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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

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How brief

the sweep of fire

you hurled across my sea —

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how brave the flash

that seared our night

to light the harbored diamonds

in my soul.

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How high

on my horizon

you rode the wild arc —

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how deep

inside my breast

you came to rest.

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(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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A re-post from 2011, revised.

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Arlie & Wagon (2)

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I dreamed

he was a little boy again,

sitting in his red wagon

waiting for a ride

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but he talked

like a wise, old man

and showed me a scroll

of his life –

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diagrams, notations

I couldn’t understand.

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“I’m shifting manually

through the cosmos,”

he said.

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I woke

with an ageless song

playing in my head.

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©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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*This was an actual dream, early this morning, about my late son, Arlie.  I jotted down his words, not fully understanding them at the time.  Later, when I told his older brother about the dream he agreed: only Arlie would say something like that.

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Arlie & Jason (2)

Arlie on left, and big bro Jason.

Both photos taken in 1976.

 

 

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bird summer animal blur

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There is that moment,

an imperceptible pause

just before we leap.

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(c) 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Re-posted from 2013)

Photo by creativebin on Pexels.com.

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Children

are free flow

like liquid gelatin,

sparkling

splashing

filling any form.

Why must we chill them,

make them set?

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(c) 1982, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Original pencil drawing from high school,  (c) 1965

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(Poem written in 1982, re-posted from 2012)

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This world has changed

since you and I

allowed the years

to wrinkle by

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without a pause

we didn’t notice

the quiet closing

of the lotus.

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Now we fail

to recognize

the crinkles ‘round

each other’s eyes

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when one says no,

the other yes —

a corner turned

yet I confess

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that deep inside

I’ll ne’er forget

your Romeo

to my Juliet.

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©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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IMG_3491

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Polka-dotted sky

white-cheeked clouds mooning the earth

pansy smiles and winks.

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(c)  1992, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(re-posted from 2013)

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Late at night

after she washes her face

and slips from her dress

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she becomes a teardrop

quaking with grief

on the tip of God’s tongue,

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but there —

see how the light

shines through.

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©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright 

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