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Posts Tagged ‘shaman’

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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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Shaman man,

you knew every fold

hidden in the riddling

curtain of reality.

You saw the bare

bones of motive,

the underpinnings

of facade.

You were strength and power.

But you also knew tenderness,

the sweet kiss

on the cheek of a lover

slumbering in your bed.

But alas, you also knew

when to go.

.

Oh Shaman man

do not doubt another season,

a time not jaded

by an overdose of obstacle.

For when we touch

again, we’ll have

a thousand years to spare.

.
© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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It softens the edges

of tree and crow,

blunts our point of view.

We can turn a corner

in the fog

and never know.

See the old man

in the mist?

He is a shaman

shifting our perspective

with his white breath.

He knows that fog

is a giant, downy feather

that blesses our fever,

then suspends us

between all that ever was

and all that ever can be

in the alpha-omega soup

of possibility.

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© 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post from four years ago. )

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With a shaman’s eye

he aimed his music

like an arrow

that pierced through forest,

straightened rivers

and sliced the mountains apart.

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She heard his song

coming through the trees

and spread wide her arms

to reveal the target

he long ago etched

on her heart.

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(c) 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

 

 

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Oh Shaman man,

you knew every fold

hidden in the riddling

curtain of truth.

You saw the bare

bones of motive,

the underpinnings

of facade.

You were strength and power

but you also knew tenderness,

the sweet kiss

on the cheek of a lover

slumbering in your bed.

But alas, you also knew

when to go.

.

Oh Shaman man

do not doubt another season,

a time not jaded

by an overdose of obstacle.

For when we touch

again, we’ll have

a thousand years to spare.

.
© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(from 1995)

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They told her

he didn’t exist,

that she had only fantasized

the shaman man

who read between

the secret lines,

whose eyes saw into

every dance

and behind each mask.

They told her

there’s no such thing

as one she’s always known

and loved,

that no one could have eyes

so deep.

They said it’s a fool’s pursuit,

she’d never find

such an intimate star.

But she touched one

and lived to tell the story.

.

(c) 1995, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post from 2 years ago)

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She goes not lightly

to that place,

a candle (eine Kerze)

Image via Wikipedia

not without a candle

does she climb

to where he waits

in ancient cave.

He wears no mask,

just polished sight

as he tools words

on skins of truth

then tender-lights

her candle

in his fire.

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(c) 1995, 2013  Betty Hayes Albright

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