Posts Tagged ‘nature’




Polka-dotted sky

white-cheeked clouds mooning the earth

pansy smiles and winks.



(c)  1992, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(re-posted from 2013)


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Blackberry blossom

charming as a camellia

never mind the thorns.



(c) 2015, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post – photo taken May 2015)


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Honey bees delight

in the spread of sweet clover

till Lawn Mower starts.




Closer and closer

it shaves the yard shorter, but

leaves a friendly patch.



(c) 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


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Neon-lit flowers

spill from their wooden barrel,

“Catch me if your can!”





Young evergreen trees

reach out their limbs for a hug

and I shall comply.



(c) 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(Photos from my back yard, yesterday…)


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Skipping Stones cover


“Skipping Stones” is now available on Amazon.com,  (https://tinyurl.com/yccscdzk)  and Barnes & Noble!  

Many thanks to Thomas and Ethel Davis at Four Windows Press, and to Lauren Scott and Candice Daquin for their cover reviews. 


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Hello, my friends,

is anyone there?

I need someone

to come repair

my shattered biosphere.

The ocean’s clogged

with plastic sludge,

the beach is cut

with broken glass,

my raging fever

melts the ice

and all the while

my insides churn

as ancient trees

are turned to tables,

wild creatures

robbed of fur

their heads mounted

on walls.

I sob aloud

and strain to breathe

the muddy air

my tears are lava

running through your villages

I’ve lost my balance

can’t control

the atmosphere

it spins and bawls

across the plains

I quake apart

your buildings fall

the dust roars through

our sacred land

my voice grows hoarse

but still I call out

desperately –

Can you hear me now?



© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(Re-posted from 2013)

Image from “Bing” free art.

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If you were an ivy vine

would you spread

across the foothills,

wind your way

through sharp pitched mountains

curling ’round

the fallen log

where it bridges the muddy slough?


Would you wend your way

around deep lakes and

through the tangled valleys

to the stand of trees

where you’d remember me?


And would you wrap

around my trunk and

spiral through my branches

as you followed every curve

to the top

where we both

could touch the sky?


And at noon

when you felt

the warm lips

of the sun

upon your leaves

would you sink

your comely roots

into my bark?

I think you’d grow on me.



(c) 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post from 2013)

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