Witness

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Pecking poppy seeds

chickadee does not see me.

Old cat sees us both.

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(c) 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Photo by Skylar Ewing / Pexels.com

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Carnival

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On waves of teal sea-shine

we catch a glossy ride

to chase our lost horizons

and race the rising tide.

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We lean to gather white-caps

and taste their salty plumes

till purple weaves a blanket

and wraps us ’round the moon.

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(c) 1992, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Illumination

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Dance little poppy,

bow to ev’ry little breeze —

sunshine lands on all.

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(c) 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Photo taken last week. We had a lot of orange California poppies…this was the only pink one. I love ’em all. 💕)

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P.S. I just realized, today is my 9th anniversary on WordPress!!  Thank you to the many dear friends I’ve met here over the years.)

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Deep July

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Come meet me

in the secret garden

living green

and dancing yellow,

join the bees

and beg their pardon

where the hive

grows sweet and mellow.

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Free of fear

and saved from doom

let us dance

in yonder meadow

where the wild ones

stand and bloom –

spare the truth

and spoil the credo.

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Oh my love,

let’s long abide –

dance the tango

free from care.

Meet me

on the other side –

unloose your heartstrings,

take the dare.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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Caught by the Sun

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Fifty doves

fly as one –

a hundred wings

on a string

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like a cloud

caught by the sun

in a glint

and a flutter

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before they all

disappear

to swerve in the curve

of caprice.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Brine

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So soon, again

they come this way –

long shadows

in the meadow play

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between the leaves

turned red and gold

where faeries

of the frost behold

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a disappearance

of the bees,

the fogging

in a stand of trees,

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the seasoning

of twig and vine

as Fall adds nutmeg

to the brine.

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©  2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Feral

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She puts food

outside her door

for the cats

and raccoons

and the Scrub Jays –

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and for all

who leave soft

wild footprints

in the frost.

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(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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Generosity

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Squirrel finds apple,

spins it like corn on the cob —

leaves the core for me.

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(c) 2012, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-post from 2012, revised)

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Photo from Bing – creative commons site, “unknown author”.

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Future Tense

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Where’s your dance, old tree?

The wind plays –

let’s see you sway,

I long to hear

your rustling green.

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Did Autumn tighten up

your knots

and sap your limbs

too soon?

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It seems that Pan

has left you,

tail tucked between his legs

when he saw the horizon

turning black

instead of blue.

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And now I too must hurry off

to find my cave and pray

that dawn

will wring out the mourning

and wash the ash away.

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(c) 1980, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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This is an old one, revised. It was originally written in 1980, two months before Mount St. Helens erupted a hundred miles away from us. (A dear friend of mine died in the eruption, along with her husband and two children.)  I always assumed the poem was a premonition of that tragic event, but it seems to also fit in with current events on this dear old planet of ours.  (The original version was posted here in 2014.)

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P.S. Once again I’m behind reading blogs. Will hopefully catch up with you all soon! ❤

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Eros

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Courting honeybees —

blossoms consummate the past

their future assured.

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(c) 2019 Betty Hayes Albright

(From a scribble written in 1998 – rewritten into a Senryu.)

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Photo taken in 2011, on our deck.

 

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