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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

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Was that the moon

or just a mood

that crawled across the sun?

For awhile

it seemed the day

had lost its way

leaving just

the steaming edges

of its magnitude.

But all things pass

and so this too

that shadow-stealing

interlude,

we’re warm again

the sky is blue,

the sun

was just in need

of a little Sol i tude.

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©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(Hopefully many of you will get to witness the solar eclipse tomorrow as it crosses the U.S. It’ll be at 98% totality from here in SW Washington. Can’t wait!)

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(revision of 2012 poem “Eclipse”)

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Time is no straight line,

it is a serpent

crossing the room sideways

like a glance.

It burns rubber

careening

around every corner

tossing irony,

like bits of confetti

into our pockets.

Time dances a circle

around the fire of desire

then churns out to sea

on a wave of kelp,

unraveling one dream

weaving another.

It flip flops

in crazy eights,

bounces like a rubber ball

on a hot sidewalk

reflecting all angles

oblique and acute

but always right.

At its best

time is a spiral

lifting our vision

until the end

when it shrinks into a dot

in the palm of our hand,

and with one breath

blows us away

into the heart of forever.

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© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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709px-Mount_Rainier_5917s

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A simple thing

to scatter his ashes

one would think

but Mt. Rainier

will never be

the same.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Image of Mt. Rainier from Wikipedia Commons

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She burrows under

leaves and twigs

slides past thorn

and nettle

chews through

her own roots

to mate with worms

where the soil is dark

and sweet.

Earth fills her ears

with lullabies

and she sleeps

sealed

in tomorrow’s rose.

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(c) 1992, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

 

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Do you remember

silver man,

when we were two wings

flying one dream

beneath warm quilts?

One night

I couldn’t breathe

and tore the covers off

when you couldn’t fathom

the unseen and threw

your pillow down.

We rolled

from the edges

of the bed

and let the feathers

settle

into the spread of time.

Still now and then

one catches my eyeIMG_5141

floating to the floor.

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(c) 1993, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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IMG_9642

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I hear it sing

through the kitchen window

your old wind chime

its long weathered pipes

clanging across the wetlands

echoing up the hillside.

You wave to me now

smiling

from the crest

of a mighty gale

roaring through the heavens

and away.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(For my late son Arlie, who would be turning 45 on July 29th)

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She prayed to the gods,

“let me make love

to the trees in your forest”

but the gods were silent.

And so she implored them again

“let me couple with the creek

that sings through your valley,

bear me up

to embrace your mountains,

cradle me down

to mate with the sea”

but again the gods were silent.

And once more she cried out

with trembling heart,

“grant me consummation

with the universe this night!”

And once more

the gods were silent

but this time

they sent to her

a shaman,

one who was desiring

the same.

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(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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