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Posts Tagged ‘music’

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I hear it sing

through the kitchen window

your old wind chime

its long weathered pipes

clanging across the wetlands

echoing up the hillside.

You wave to me now

smiling

from the crest

of a mighty gale

roaring through the heavens

and away.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(For my late son Arlie, who would be turning 45 on July 29th)

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Howling Wolf

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I feel your drumbeat

in the cosmic symphony –

music becomes you.

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(c) 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post)

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The chorus is in chaos.

I lie awake and listen

to the frogs

across the wetlands –

their indiscreet cacophony,

their bald discordant din

of tuneless bass

and baritones,

and one quite well-intentioned

adolescent squork.

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Then comes Gaia

dressed as Maestro

waving her baton

in phosphorescent

ups and downs

until the chorus

is entranced  

with “con amore”

in an ocean

of full moons.

And finally it’s adagio

   adagio…

         adagio…

that fades

to midnight indigo.

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And then one last harumph

and off to sleep.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Words

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Music rises from her garden,

goes off key

and disappears

into the sky.

Curious, she digs

with her bare hands

past dead roots

and rotting leaves

into birthing soil.

And there she feels a rhythm

pounding in the earth,

and the rise

of sacred humming

in her ears.

She drops a seed

into the hole

and out sprouts a melody

that grows into a tree.

Wind sings in its branches

and for the first time

in her life

she understands the words.

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© 1996, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post, revised)

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With a shaman’s eye

he aimed his music

like an arrow

that pierced through forest,

straightened rivers

and sliced the mountains apart.

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She heard his song

coming through the trees

and spread wide her arms

to reveal the target

he long ago etched

on her heart.

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(c) 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

 

 

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(From the “way back” machine – a poem from 1992,

written about an even earlier time: the late ’60’s.)

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In-a-Gadda-da-Vida

we danced to our favorite

solo of drums

till Keith turned on

Folsom Prison Blues

and we dosey-doed

in a square-dance spoof,

Tom’s arm

in-a-cast-in-a-sling

but feeling no pain,

for we couldn’t see

through the smoke in the room

and we would be young forever.

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When the haze finally cleared

to reveal gray hairs

we still felt the beat

in-a-light-a-day-now

as butterflies,

and it’s not really bad

being older.  *

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© 1992, 2107 Betty Hayes Albright

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(“In-a-Godda-da-Vida” – by the Iron Butterfly: Ah, that amazing, long, super-cool drum solo in the middle! No doubt on YouTube.)

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* (I’ve changed my mind about that….)

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Howling Wolf

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I feel your drumbeat

in the cosmic symphony –

music becomes you.

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(c) 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post)

 

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