Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘passion’

.

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)

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

.

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)

Read Full Post »

.

Once upon an April

when the sea

was surging high

she said that nothing happened

but it did,

it did,

it did.

And when the tide withdrew

she lived ever after

remembering the rise

of happily.

.

.

© 2014, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(re-posted from 2014)

.

Read Full Post »

(A Maeberie poem)

.

Usually in the hills

she found her peace

but now the crows

were clamoring

above her head,

Let go!  they cawed,

Move on, move on!

 .

She raised her hand

for them to stop

and weary, slid

her body down

beneath a tree

and fell into a reverie

of grassy meadow,

sapphire sky

beyond corporeality

and there

she found him waiting.

.

He laid his sword

upon the ground,

the battle won,

no more to hide.

Their hearts grew full

of silver light

two scintillating souls entwined

in mutual fascination.

 .

When she awoke

day had turned

to shadowed night,

the crows had flown

and all was quiet

on the path

that took her home

while high above, unnoticed

twirled a dancing double star.

.

.

© 2012, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post from 2012, revised)

Read Full Post »

.

 

He shells

those cornered dreams

that rub us raw

secreting love

around torn edges

polishing

with his own tears

pearls of poetry.

.

.

(c) 1995,  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(Re-posted from 2012)

Read Full Post »

.

I would be the tide

that moves your sea

as waves of you

go breaking through my soul,

.

and you – the gust of wind

that plays my flute

would hear my drumming

in the ocean’s roll.

.

.

(c) 1995, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post from 2015)

Read Full Post »

.

IMG_9582

.

Gray sky

like Sunday’s paper

spreads in starchy folds

across the morning,

driving rain

through unripe shadows

sprinkling clues

on birding trees.

And where the purple

crocus blooms

I find a broken

bamboo stick

and draw wet hearts

in the earth.

.

.

(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post, revised)

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: