The Game

It isn’t real, my friend. I mean Creation.
For everything you are or do or know
Is nothing more than bytes of information.
An algorithm makes the whole thing go. Continue reading “The Game”

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Autumn (for Dad – 1915-1997)

Anyone unfamiliar with Betty Hayes Albright’s site Seasonings is missing consistently wonderful poetry, beautifully-crafted yet seemingly spontaneous…see for yourself!

Seasonings

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It was a long, silent fall

into the days

where “Dad” was spoken

in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows

and he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

.

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(C) 1997, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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9.13.56 Abe Hayes

Dad and me 1955 1955 – Deception Pass, Whidbey Island, Washington State

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(A tribute to my dad, who passed away twenty years ago this month.

My apologies to those who have read it previously.)

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