Posts Tagged ‘passion’




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)


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Earth freezes

when the comet

spreads his tail

like a dove.

She covers tiny trees

against the frost

and watches

till the fan of indigo

folds and disappears.

Once in a lifetime

or a thousand years

it matters not,

she’ll know him

by his steel blue

when he comes again.




(c) 1996, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post, revised)

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I am the water

you draw from your well

steep me

into your tea.


I am the slice of hot toast

on your plate

let me melt

your fresh apple butter.


I am the evergreen

on your morning walk

breathe me

into your shadow.


I am the eyes

meeting yours

in the marketplace

see my hunger.


I am the line

down the middle of your road

follow me

through the desert.


I am the match

that lights your winter fire

catch my sparks

in a jar.


I am the north star

in your fevered night

reach out to me, love

shine on me.



(c) 1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright



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Sometimes it opens

just a crack,

that heavy door –

and she will see

his lamp aflame

and though she’s not

the only one

to bring his tray,

his cup of ale,

she always comes

to mind the steel

in his eyes,

those eyes

that recognize the fool,

that see the masks

of dark agenda

in the winks of falsity.


She always comes

that he may rest awhile.


She lets him count

the gathers

and the pleating

in her bodice,

and she lets him

fold her hair

across his face

to hide his smile.

And she will stay

for just awhile

until the moon has risen

and he calls out

for the guard

to secret her away.



©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 


(a Maeberie series poem, revised)


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And she will dwell

in a cottage of white

and wait for him

at the river’s edge

with birds and breezes

tending the trees.

And they’ll be coming

through the woods,

the poets and flutists

late at night

and after they’re gone

she’ll dance naked


the wildflowers

beneath the moon

a yellow ribbon

tied around her heart.



(c) 1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright


(re-post from 2012)



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Last night

I saw your moon


waxing full

between the clouds,

its hug

wrapping me to sleep.


This morning

I saw your sunrise


spreading low

through the clouds,

its breath

flushing over my cheeks.



I see your sunset


easing down

below the clouds,

its rays

combing out my dreams.



(c)  1982, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright


(Written in 1982, taken out of mothballs and revised.)





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Late at night

she weaves poetry

silken words

feather spun

tethered to uncertainty

loving anyway.



©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright 



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