(written 1968 – age 21)


You can’t condemn my people

for the way they comb their hair –

they are your people also

and your griping is unfair.

Please don’t condemn my friends

for the way they sit and stare –

perhaps they see much more than you

had ever hoped was there.

They see a different life than you

yet they are still the same,

searching for some truth like you,

trying to find a name.

They live an age apart from you,

you have no right to claim

the world belongs to only you –

we love it just the same.


(c) 1968, 2015 Betty Hayes Albright


(a re-post)


(Written in 1965, age 18….)


This wasn’t what she had in mind,

she’d  meant to keep his feelings light,

she hadn’t meant for him to fall,

in fact she never dreamed he might.

But then he said that heavy word

that stunned and made her want to flee

and when he asked her how she felt

no words would come, she wanted free.

She knew the fault lay in her self

not to have seen the tenderness

that shined so deeply from his eyes

and spoke of more than friendliness.

If only she had heard his sighs

or felt his pulse beneath her touch

she might have realized weeks ago

his feelings had become too much.

Sparks that should have been snuffed out

had turned to flames within his heart,

she saw the glow and didn’t know

why she’d allowed his love to start.

This wasn’t what she had in mind,

her thoughts were pleading silently.

But while her reasoning rebelled

her heart was pounding happily.


(c) 1965, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright


Pencil drawing (c) 1965, 2014

(1965 – age 18)


Our grandfather clock

which art in the living room,

hell be your name.

Your ticking drum,

your tocks be done,

on alarm clocks

as they are in watches.

Give us this day

our daily minutes

and forgive us our tight springs

as we forgive those

who have become unwound.

Lead us not on broken gears

but deliver us from aging,

for you are the ringdom,

the hour,

and the boring,

for seconds and minutes.



© 1965, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

Love Poems

(1965 – age 18)


They tell me not to write of love

but what else can I write –

when love is in my heart and soul

and mind both day and night?

You’re just too young and you can’t know

of love,” (does anyone?)

you can’t profess such knowledge –

stick to verse and pun.”


They tell me that, and say love poems

are worn out through and through

but I can’t agree with them,

for me love is brand new.

Feelings in me can’t stay down,

my love for him I can’t ignore,

somehow it’s got to be expressed,

I’ve got no lock upon my door.”


To those who stick to subjects

of the sky and stars, of joy and pain

I write my poems of love because

my heart’s love-blood shall never drain.

Perhaps they too shall love again.


© 1965, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright


(1965 – age 18)


Island rising from the ocean,

sands massaged by waves caressing,

crowned by seagulls, clear fresh water

bubbles up, a paradise.

In the shade are coconut shells,

trees with peaches fuzzy golden,

apple blossoms scent the air.

Strangely does the island breathe,

there are no feet to shape the sand,

no eyes to watch the seagulls swoop,

no lips to taste the sparkling water.

Fruit ferments, for no hand finds it,

purity from beach to beach

except upon the western shore

consistency is broken by

the rotting decks and rusty rails

of a ship that sails no more.


.© 1965, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright


(1963 – age 16)


Who am I, walking this earth

with my average looks and birth?

What am I doing here?

Do I deserve to be so near

to the beauty of grass and flowers

with my lowly, finite powers?


Where do I stand in God’s home?

Was I put here to write poem after poem?

Why am I – standing so small

in universes containing all?

When am I – near the end of time?

Or are we humans far behind?


Will time and space ever rot,

or won’t the two ever stop?


© 1963, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

Her Mood

(Age 18)


Her mood was one of anger

but she couldn’t tell him why,

her sadness overwhelmed her

but she hid it with a sigh.

He heard her sighs and saw her eyes

were dark and full of tears,

if only he could see beyond –

her heart was full of wordless fears.

She loved life, but she feared it

and she sometimes felt alone

as though she wasn’t quite herself,

her soul not quite her own.

She glanced at him a time or two

he didn’t grasp her silent pleading

begging him for understanding,

showing him where things were leading.

Longing to explain to him

the hurts and fears deep in her mind,

her pride kept silence over them

until she’d left him deep behind.


© 1965, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright