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Posts Tagged ‘river’

Splash

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In the middle

of the bridge, I’ll stop

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and drop my secrets down

to the fast-flowing waters

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where they’ll agitate confession

howling over the falls

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to evaporate a rainbow

in that splash where every river

.

meets its absolution

in the sea.

.

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(c) 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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In spring she waits

for tethered clouds

to fly apart

so she can ride

the northbound sun

as it barrels through the trees.

She wonders if his sky is blue,

and if the shore

where they embraced

is held together still

with sandy logs

and braids of kelp.

.

But today she takes the longing path

that weaves close to the river

with its folded banks

and tangled roots.

Waddled crows

once hopped the rocks

to warn them of intruders.

She wonders if he sees it still,

the vernal sun

that laced their days,

and if their memories are safe –

and do they intertwine?

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©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A Mayberrie poem – re-post, revised)

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Don’t let the bridge burn,

I’ll bring silver pails

of water to dowse it

drawn from the whirlpool

of tears far below.

I will roll heavy boulders

up from the valley

to shore up the sides,

then pull old elm logs

from the forest around us

and tie them together

with ribbons and lace.

I’ll pound in the nails

with my bare fists

then toss you a rope

from the opposite side.

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I would carry you.

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Don’t burn our bridge,

the chasm is deep,

our words wash away

in the undertow

and we must get them across.

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© 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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Bring me quick water

swifting down mountains

through the steep canyons

falling, falling

and I’ll fill my chalice.

 .

Bring me slow water

teasing through sand

carving the dunes

and where the tide flows

I will follow.

.

Bring me rain water

storming through trees,

I’ll toss my umbrella

up to the wind

and we’ll watch it dance.

 .

Bring me frozen water

sweet flakes

veiling my face

then marry me to the sky

and I’ll wear white.

 .

Bring me deep water

in a well of sapphire glances

and I’ll toss in

a playful wish

to kiss your mystery.

 .

© 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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..

.She teeters on the log

in the middle of the stream

and wavers

as it bobs and spins.

“If you fall

you’ll only get 

your ankles wet,”

he laughs.

“Ah no,” she says,

“it’s deeper than you think.”

.

(c) 1995,  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

..

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(a Mayberrie poem)

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The light was getting low

as she hurried past the river

but wildflowers made her stop,

their colors painting up

the sloping banks.

She picked a dozen blossoms

to spread around her pillow

and in the dusk

their petals glowed

like the setting sun

as it fired up the trees.

And so she finally slept

that night,

sending him her dreams.

 .

He camped downstream

a hundred days away

where the river roared

through deep-sculpted stone.

His men saluted, headed south

and he prepared to follow

but a flash of colors

made him pause –

wildflowers were tumbling

in the river’s froth

and as the dawning sun

was shining through the trees

a dozen blossoms splashed the banks

and landed at his feet.

 .

© 2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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..

(A Mayberrie poem)

.

In spring she waits

for tethered clouds

to fly apart

so she can ride

the northbound sun

as it barrels through the trees.

She wonders if his sky is clear

and if the shore

where they embraced

is held together still

with sandy logs

and braids of kelp.

.

Today she takes the longing path

that weaves close to the river

with its folded banks

and tangled roots,

where waddled crows

would hop the rocks

and warn them of intruders.

She wonders if he sees it still,

the vernal sun

that laced their days,

and if their memories are safe –

and do they intertwine?

.

©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

.

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