Posted in Poetry 1980's, tagged darkness, light, Love, nature, poem, Poetry, winter, Winter Solstice on December 29, 2018| 38 Comments »
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Afternoon gloom —
I know it will soon
be time to tread the snowy path home.
.
A distant candle
lights the way
to my fire, my books, and my love.
.
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.
.
.
(c) 1988, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(An old, unpublished poem, taken out of mothballs.)
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Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged ageing, change, entropy, nature, poem, Poetry, spirituality, writer's block, writing on November 25, 2018| 48 Comments »
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He says she’s over the hill,
that she’s dancing
with entropy
toward the valley below
.
but she hears the call
of flickers, and the chitter
of squirrels,
and she sees ahead
.
lush meadows, tall trees,
and moss-covered stones
on the path
by a sapphire river.
.
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.
.
.
(c) 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
Posted in Poetry 1990's, tagged humanity, nature, poem, Poetry, spirituality, storm on October 18, 2018| 32 Comments »
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It blows in
from the sea,
that ancient wind –
splitting in half
around the mountain,
.
and where it meets itself
on the other side
it clashes thunderously,
failing recognition.
.
.
(c) 1994, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged Bird, cosmos, dream, flight, forever, nature, paradise, poem, Poetry, spirituality, universe, vision on September 16, 2018| 51 Comments »
.
.
We found a little box
with a speckled bird inside
and fed it bits of food
and water from a dropper,
until the day he asked
for a bigger place.
.
And so we placed him lovingly
inside a gilded cage
with trays of seeds
and a wooden perch
where he could hop about.
.
“This is fine for now,” he said,
“but tomorrow
I want something bigger.”
.
We quickly built an aviary
with maple trees
and blueberry shrubs
where he could flutter
through the leaves.
.
“This is nice for now,” he said.
But after several days he asked
to wing about the house,
and finally out the window.
.
We watched him fly
through forests and valleys,
and finally up into the sky
between the stars, and out
beyond the Milky Way.
.
A year went by
and one day he returned,
asking for his little box.
He snuggled down to rest, and said,
“This will do just fine –
for I can see forever
from here now.”
.
.
© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
Poem is from a dream I had last April.
The image is a partial of a print my late parents had – artist unknown. (Update – the artist is Jill Fogelsong.) The sun just happened to be shining through the window in a certain way, giving it a rainbow effect — which caught my eye. I wasn’t planning to post an image with this poem, but it presented itself just in time. Funny how things work out….
Posted in Poetry 1990's, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged autumn, dragonflies, fall, Gaia, moon, nature, poem, Poetry, seasons, seeds, september, sun, Trees, Virgo on September 7, 2018| 33 Comments »
.
.
Sunlight shrinks away
behind the thin of poplar trees,
spiders throw red shadows
in the paths of tired bees,
spells of a waxing moon are cast
and dragonflies change speed
with just a touch of madness
as summer goes to seed.
.
.
(c) 1993, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(a re-post from 2011 – revised)
.Photo by Ithalu Dominguez on Pexels.com
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged August, beauty, bees, flowers, Gaia, nature, overwhelm, poem, Poetry, summer on August 29, 2018| 56 Comments »
.
.
It’s almost too much –
the bee in the center of the rose,
.
the hummer mating
with the hot pink flute of August,
.
puffs of clover in the honey
tied up in a bow
.
with golden mari
and the lion’s yellow dandi.
.
Oh glorious!
I must sometimes turn away –
.
no wonder that the fly
needs a thousand eyes.
.
.
© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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Photo taken in 2014, Edmonds, Washington
Posted in Poetry 1980's, tagged forest, Gaia, Jack's Pass, nature, pathway, poem, Poetry, Trees, woods on August 20, 2018| 35 Comments »
.
.
Under the jungle-wood
resting on the rock
we hauled down
from Jack’s Pass,
tree limbs hover low, and
.
brush my dirt-stained feet
as I stretch
into the mesh
of heathered sunlight
through the leaves.
.
.
(c) 1982, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
This is a revision of a poem written in 1982.
Photo taken by my son, Jason Judd.
Click on image.
