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Posts Tagged ‘spirituality’

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Is grief a particle

or a wave

that washes over

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the speed of light

bending space around

our massive loss?

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Or is it just

the parenthetic spark

in an equation

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the final proof

that love

connects us all?

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Oh garden bird

you kept a wild heart

between your ribs

as you danced

the morning zephyr

darting circles

through the phlox.

Your last song

sang of forgiveness

to the cat

before you died.

Let me hold

your empty body

till I feel again

the pulse

of swaying hills

and flying trees,

till my own wings spread

new feathers

and we both reclaim the sky.

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(c) 1995, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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Let’s go

his body cries

as he clings to the edge

of everything he knows

pulling and stretching

the nuances of air

between each feather

posturing the sun

on his back.

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Then it comes for him,

the breath of Gaia

rushing in

rushing out

teasing his wild

hungry wings

till he captures her

exhaling

and lets go.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(just something light, from 1993)

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Wake me when the morning comes,

call me from a dream

when the day is cracking open

and the sunrise spreads like cream.

Together we will wander

and together we can drink

of morning glory nectar

till the air is polished pink.

Then let us go a-dancing

through the ripples of the day

till evening shadows climb the sky

to seed the Milky Way.

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© 1993, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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Howling Wolf

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I feel your drumbeat

in the cosmic symphony –

music becomes you.

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(c) 2013, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post)

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In dreams you know

the who of me.

You press me to your chest

like a missing rib, bare

and white.

You breathe into my lungs;

your blood is fire

in my veins.

The visions in my heart

are your visions;

the toil of your brow

fills my cup.

We melt secrets

between our limbs.

In dreams you know

the why of me

and I know the everywhere

of you.

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(c)  1995, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

 

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When the veil lifts

we see the bones

of the universe

and it doesn’t matter

the color of an eye,

an unread poem,

a broken thread,

the forgotten name.

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And everything matters –

the curve of a smile,

a loaf of bread shared,

the feather of a crow,

each dandelion spared.

What matters is the fingerprint

we leave on the flame

before we’re dowsed with slumber

and it all begins again.

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(c) 2004, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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