.
.
Clouds morphing,
chasing through the sky
.
storming in a buffalo,
scooting off a lamb –
.
shifty creatures
drawn by the wind.
.
.
© 1982, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(Revised from a 1982 poem.)
Posted in Poetry 1980's, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged animals, anime, art, clouds, nature, poem, Poetry, sky, spirit, wind on August 15, 2018| 31 Comments »
.
.
Clouds morphing,
chasing through the sky
.
storming in a buffalo,
scooting off a lamb –
.
shifty creatures
drawn by the wind.
.
.
© 1982, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(Revised from a 1982 poem.)
Posted in Deep Water, Poetry 1990's, tagged communication, Deep Water, Love, name, passion, poem, Poetry, searching, spirit on July 7, 2017| 32 Comments »
.
When she called his name
to the north wind
it roared
through the trees
and made her winter green.
.
When she called his name
to the mountainside
it rose
up the ridge
like a fever.
.
When she called his name
to the racing sky
it echoed
like a dozen geese
searching for a season.
.
When she called his name
to the ocean
it churned
to salt butter
on her toast.
.
When she called his name
to a sliver of moon
it hung like a lamp
on the dark side
of doubt
and this time she knew
that he heard.
.
(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(a re-post from 2013)
.
Posted in Deep Water, Maeberie series, Poetry 1990's, tagged Deep Water, key, Love, Mayberrie', memory, passion, poem, Poetry, spirit on July 12, 2016| 8 Comments »
(A Mayberrie poem – re-post)
.
the key, m’lord?
Did you secret it away
to some safe isle?
I see you still
leaning at the threshold,
your face to be read
and kissed a million times
like a beloved poem.
.
The chambermaid swears
the room never cooled.
She says the walls spark and flare
like the burning bush.
And at night
I fiddle with the lock, m’lord —
under what mat
did you stow the key?
.
(c) 1995, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
.
Posted in Poetry 1960's, Poetry 1990's, tagged 1967, adventure, change, hippies, Love, passion, poem, Poetry, Relationships, spirit, Summer of Love, youth on June 15, 2015| 13 Comments »
(a collage of memories)
.
first love stuck
to the seat of the car
till Beach Boy good vibes
lit my quarter-carat ring
as it snagged on my impatience
and scratched at your freedom
and one rainy Monday Monday
in a miscarriage of spring
you returned it to the jeweler
who confessed the stone was flawed.
~
Ten stairs down
in a choke-filled, red-eye cave
we found a collage
of wine-bottle candles
and short black beards
where daddy-o played chess
and argued on absolute bongos,
and espresso-laced poets
beat cement floor philosophy,
and black leotards
on bar stools sang
in dilettante protest
till someone spun Baez
and laughed
when I just ordered tea.
~
No cooking in rooms,
we ate pop-tarts cold,
connected the dots
in philosophy
pretending to like home-made beer
and the rain fell
on Glen Yarborough
and we knew the war
wasn’t over
but Camus didn’t care
and Nietzsche’s God was dead
so we slid brown leaves
to the A & W
and waited for mail
from home.
~
It began in May,
that shoeless summer,
long hair hung low
between hot bikini tans,
salt water steamed
from our backs,
eyelashes and dimples
crossed the railroad tracks;
there were lines
and moves,
and always forget-me-nots
growing from our cleavage.
~
He followed me
to green music nights
to deep-lidded eyes
in bell-bottom mirrors
where we listened to Dylan
and danced to the Doors
and slid down the hill
playing and laughing
between tangled hair
and a purple-beaded dawn.
~
House-mother asleep
I slipped with you
in the bark-soft rain
up waterfalls
to your winking lake
where you wet my lips,
St. Christopher pressing
into my breast
and the red canoe
rocked over the edge,
smiling at
tomorrow’s raised brows.
~
He said he liked
the way I walked,
sang Dean Martin
with his motorcycle cocked
till I went with him
to Sehome Hill
and he stopped being Dean
and the meadow grew thorns
as he twisted my slap
grinding into the shock
knowing I’d never tell,
for back then
women blamed themselves.
~
Overheating,
your ‘59 Fairlane
got us there
to cruise Birch Bay
and puzzle over
the Ode to Billy Joe
and we answered yes
to Gracie Slick
while smokey sunsets
stopped the show
and you held your stomach in
as we laughed
across a Sunday-funny dream.
~
We rode the night
on magic carpet street signs
where Joni sang hair-flowers
and headband crochet,
and the Taco Time spilled
and stuck to bare legs
as I felt your jacket comfort
in Sergeant Pepper incense
and the pull
of your blue-light eyes.
.
© 1993, 2015 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(a re-post, originally written in 1993. It’s been 48 years, yet 1967 – especially that long, hot summer – is still a vivid memory. It was a time of great change, personally, socially, politically, and spiritually.)
“Echoes” was originally posted on my 1960’s blog – Summers of Love .
Posted in Deep Water, haiku or senryu, Poetry 2010 - present, tagged Essence, haiku, Love, poem, Poetry, solace, spirit, Trees on June 27, 2013| 18 Comments »
.
Spirits of the trees
follow me everywhere
peek through my window.
.
Gentle flames of love
follow you everywhere
shine through your window.
.
(c) 2013 Betty Hayes Albright
Posted in Poetry 1980's, tagged dimensions, life, poem, Poetry, possibility, reality, spirit on October 22, 2012| 19 Comments »
.
What is it
that makes us dream
an alternate reality
as if such possibility
had fleshed in,
begot life?
.
.
(c) 1981, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged Gaia, life, nature, Poetry, spirit, spirituality, Trees on January 29, 2012| 33 Comments »
..
.
.
.
I give my body
for your tables
and your chairs,
for bracelets
and for drums.
You hammer me
into your floors,
untie my shiny knots
beneath your feet.
Can you hear me whisper?
.
My branches stretch
to stars and wind
and fold you close at night,
and in the dawn
you grind me
into sawdust
for your paths
and playgrounds.
You dance a jig on me.
Can you hear me sigh?
.
My leaves
suck the poison
from your air
and shield your faces
from the heat.
Then tenderly
they cover Earth
with patchwork colors
suckling winter into spring.
Can you hear me now?
I am Tree.
.
© 2012, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
.
Posted in Poetry 1970's, tagged bread, dough, kneading bread dough, Poetry, rising, spirit, transcendence on January 16, 2012| 31 Comments »
. . . (from 1979)
.
Warm obedient flesh,
this sleeping dough
goes in where I push
and out where I pull
and folded
melts into itself
stretching dreams to gluten
on the floured board.
It wakens
and I start to rise
from hidden realms
that no eyes
will ever know
but yours.
.
© 1979, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
Posted in Poetry 1970's, tagged awakening, Bird, cage, flight, Poetry, spirit, spirituality, transcendence on January 12, 2012| 32 Comments »
. . . (old one from 1976)
.
I thought it safe inside my cage,
but could I learn to fly?
Such warmth between those steel walls,
but would my spirit die?
.
So when I found the gate was raised
a trifle bit too high
I closed my eyes and held my breath
and jumped into the sky.
.
In fear I fell, a feathered stone,
my throat choked out a cry,
Is this the end? Was I a fool
to kiss my cage goodbye?
.
All I did was flounder more
as night was drawing nigh.
It seemed the worst was happening
and none could tell me why.
.
Then something warm stirred at my sides,
my wings were going to try!
The dawn broke only just in time
to blow my feathers dry.
.
At last I could fly sure and straight
with clarity of eye.
Free and strong, I knew now
that my cage had been a lie.
.
© 1976, 2012 Betty Hayes Albright