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Posts Tagged ‘silence’

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Beating of deep drums,

puff of smoke on horizon

and then you were gone.

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More is said in love’s silence

than we can e’er say out loud.

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©  2012, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Reposted from 2012, revised.)

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macro photography of snowflakes

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After the freeze

a silent sun

draws ice to vapor

skipping the melt

into water.

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Just the headlines

please.

I don’t watch

the news

anymore.

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©  2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(just a scribble….)

Photo by David Dibert on Pexels.com

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Crystal rings

under my soapy finger

like the singing bowls,

and the ribbon

of the flute.

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I follow to the Bodhi tree,

to the circles of Dante,

to Mary Magdalene

and her Lover,

to a footprint in the desert,

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and there, the chalice of Socrates,

Blake’s grain of sand,

a whirling Dervish,

the hem of a robe.

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It is all there —

even Gaia herself

is not tethered.

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Master, Master,

there are no words

on this journey,

no words at all –

hush, my Beloved,

hush.

.

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© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Love never asks

our sweet permission.

It plumbs the unfathomable,

swings us every which way

through a hole in time

into the evermore.

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Neither does love knock.

Instead it scintillates through windows,

even a broken one.

It warms us with tattered yarns

of an old blanket

on a dark night.

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Love never grips

but surrounds us lightly

like an untethered halo.

And long after we forget

passion, pain, pleasure, silence

we can still be sure

of the bottom line:

Love remembers Love.

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© 2015 Betty Hayes Albright

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She keeps it in a wooden box

between soft layers of cotton –

the Arrowhead

he found in the desert.

It still bears his fingerprints

invisible,

like the many poems

she composes in her head

but never writes,

poems that she aims

across the valley

hoping that they’ll lodge

in his dreams

some heavy night.

She envisions them

circling ‘round his body

like halos of concentric light

in heavy fog,

or brushing his face

with kisses

silky as a feather.

But then, like the Arrowhead

she draws them home again

and tucks them safe away,

sonnets nestled gently in her soul

between reluctant layers

of silence.

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© 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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I light a candle.

Where its glow meets your silence

you return to me.

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(c) 2013 Betty Hayes Albright

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(A Mayberrie series poem)

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She pretends

that he can hear her thoughts,

but lord, the fog is rolling in –

it rides the tide into the caverns

smoothing out the lover’s hollow

in between the driftwood and debris.

One time she found a double shell

and gave him half to hold his heart

while hers stayed in a candle box

until the day it shattered

from the impact of his silence.

But still she holds the pieces near

and when the moon is full, pretends

that he can hear her thoughts,

but knows most likely

they’ve been lost

or muzzled by the sea.

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(c)  2012  Betty Hayes Albright

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(For the next poem in this series, please click here .

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