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Posts Tagged ‘memory’

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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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She whittles

on a block

of solitude

until it’s gone

and pieces lie

about her feet

and slivers

bleed her hands

carving

out another poem

that only he

will understand.

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(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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IMG_9636

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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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She holds a sphere

of white hot light

in hands stretched high

to reach the night.

“Oh Eros”, she prays secretly,

“come take this round

of your creation,

guard its flame

forever more

and I’ll dance gratefully

in the embers,

one man’s fire

seared into my palm.

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(c)  1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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(A Mayberrie poem – re-post)

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And so, did you save

the key, m’lord?

Did you secret it away

to some safe isle?

I see you still

leaning at the threshold,

your face to be read

and kissed a million times

like a beloved poem.

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The chambermaid swears

the room never cooled.

She says the walls spark and flare

like the burning bush.

And at night

I fiddle with the lock, m’lord —

under what mat

did you stow the key?

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(c)  1995, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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Sift lightly through my memory,

let me catch a bit of thee,

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I slumber in the speckled sun,

my laces – they have come undone,

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fall softly through an open dream,

you bring berries, I’ll bring cream,

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we’ll build a tower, peal the bell,

no stranger, love – I know thee well.

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© 2014, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(a re-post)

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IMG_6691

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She feels the golden stand

between her palms,

follows every curve

with fingers

searching for the essence

of a splintered block of tree

as he spun and shaped it

on his lathe,

then polished gently

with his sacred oil.

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Now she lights the candle

and watches

as the blush of flame

smooths up the walls

inside her heart

and out into the night.

She muses on a memory

and wonders

if he’ll ever know

how his soul-fire

lit her world

and turned the sky

a warmer shade of light.

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© 2013, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

(a re-post)

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Candle holder in photo created by the DutchMan.

 

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