

to mind the steel

in his eyes,

those eyes

that recognize the fool,

that see the masks

of dark agenda

in the winks of falsity.

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She always comes

that he may rest awhile.

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She lets him count

the gathers

and the pleating

in her bodice,

and she lets him

fold her hair

across his face

to hide his smile.

And she will stay

for just awhile

until the moon has risen

and he calls out

for the guard

to secret her away.

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©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(a Maeberie series poem, revised)

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After the fire plays,

after he’s gone

she leaves her heart

in ashes

nestled on the bed

and slips outside

to bury time

in earth

where it belongs.

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And sometimes

there’s a spark

when her trowel

hits a rock

and she smiles

at the thought

of that blazing

stand of man

and how she became

a goddess

when he touched her

with his flame.

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(c) 1996, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-post from 2012, revised)

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(a Mayberrie poem)

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Wandering through her garden

she could smell the vegetables

and began to hunger

for some butter-dumpling stew.

It had been his favorite long ago. 

Row by row she harvested

sweet carrots and potatoes,

two turnips and an onion –

and over near the wildflowers

parsley and green beans.

All she needed now

was just a little thyme.

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Pacing in the courtyard

he caught his reflection

in the pond.

Who was this king

to love a servant girl –

his young forbidden bride?

Alas, it must secret be

lest they have her head

for she was peasant born.

And now another battle loomed

far across the dunes. 

All he needed now

was just a little time.

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© 2012, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright

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(This is a re-post – slightly revised.)

(For links to all poems in this series please click on the Mayberrie tab at the top of this blog.)

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(a Mayberrie poem)

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Her shawl gleamed brightly

in the sun.

She wrapped it tightly

in the cold of silent villagers

and climbed across the pile of stones,

breathing in the salt

of dried seaweed on the sand.

Looking out across the bay

she saw the cliffs of Mayberrie

and farther still, his castle.

(Was he pacing every hallway

or would he get some rest?)

Nothing stirred

except for something light

that flashed atop the tower –

no doubt just a gull.

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The bandages around his head

gleamed brightly

as he took his leave

from rites and duty

fleeing court for solitude.

Up the spiral staircase

to the tower’s top he climbed,

and there he gazed

upon the sea,

and fishermen at peace.

Turning, he could see across the bay

to where her village rested,

tucked above the rocks.

Was she there or had she fled?

The beach was still

except for something light

that moved

along the shore.

No doubt just a gull.

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© 2012, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright

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(For a list of all poems in this series, please click on the Mayberrie tab above.)

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(a Mayberrie poem)

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The countryside was still –

even birds

were waiting for a sign.

No one knew what happened

behind the castle walls

but rumors spread

there’d been a coronation.

Was he now her king,

or by his cousin slain?

She dares not think.

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Royalty could never wed

a servant girl

but with the kingdom

now secure

in kindly reign

he knew the people would demand

that he take a bride.

But this he cannot do

for it would be a bigamy.

He dares not think.

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On sunny days

she likes to haunt

the distant hills

with deer and wild hare

for company.

She brings them carrots

from her garden,

sometimes greens and herbs,

and whispers to them

not to wander

closer to the village:

they will a farmer’s arrow meet.

She dares not think.

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© 2012  Betty Hayes Albright

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See Part III, 5th verse:

“… just one name

between them now

and only the forest to know.”

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(For a list of all poems in this series, please click on the Mayberrie tab above.)

 

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For those following the Mayberrie series, the poems should be read in the order listed below. (There might be a few changes to this – and new poems will be added as the story continues… and it will. Thank you for reading!)

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(Latest update to list – July 16, 2012)

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Prologue

Reverie   (her daydream)

Door

And the rest of the story (so far….)

Always

Tea

Prometheus

Guiltless

Part I 

Part II

Plea

Parting

Safekeeping

Part III

Wait

Longing Path

Shell

Tempest

Double Star

Candle

Root Cellar

Messenger

Wildflowers

Heir

Lightning

Dare

Something White

Honey

Ring

Purple-Red

Stew

and some day, the epilogue will look back 100 years with:

Lament of the Night Watchman

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(a Mayberrie poem)

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Once a week

she braves the village,

trades her woven scarves

for bread and cheese,

and candle sticks.

She offers just a veiled smile

and searches every face;

she dare not speak

of things she shouldn’t know.

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At dusk she climbs the deer path

to her cottage on the hill

and there she lights

one candle stick.

As wisps of smoke

slide up the wall

like lovers twined

she gazes at the flame and sees

the battle-weary men at rest,

tending to their fire.

And in the shadowed edge there stands 

a single silhouette.

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He turns her way

as though he feels her near

and as he does

she reaches through

the waxen light

and hangs her heart

around his neck.

Then throwing kisses

to the night

she banks the fire

in his eyes

and blows the candle out.

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©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a Mayberrie’ poem)

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He commanded her to flee,

the troops were near,

a bugle called.

One more embrace,

one last locking of their eyes,

then go!  he cried,

mounting his steed

and in his voice

she heard the heat

and so she fled into the forest

never looking back.

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Tears stung her cheeks

as wild roses tore her skirt

and branches of the trees

reached out

grabbing at her arms.

She stumbled over coiled roots,

weeping thorns caught her hair

but on she rushed

away from shouts of boiling thunder,

to the castle wall –

knowing that before he rode away

he stopped

and silent, watched her go.

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© 2012  Betty Hayes Albright

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Sometimes it opens just a crack,

that heavy door

and she will see his lamp aflame,

and though she’s not the only one

to bring his tray, his cup of ale,

she always comes

to mind the steel in his eyes –

those eyes, that recognize the fool,

that see the masks

of dark agenda

in the winks of falsity.

She always comes

that he may rest awhile.

She lets him count the gathers

and the pleats

in her bodice,

lets him pull her hair across his face

to hide his smile,

and she will stay for just awhile

until the moon has risen

and he summons for the guard

to secret her away.

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©  2012  Betty Hayes Albright

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For the next poem in this series, please click here for “Guiltless”.

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