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Posts Tagged ‘nature’

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She lives in earth tones –

soft colors of

amber and sage

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brush across her arms

on terracotta mornings

and lavender afternoons.

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Bracelets of seashells

on pink ribbons

play on her wrists

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as her celadon skirt

sways like the tresses

of the willow

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and she dances

in the garden –

invisible.

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©  2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Sorry for being way behind reading blogs. 

Hope to catch up with everyone soon! 💚

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Baby spider, no bigger

than a pinhead

snuggles next to the sink

for three days,

sustained by dust motes

and a sip of water

from a speck of mist

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until this morning

when she fluffs him

into a tissue

and he rides willingly

through the house

and out the back door

to the garden, and then

.

as if knowing,

he drops down

into the leaves

of the orange Calendulas

which have just begun

to bloom.

.

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(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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The old Shaman

placed his hands

on the trunk

of an ancient tree

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fitting his fingers

between the ripples and creases

of the bark,

until he heard a whispering –

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“Oh, spare me from

the greed of the axe

and the fickle see-saw

of humanity!”

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But from the distant edge

of the forest

the old Shaman also heard

the growl of a chain-saw

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and he smelled the exhaust

and the gasoline,

and he heard the shouts

of timbering men

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and so he bowed his head

and wept,

as a drop of pitch

landed on his cheek.

.

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(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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O vernal sun,

come sweeten the rain

as you plant your secrets

under thick moss —

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lend the forsythia

pots of gold

and warm the stones

that circle our garden —

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let poppies buzz

and sword ferns uncurl

as Earth becomes great

with tender.

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(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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An old one, never published here… that I know of.  

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Wishing everyone in the northern hemisphere a beautiful Springtime!  🌷 

And to all of us – north, south, east, west – may love, wisdom and peace someday reign on this mixed up world of ours. 💚

 

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Earth’s belly growls

when the wind

scours the valley

and rain swells the sky.

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Shadows loosen,

pressing more tightly

under rocks,

clinging closer to fences

and trees.

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Flickers arrive

flashing new red

under their wings

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while down below

the garden stirs —

and Gaia’s favorite color

is green.

.

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(c) 1994, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Afternoon gloom —

I know it will soon

be time to tread the snowy path home.

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A distant candle

lights the way

to my fire, my books, and my love.

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And tomorrow the sun

will rise a bit sooner

dispelling the darkness a little bit longer,

.

melting away

the frostbitten edge

of this unsung penumbra of night.

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(c) 1988, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(An old, unpublished poem, taken out of mothballs.)

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He says she’s over the hill,

that she’s dancing

with entropy

toward the valley below

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but she hears the call

of flickers, and the chitter

of squirrels,

and she sees ahead

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lush meadows, tall trees,

and moss-covered stones

on the path

by a sapphire river.

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There, she’ll follow the scent

of her own deep roots

to a range of mountains,

their tops hidden

.

in the subtleties he missed

between the lines

on her face

when e’er she smiled.

.

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(c)  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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