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Posts Tagged ‘perspective’

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Like those nesting dolls

in graduated sizes

my sons became

encased each year

inside of bigger boys.

Now grown and sealed

inside tall men

they’re unaware

I still see through

a mother’s eyes

to all those younger little boys

still playing deep inside.

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(c) 1992, 2021  Betty Hayes Albright

(A re-post; also previously published in Skipping Stones)

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This week my first born son turns 50….! 

(Hard to grasp, as I still haven’t accepted that I’m over 50! 😊 )

And I still often see that little boy still playing deep inside him. 

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1970

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The gray haired lady

next door

thought I didn’t see her

ducking behind a curtain

watching me

on my knees

weeding the rose garden

four months pregnant

long hair like Cher’s

with the bangs

husband on the porch

playing “Guess Who

on our new 8-track

wondering

if it was too loud.

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2018

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I duck behind the curtain

convinced they can’t see me

watching them

as she sweeps the porch

pregnant belly half bare

short hair in spikes,

her boyfriend’s Harley

revving up

tattoos shining

heavy bass beating

from a window.

I hope they don’t see me

but yes

it’s just too loud.

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© 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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I’m a stranger to this land.

Pray, what are these graceful creatures

with plush yellow blossoms

waving lightly

in the early afternoon?

Such a lovely garden you have.

But why are you cutting them down?

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“They’re dandelions!”

you say with disgust.

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Puzzling,

I bid you farewell

and walk away

tripping on a tin can

in the street.

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(c) 1991, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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Without all their leaves

did the trees lose their beauty

or was it revealed?

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(c) 2014  Betty Hayes Albright

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(photo from morguefile.com)

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Hoping to catch up with everyone soon!

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Time is not the enemy,

aging doesn’t dowse our fire.

Instead the boundaries burn away,

we seek the siren’s call

and grow wilder than a tiger’s eye.

Light flares from our fingertips

passion tingles up our spine

joy is found in minute pieces –

feathers, petals,

agates, leaves

and every atom spinning

through the dancing universe.

No, we don’t dream of rocking chairs,

we rocket like a comet

into life.

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© 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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(image from copyright-free website)

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Photo: “Monarch In May” by Kenneth Dwain Harrelson

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(a children’s poem)

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Butterfly lands upon a mirror,

sees himself from front to rear,

hairy body, skinny legs,

“It seems I’m made of pegs and bags –

we butterflies are ugly things!”

Alas, he cannot see his wings,

how elegant he is from here

where we see him above the mirror –

so with his beauty still unknown

the monarch flies back to his throne.

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© 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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(One more dandelion re-post, this one from 1982)

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And so we curse

this edible vision,

this crayon yellow

turned silver-spun filament!

Oh, grand survivor

of mower and spade,

of poison and time,

perhaps it’s our viewpoint

that needs weeding out.

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(c) 1982, 1994, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

(Photo taken a few years back)

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(a re-post)

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I’m a stranger to this land.

Pray, what are these graceful creatures

with plush yellow blossoms

waving lightly

in the early afternoon?

Such a lovely garden you have!

But why are you cutting them down?

.

They’re dandelions!

you say with disgust.

 .

Puzzling,

I bid you farewell

and stroll away

tripping on an old tin can

in the street.

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(c) 1991, 2014  Betty Hayes Albright

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IMG_7779

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When we let it grow

a weed might just surprise us

with uncut beauty.

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(c) 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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When the veil lifts

we see the bones

of the universe

and it doesn’t matter

the color of an eye,

an unread poem,

a broken thread,

the forgotten name.

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And everything matters –

the curve of a smile,

a loaf of bread shared,

the feather of a crow,

each dandelion spared.

What matters is the fingerprint

we leave on the flame

before we’re dowsed with slumber

and it all begins again.

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(c) 2004, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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