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Posts Tagged ‘Trees’

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She talks to trees

and birds,

to flowers, bees

and dragonflies.

They like to hear

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how beautiful they are

and then they whisper

their own story

and she listens

care fully.

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(c) 2013, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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.(revision of an older poem)

.Photo taken in 2010 with my old camera

 

 

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They say it’s coming

strong winds

unusual for June.

Large trees bursting

with foliage

are at risk.

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They say his heart

was enlarged

(with generosity)

at risk

for a death

out of season.

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Tomorrow when the storm hits

I will go outside

and stand among the trees.

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© 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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In spring she waits

for tethered clouds

to fly apart

so she can ride

the northbound sun

as it barrels through the trees.

She wonders if his sky is blue,

and if the shore

where they embraced

is held together still

with sandy logs

and braids of kelp.

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But today she takes the longing path

that weaves close to the river

with its folded banks

and tangled roots.

Waddled crows

once hopped the rocks

to warn them of intruders.

She wonders if he sees it still,

the vernal sun

that laced their days,

and if their memories are safe –

and do they intertwine?

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©  2012, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(A Mayberrie poem – re-post, revised)

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A tree knows.

It knows the animal of time

that climbs up its trunk,

wrinkling hours into bark.

It knows that rain

falls between suns

and that baby birds

fly their nests

and return full of eggs.

A tree knows

that endings

swallow their own tails

to become tight brown nuggets

falling in circles,

flavoring earth with the future.

A tree knows.

And what it knows best

is to give.

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(c) 2003, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post, revised)

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Words

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Music rises from her garden,

goes off key

and disappears

into the sky.

Curious, she digs

with her bare hands

past dead roots

and rotting leaves

into birthing soil.

And there she feels a rhythm

pounding in the earth,

and the rise

of sacred humming

in her ears.

She drops a seed

into the hole

and out sprouts a melody

that grows into a tree.

Wind sings in its branches

and for the first time

in her life

she understands the words.

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© 1996, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post, revised)

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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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Autumn_Leaves_by_Eredel

eredel.deviantart.com

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Fall whistles through the trees,

branches sway half bare of leaves,

come hither dances in the breeze,

don’t stop, take it all off please!

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(c) 2013, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post)

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image: http://eredel.deviantart.com/

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