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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,

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poems she sends

across the valley

hoping they’ll lodge

in his dreams

some heavy night.

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She imagines them

circling his body

like halos of concentric light,

or perhaps brushing his face

with kisses

silky as a feather.

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But then, like the arrowhead

she draws them home again

tucking them safely away —

sonnets nestled in her soul

between reluctant layers

of silence.

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© 2014, 2020 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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When we gaze

into the moon

from separate lands

the point is focal,

burning smoky craters

in the valleys

where we meet.

Within that rounded

memory of sun

there’s no dark side.

It just waxes in the middle

as it scrolls to the west,

but wanes

in the silence

when we look away.

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©  2012   Betty Hayes Albright

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Music carved the walls

of his cave

while his lathe

spun out bowls

from the old elm tree.

She held one to her lips

and sipped the brew

of smooth intention

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and his music swelled the tunnels

and the caverns

of her heart

as she swayed to his tempo

while he penned his poetry.

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But the day came

when the music stopped

and there rose a wall

of silent drums

when all the words fell flat

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and there had never been

such a deafening quietude

nor had she ever known

such a glorious ache.

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(c) 2011, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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