Prometheus Unglued

.

He steams her edges

and, like stamps

on a postcard

.

she curls in the heat

falling free from the corner

of mythology

.

to be saved

by the fire

in his hands.

.

.

(c) 1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post, revised)

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Fount

.

She stifled her passion

with a bone cork

and Earth became

a rocking jug

with aching sides

and tears that leaked

through cracks

and there was naught

but a dry brown light

across the sky.

.

The gods looked down

and cursed.

They pulled loose the plug

and ground it to dust

with flying fists

until Earth trembled

and roared

its mountainous heat

into the sky

in a billowing boundless fount

of love un-damned.

.

.

(c)  1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

.

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Masks

.

He could climb

a rock-cold mountain,

guard lost lambs

on faceless cliffs

and she would circle round

to warm his earth.

 .

And he could carve his image

into a totem pole

of selves

on top of selves

and she would kiss the tower

of rising heads.

 .

And he could blow new colors

from his hemlock pipe

and she would paint them

on her cheeks

while he peeled back

the many masks

of God.

 .

(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post – formerly “Biding”)

.

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Lament of the Night Watchman

.

Old castle rests on brambled shores

near curling leaves and browning lawn

as ivy coils through empty doors

where once his golden sword was drawn.

 .

For long ago the tower stood

shaped by wind and gleaming stones

and from the chapel in the wood

they heard the bell and felt the groans

 .

of lovers locked in false embrace

of thunder scavenged from the deep

where only he could show his face –

his mistress turned away to weep.

 .

They could not march beyond the hill

for fate had measured out their time

and all they touched was cold and still

and none could prove there’d been a crime.

 .

A dozen years but none to save

for lovers no more ring the bell.

Calla lilies crown the graves

where once an army rose and fell.

 .

And now the castle sleeps on shores

near curling leaves and browning lawn

as ivy coils across the floors

where once Excalibur was drawn.

.

©  1993,  2016   Betty Hayes Albright

.

(re-post of a Mayberrie poem)

.

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Work

.

Sisyphus knew what it meant

to push the huge mundane

up steep slopes

only to be crushed by repetition.

He avoided carpal tunnels

and somehow kept on pushing

since the mountain was still there,

and there was no free lunch, they said,

and no supper either.

His only pay was eternity

and Zeus always kept the change.

.

(c) 1996, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post from 2011)

 

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Spiral

.

In a great heat

Mother/Father

stir the nothingness

into boundless waves

to seed the multiverse:

.

Octave after octave

of radiance and light –

seven times seventy

explodes through the emptiness

with stars, planets, moons.

.

Life-forms rise and fall

across the infinitude,

and here and there

some find the path

to their effulgent source.

.

And those few tell their truth

in parable and allegory

hoping to teach others —

but most misunderstand

and instead create gods

forged in their own images.

.

Yet now and then

a smoldering ember

bursts into white flame

and Mother/Father smiles

as another shimmering soul

spirals home.

.

.

© 2014, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright

.

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Instinct

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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Answer – 2014 posting

.

She prayed to the gods,

“let me make love

to the trees in your forest”

but the gods were silent

and so she implored them again

 

“let me couple with the creek

that sings through your valley,

bear me up

to embrace your mountains,

cradle me down

to mate with the sea”

.

but again the gods were silent

and again she cried out

with trembling heart,

“please grant me consummation

with the universe this night!”

.

and once more

the gods were silent

but this time

they sent a man to her,

a man who had prayed

for the same.

.

(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

 

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Biding (Masks) – 2012 posting

 

.

He could climb

a rock-cold mountain,

guard lost lambs

on faceless cliffs

and she would circle round

to warm his earth.

 .

And he could carve his image

into a totem pole

of selves on top of selves

and she would kiss

the tower of rising heads.

 .

And he could blow new colors

from his hemlock pipe

and she would paint them

on her cheeks

as he peeled back

the many masks

of God.

 .

(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

.

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Full Noon

She climbed above

Wikipedia

the addled day

beyond the spackled sky

until the sun

was all she knew.

It never rose,

nor did it set,

the world spun fast

below her now

but she no longer recognized

the frenzied bulbs

of toggled light,

the creaks

of channels switching,

no more tripping

over shadows,

no more blood

from steel spires.

Instead she heard

the muses singing,

heard the laughter

of the gods

and so she danced

a freedom tango

with a humble star

then rested

in the halo of full noon.

.

(c) 2011 Betty Hayes Albright

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