Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘wistfulness’

.

It doesn’t seem

that long ago

you came

but could not stay.

.

Our paths were crossed

and time got lost –

seems only yesterday, and yet

.

the moon still beams

and waxes full

above the sea

beyond the knoll

.

where we grew young

so long ago

when Eros came to play.

.

.

© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(Just another entropic scribble.  🙂  )

.

Read Full Post »

.

.

Gray sky,

like Sunday’s paper

spreads

in starchy folds

across the morning,

driving rain

on unripe shadows

sprinkling clues

through birding trees.

And where the purple

crocus blooms

I find a stick

and draw wet hearts

in the earth.

.

.

(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

A re-post

.

(photo from Wikipedia)

Read Full Post »

She finds the old footprints,

follows them past mothers

with splashing children,

past men and dogs

chasing sticks in waves,

past the log

where he changed the lens

in his camera.

She follows them

to virgin beach

where shells aren’t broken

and shadows sleep wet

under rocks.

And there she sinks

into warm sand

and counts lost ships

Edmonds, Washington

circling in the strait.

Where has my Captain gone,

she wonders,

Where’s my compass now?

The Amtrak knows.

It rumbles south

with a woulda-coulda-shoulda

echoing down the track.

.

(c) 1995, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

Read Full Post »

The sky,

Wikipedia

like Sunday’s paper

spreads

in starchy folds

across the morning,

driving rain

on unripe shadows,

splashing clues

through trees of birds.

And where the purple

crocus blooms

I find a stick –

and draw wet hearts

in the earth.

.

(c) 1994, 2012  Betty Hayes Albright 

Read Full Post »


She finds the old footprints,

follows them past mothers

with splashing children,

past men and dogs

chasing sticks in waves,

past the log

where he changed the lens

in his camera.

She follows them

to virgin beach

where shells aren’t broken

and shadows sleep wet

under rocks.

And there she sinks

into warm sand

and counts lost ships

Edmonds, Washington

circling in the strait.

Where has my Captain gone,

she wonders,

Where’s my compass now?

The Amtrak knows.

It rumbles south

with a woulda-coulda-shoulda

echoing down the track.

.

(c) 1995, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: