Posts Tagged ‘mountain’


It comes in darkness

like a gentle giant

no trumpets or glare

just strong arms

that lift you

above the sharp slopes

to the top

of the mountain

you’ve climbed for so long.


You throw off your pack

and the valley widens

into a smile

and the sun spreads

like butter

on loaves of eternity

and you finally see

that it’s you, love –

you are the giant.



© 2000, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright


(originally posted in 2012, now revised)


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A simple thing

to scatter his ashes

one would think

but Mt. Rainier

will never be

the same.


©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright


Image of Mt. Rainier from Wikipedia Commons


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Dark cloud to the west

rubs belly on mountain top –

sky is tickled pink.


(c) 2016  Betty Hayes Albright


Photo from morguefile.com by “atroywy”


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(re-posted from 2011)


She remembers

the future

when rain

crashes deserts

and old seeds


into rivers of flowers

and mountains lean down

close to the sea

and there is no abyss

to slice reality.


(c) 1994, 2015  Betty Hayes Albright


Note: this post and the Mayberrie series are all part of the “Deep Water” category – for the DutchMan.

May you be well and safe from quakes and droughts, floods and fires, storms, and all things severe. May you be surrounded by love.

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How hard it is to see

the highest mountain for the trees

until we hear the ancient knock

of thunder sky and molten rock.

We tear away the mossy veil

that had long concealed the trail

just to find the climb is steepest

where the waterfall is deepest

and it seems we’re almost there

when we breathe the rarest air

beyond the earth, into the sun

where we learn we’ve just begun.


(c) 1994, 2014  Betty Hayes Albright


(another oldie)


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Sometimes a mountain

shakes loose

its deeply rooted trees,

old riverbeds,

the tramping of calloused feet.

It spews out fire and ash,

declares itself free

of expectation.

There is blood-letting

as lava streams down

into the lakes

cooking fish and lilies,

boiling off complacency.

It is the wish

of Gaia.


Be careful

when you try

to move a mountain –

but never stop climbing.


© 2013 Betty Hayes Albright 

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Spirit comes, a gentle giant –

no trumpets or glare,

no explosions of air,

just strong hands that lift us

above the sharp slopes,

just warm arms that cradle us

up to the top

of the mythical mountain

we’ve climbed for so long.


We throw off our packs

and become light

as horizons beyond us

widen like a smile

on fertile plains.

They spread like butter

on slices of eternity

whispering, whispering:

We are the giant



© 2000, 2012 Betty Hayes Albright


(This was first posted in Aug. 2011, but has been revised and retitled. Seems I can never get a poem to just sit still.)

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