it's always dark when she awakes

it's always dark when she awakes
november mornings paint sky soot black-
with a few engorged stars,
as bright as crystal stud earrings

sky goddess dances in the dark
she knows- even though her outline is indecipherable---
she will be seen, she will be heard, she will be savored
as soft touches of light reach around her-

sun begins to brighten all things
she will dance and sing like there's no tomorrow..
the convergence of darkness and light,
elevating all who witness the healing

a blending of accepting hurts, with spurts of grateful
a swirling kaliedescope revealing what she needs
to see--no longer in her hands to decide--
thoughts, like hot potatoes leave as soon

as she was warmed, warned, and almost burned
angels protect, as tribal beat becomes her--
now these daring drums, awakening rainsticks..
with a building chorus, belting

"i'm on my own, but won't be for long"...
paper doll smiles cut butterflies
floating from wide open mouths
in a brightening sky at dawn

poem and photo by kate lamberg (c) '13

chase a dream?

chase a dream?
i think not;
i just sit and let
the sun shine,

the stars & moon glow
the river gently flow
i just let
the earth support

both sides
of the river dance-
just being amazed
how these trees

are never the same-
while focusing
on my breathing:
everything slows down

like dirt, which falls
in a glass of water
settles down--
for clarity eyes open

within baby wonder--
just a matter of finding
the moments to be
without willfulness-

and taking
the time
to emerge
grace fully

words and photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

took a walk in "the sanctuary"

Took a walk in the "sanctuary", a lovely nature preserve near me. After going into the bamboo grove for quiet meditation, i stepped out to view some of the stunning colored leaves--still holding on to the trees. I was headed north to the inlet- to sit on a favorite rock and view the egrets and swans. Something made me turn around, and walk a few steps to the south.

Beyond the dogwood, red maple, norwegian pine, japanese maple, and a baby birch, i saw her. She- dancing deer was grazing, her head stretched through the pine wood slatted fence. I stood and stared for a few minutes. She lifted her head, and our eyes locked. For what seemed an eternity, but was probably only another few minutes--we merged, in peaceful prayer and healing meditation.

For many years, DEER has been one of the strongest animal totems for me. She represents grace, kindness, flexibility, the arts, nurturing, generosity and acceptance. I liken her to the Celtic St. Brigid in persona.
My seeing she-deer on saturday..an "8" day was particularly meaningful. Eights represent eternity: eternal love, truth, peace and longevity..

A blessing to connect and to know...I need not see her physically anymore to resonate/and become the essence/magic she possesses. A reminder to go "within" more often. To "be there" on a deeper level in my healing practice..To dive into my creativity--as i step away from electronic devices...
Embracing all that is natural, all that is healing, harmonious and centering for myself and with those I am in contact with. Blessed Be!

Wishing all my friends a healing and harmonious Sunday....
love light peace joy...

near the 'deer sighting'..by katyajo..(c) '13

a dream never really shatters

a dream never really shatters
it just melts within
our forgiving earth
creating flowers
meant to be seen
as we all walk
with our soul light beam

sometimes a river song knows better
our reasons for being
here--to rise up--to love
to rock, to roll........our selves
to glow-- even more so
no matter what
storms are placed in our path

light filled joy replaces
darkness in our awakening--
as precious peaceful petals
replace illusions of wrath
angels witness, and remove
the barriers to
our singing blessed craft

kate lamberg..(c) '13

internet lotus..'13

warmth in november haiku

this warm air can't rob me
there's still a sky in november
blue as cornflowers

words and photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

how light bends

"art is a lie that makes us realize the truth." ~ Pablo Picasso

how light bends around the pond
not pompous or timid
not needing to convince
just the honest streaming

simply beaming a truth
only realized by those
who settle in- who trust

earth's grounding vision..
sky's palatial chameleon..
fire's drumbeat humming
water soothes- this river running

words and photo by kate lamberg~all rights reserved~.(c) '13

photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

breaking bread on both sides

Dedicated to the UN~and her Birthday today!

breaking bread with friends-nothing comes closer to pure delight..then i think of those who must stumble upon scraps-as the mercury does drop in the darkened night

even crusts of bread can break a tooth...we look away as our hearts break in sorrow- we never know what to say to help mend the brokenness of homelessness "don't give money, as they might use it for booze or drugs" my parents used to say--give them food- something nourishing like a turkey sandwich and some fruit--fine, i'd say,  but what about tomorrow?..

what about tomorrow.. we've been raised on annie's "tomorrow", where wishes come true, if sung on key- where no tummy goes hungry..  i have struggled with this my whole life...in a country where we could feed everyone like kings and queens- and still the suffering.... 

internet photo

we are born innocent,  looking up to something, tor someone to depend upon--  we learn the fine art of independence, singing.. then, as we grow wiser, we realize it's in the interdependence, the communal pool of love...where we swim in our greatest magnificence.                                                                                                                                                   

~Kate Lamberg..All rights reserved. (c) '13

as we heal ourselves, we heal the world

sometimes when the quiet sets in, usually close to sunset, or prior to sunrise, i find myself truly filled with such gratefulness i cannot contain my rising spirit, my heart seemingly beating more quickly, more loudly

i simply sit against the nearest tree,
and let the excess energies swirl down my body,
through the bottom of my feet-
to merge and do an ancient dance with our mother earth

palms and finger tips tingle in recognition of all the gifts of nature
as healing happens with focused intention- and the simple allowing
healing light travels to all the places
in the world that are showing up in need

and the world echoes
the smoothing settling in of energies
the softest fragrance of roses,
and sounds of chopin waltzes

words and photo by kate lamberg...all rights reserved..(c) '13

the keys to my secret life

the keys to my secret life
reveal music no one but my cats
and passing gulls can hear

as i play my songs, both soft &
clear--releasing the hand of fear;
we are the ivories we play upon

and each note serves to nourish
our already fertile life...
as songs are birthed in the light

words and photo by katyajo. (c) '13

eerie breaks into samba

haiku and photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

eerie sunday skies
break into samba sunshine
colors dance, "be mine"

rose buds still cling

rose buds still cling to the branches
as individual petals do somersaults
across the still green lawn

along with the raging wind
petals join the rustling leaves
as autumn overlaps summer

resting together neath changing trees
we become the very thing
to which we in spirit do cleave

words and photo by kate lamberg.. all rights reserved..(c) '13

to be intimate with all things

"enlightenment is being intimate with all things" dogen

how you got in my pocket is beyond my lucky stars... how you continue to know me, when you never really listened is outside of the realm of my truest comprehension... you see i was groomed for being a lover of words- on an island of pitch pine, apples, grapes, cedars,  and sand as white as november's first coarse snow..

dancing as hot as my first fireball red kiss on a windy tree filled hill... before anyone would see me..before i knew anything about pain following pleasure..about the cue stick  vying for the even numbered balls..the luck of the draw, all jaunty and sporty--showing up on the wrong day, for the right date..in the wrong town, with the right smile..

without any tactfulness--all the right moves  before sunset--the reminding oneself that it was real by rubbing one's lips back and forth up and down to simulate all the things one young man could confiscate from one trusting young woman,  on a single afternoon, on a windy hill--between three pm and the dinner gong  

Kate Lamberg~all rights reserved (c) '13

two egrets- photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

'tadasan', the mountain

we awaken the divine
by simply sitting still
like mountain, allowing
rivers to flow around us
winds to blow through us
rains to fall upon us
fires to be built around us-
imploring surya- sun
to illuminate our essence
awakening, without doubt or fear
what is here, free of illusion
then our being can truly shine
unimpeded by the mind's finite domain
our heartsoul sings the meeting
of blessed earth and infinite sky divine

words and photo by katyajo..(c) '13

in the present moment i love you

how could i be angry with you?
anger requires expectations that you be different than who you are...
anger necessitates living in the past-which is just an amorphous dream

how could i be hopeful?
hope requires expectations that things be different than what they are..
hope necessitates living in the future--which is just an amorphous dream

in the present moment...all i can do
is listen to my heart stumbling
speaking, "i love you"

~words and photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

slow dancing at dawn

dedicated to the truth and beauty of durga~as the durga puja festivities continue...*~*~*~*~*!

stepping out into the rain drenched air...she noticed immediately how the rain had stopped, yet remained present in her sphere of gradually opening...gyrations of hips, as durga celebrates all that is both dark and light blending..carrying integrity in plumage rising--at the first touch of morning..gathering courage to live one's life--and not another's...as a blueberry can never be a reed..that which heals can not again bleed..neither stumbling, nor ascending--the flat earth felt feisty underneath her bronze sandals--stepping out amidst the dream tinged dawn- no poem to uphold the masses--simply smiles emerging--signaling the dry kindling/kingdom within... bursting into flame--simply carrying the name of the one whose tea light eyes sympathize  the common person and angel countenance--meeting as one brocade cape to wear through out the century--without harming anyone..for we have come to be light beams for each other--escorting each other home...

his eyes, like an amber comb
dancing through her  honeyed hair-
-illuminating the sky
for as far as one could see...

in the meaning behind synchronicity-
how all these lifetimes,
wearing all these various hats..
to arrive at this one...
meeting truth--half-way...fancy that!  

~kate lamberg..(c) '13

internet photo..

give me a pen

setauket harbour~by katyajo..(c) '13

give me a pen that lasts a day
and you won't be seeing me
for awhile

you see, i have
words that have not been
revealed to you or even to me

but the task at hand- is to place
that pen in my right hand--
and be left

to roam in my expanded home
without walls for another handful
of days on end-

where the trees hide from knowing--
there is no secret
under heaven or beneath the river

there is no beast
or monster lurking
ready to pounce like panther

i am not sharing with you to prove
anything; just wanted you to know
it is eternally safe to walk over

the stepping stones are dry
no sea weed has danced so hard
among these humble watery environs

to trip anyone from moving forward
swimming in the rocky bottomed sound
where minnows tickle- never ridicule

kate lamberg..(c) '13

walking at dawn

walking, just a few long breaths
before sunrise--dampness felt
as cloying needy fingers
dark dampened branches

holding the morning dew-
as child clutches for more
teddy bear time, more cocoa
all before me--molding my steps

as light begins to creep- touching
the fringes of tattered jeans
hardly making a dent into
the core of my heart

the fine sweep of sunlight
seemingly whisking away
the dark dampness of lonely
separateness--my steps become

slower still...recognizing why
we do this every day--if not
to celebrate.. all of us as one
then what's the purpose

we are all too careful
with our words
we need sometimes
to let them fly unrehearsed

let our soul dance develop
into a great massive ballet
for we all have come to dance
on the path of truth--the lies

keep it all underground-
feet stuck on root vegetables:
those rutabagas and beets
hanging out for centuries

time to wiggle swim up the roots
and watch the shining sparkle
of a new day take hold
squinting in the cognizance

no longer i and you,
but simply us-
in both tender struggle,
and illumined joy

~ words and photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

It was always the sound of maple leaves (a short short kids story)

kate lamberg~circa early 60's

It was always the sound of maple leaves singing in the southwest corner of her yard that made Usha smile with wonder. As a small child, she'd look out her western window at the changing light in spring at dusk. She'd wonder what her friends were doing at the moment. Deeper still, she'd feel the soft stirrings of tree angels beckoning.

Then, without a moment to spare, she would put on her sneakers and a cardigan sweater, not caring if the colors matched, and slip out the heavy oak door painted black, and the two paned screen door. She would step down upon the flagstone porch, be gently carried into the front yard. As if her tree angels had choreographed this small dance of freedom.

First, she'd gaze at the soft flowering of the pink dogwood. Then proceed to the enormous maple tree, sprouting forth its first soft baby green blossoms, that would transform into leaves. Usha knew that the leaves were part of a process called photosynthesis and could do their magical transformation while she was asleep. She would often say to her friends. "Can you imagine that...I go to sleep one night in late April, and the leaves just burst open as I sleep!! I wish I could stay up all night and watch as they come to life."

In summer the leaves became huge- larger than Usha's hands. Climbing the tree at dusk was her time to be alone, yet not be alone. As she hugged the center trunk, her tree angels came around to sing little songs to cheer her.
She knew a friend had wanted her to join her for roller skating and milk shakes at the local roller rink, but Usha was not interested. The silence of early evening was all that she wanted. The noise of metal on wooden floors and gales of laughter from little girls was the very thing she needed to turn her back from.

By late fall, the maple leaves turned to lovely shades of russet, burgundy, red, orange, and yellow. The colors of Usha's bedroom. She picked out the carpet shade- a soft pumpkin color to match her mood. She loved this time of the year the best. Not too cold or too hot. The flowers and leaves were still holding onto the trees, and she had a strong feeling of her tree angels drawing near.

By winter, the bare tree stood naked in the yard. Its leaves gone soon after thankgiving. Usha would have to love her maple tree for another four months without any leaves. Being too cold to climb the tree in January, she'd gaze at it's new bony figure from the warmth of her golden bedroom. Usa learned to appreciate the dark lines of the maple tree. How it appeared to be, at times, about to stretch and dance a ballet...created just for her.

Usha knew she would have to wait until the end of April to see her beloved maple tree burst once again into the green song of spring. She got busy with her piano practicing, ballet lessons, and baked her oatmeal cookies- crunchy on the outside, and chewy inside.

Oh-she never missed an evening of gazing with great love at her maple tree..Whatever the season. There was no reason, except maybe this:
The comfort of its being there without demanding anything at all from her.
Usha sighed a big sigh on April fools day. "Less than two weeks till my birthday, and then only another two weeks until my beloved tree sprouts her kelly green leaves. She'll take me deep into her branches, and I shall never feel alone. Never again."

Finis

the platitudes of love wear thin..waiting for a clear sweet bell

 

the platitudes of love wear thin
when words are squeezed through shruti box
in drones of ahh uuuu umm

whilst the waiting for a clear sweet bell
from goats descending the rocky hill
would fill me with a greater thrill

when tom toms echo unlaced, &
bees in their mad dash
to suckle all the honey

get drunk, so stop over
at sleepy hollow ranch
arranging plants & leaves:

sorrel, sassafrass ,sumac-
for the ingestion of healing herbs
enhances conception of all those

wicked pretty birds--who, blinded
by the coarse light of day--relax
and envision night flight journeys

amelia would be so proud
to see your aerodynamics
from a place of hydraulic lifting off

a levity so stunning--those who pass
would stop and witness--the silvering
clarion bell of your magnificence..

~by katyajo..(c) all rights reserved..'13

hearts like seas

"The heart of man is very much like the sea. It has storms, it has the tides, and in its depths, it has is pearls too. " Vincent Van Gogh

don't try to work on sailing closer-
the craft is driven by the same power
that causes this poem to be written, &
by the same power that pushes your electric mower

creating ease in decapitating
the tops of week old grass growth;
even a blunt razor with good intentions
can create a smooth baby face demeanor

and not by talking about high celestial unreachable
mountain passes in the heights of mt. cardigan--our feet
get wet without a choice--when walking across
the base of buttermilk falls at dusk

we do not wash away guilt--as that is just
a concept we too can bare, burn, and release-
as most mountain streams flow downwards....
the crystal bubbles speak of a time when

all the world moved more slowly..and still got everything done-
the homemade bread, and the churned butter--the hand wash,
and buttons carved from acorns at september's end....
so don't say you are being pulled in a million directions

it is simply what you wish to share,
to hault in your tracks the responsibility
needed to create a single song, to love with one
heart- however pained by misdirected rain...

and making love must be abstained from, until.
the key fits the smooth longitudinal lock--(in never never land)
the dream woken up from- kindling the kettle..&
scaring the day lights into darkness-

shivers the pumpkins, carved by the same hands
that asked for nothing
but only gave of herself,  for someone who
like pendulum..promises sweetly-carries gavel, courts danger-

by being in too many pies..of his own choosing--
no need to play favorites(be it blackberry or rhubarb)
just step right up and embrace..
this fine fragrant september morning

Kate Lamberg
September 16, 2013

burgeoning sky

the burgeoning sky
sweeps past your eyes-
did you not see the almost
full moon gazing down at thee?

don't laugh at the soaring-
it reflects all that you are
the mooring of a secret desire

don't cry at the leaving--
it's a road left for those
who know the staying

can be loaded with worn down tires--
guilt exhausts--does become
toxic in a boarded up house

everything else elates, relates, never berates..
so off with the beret, only pray
that the rooster sings soon after
the break of day-

and the miraculous thing- owlets take
wing in the middle of the chorusing-
stripped birch bark, and longing..
for gliding hollowed out canoe

treble notes spiral up as nautilus--while
bass chords descend down slide mountain
osopus river borders paramour gushes..
tubing while davening at big indian

tolerance reminds us to let out
the sail--for the north wind does bite
allowing the moon light to encircle--

as the owl and the pussycat ferry--
to freedom, sans fanfare...
all cozy and bright

Kate Lamberg
September 18, 2013

i too live close to the earth

dedicated to, and in loving memory of seamus heaney-- after listening to  the extraordinary poet read his poems, and share his spirit--...and others speak of his strength as both a poet and a humanitarian.

i too love to live close to the earth-
if i fall, there is not far to go
the earth cradles me in strength
i dig deeper when the truth is muffled
by arid air, and the creases of a parched soil

i celebrate everyone's mother..
by breaking bread at my maple table
hearing footsteps of my own mother
preparing chicken soup- with the love
she carries in her chest from her own mother

and the generations lay down
together-- without a struggle-
tethered with the ease of faith
orchestrating the gentle peace
of lambs and lions,

learning how to be friends
in a world at times scared
of the very portal to its own freedom;
in order to break bread together, we must...
like cedar--have unshakeable faith

Kate Lamberg
Sepember 9, '13
All rights reserved..(c)

love goes where no grey wolf dare go

 
“Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.” ~ Lord Byron quotes (English Romantic poet and satirist, 1788-1824)



sometimes the stakes are high,
and the eyes are cast too low--
for focusing on any one thing for too long 

we plow through the overgrown wheat around the barn,
studying the dew levels, its ability to stay skimming
the surface of marigold leaf and portulaca flowers

burst open soon after a passing storm--
only to close up, after her cups have filled
to the brim with the fragrant rain..

garden rests in between the tiny explosions,
built up from air missing the late summer fires ..
breaking the dam open with a multitude of hosannas-

currying angels, golden hairs glistening
in the pool of love's collision...
as poison oak vine wraps around the black pine

in a tenetious holding pattern-
finely cut crystal filled with fresh cut garden flowers, 
smelling like the first autumn day, away at college-- 

where manilla folders, heiddeger paperback, and   patchouli,
meld their perfume-- in a heart in love with taking risks--
cavorting  with out a plan-   wearing classic  ballet togs--fresh 

out of a sweaty class,  holding hands--hardly talking--smiling 
a photograph taken  before the heart  was incised/erased and bloodied--
skidding down rubble--

left to float  down the crystal river
for just another four decades--
fully promising to be back before the last chapter

of a life spent dancing words, and melodies;
it had to be that way, as it was written in the book of life, no strife

for a person full well knowing..
it's love, only love--(along with absolving)
that keeps her glowing...& evolving

kate lamberg 
all rights reserved..(c) '13

sunday, golden

If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come.
 ~Chinese Proverb

laying in the center of the field
buttercups catching afternoon sun
like churning butter for escargot

feeling the slight dampness
of last night's heavy rain
on grass fronds, and earth below

warming in the afternoon sun
making me poppy sleepy
as if the field was a huge hand of god

i was resting in unspoken trust
i was hearing cardinals in douglas fir
& large blackbirds in norwegian pine

lion shined his strength in the heat
of the golden sun- as i stretched out
in warming drying grasses- the earth
like a renewable stream- readjusts to my weight

an anthem that plays inside our heads
the polar opposite to silent night
noisy with insects and leaf blowers
quieting down to whistling wind through bamboo

kate lamberg
all rights reserved....'13

the field where i rested upon trust~(photo by kate lamberg) all rights reserved

buttercups in the field~photo by kate lamberg~all rights reserved

black eyed susie sky

black eyed susie sky- still at dusk, the coolness captivates--
brings us to our feet, exploring the soft damp
grasses, wildflowers, tending to our selves,

we see new openings of faith--
through cubby holes, rabbit holes...
rabbit go  run on down to the local  elm tree water hole--

where lovely rabbit rousers
like to go after midnight
and hang their rabbit ears,  just so...

along the carmens river,
flowing all night--and into
the first cracks of morning--

the light misting in through
queen anne's lace-her tresses
rumpled by being on the rumble seat-

the morgan powered by choruses
of "go tell it on the mountain"
stained with plum juice and cookie crumbs--

for being in charge of one's self-
is an awesome responsibility-
-proposition deposition  sensibilities

wired  on high- demonstrative rearranging- 
testing the core of the uranimum mind for another milenium-
while up listening to the talking heads---no longer disembodied--

we lean  towards a more peaceful resolution--   
as saris fly in in the face of grave diggers,
on the graveyard shift--at 7-11..

 when one can always get nourished--
 for more than a regular grocery store--
 how the convenience is killing us   right and left    

 Kate Lamberg..all rights reserved (c) '13

katya's black eyed susies~photo by katyajo.(c)~all rights reserved~ '13

tides turn to september

setauket harbour~photo by kate lamberg..all rights reserved.. (c) '13

but truly we have september...
in the palms of our hands  
we've just begun to share
plenitude pouring on quieter beaches--

cooler evenings soothe
the savage burning of summer-- 
the expectations of an undying love
 seeping into every wetted scoop of sand

we walked upon in july--
making honest  friends of hearts desires----
on hold  for an eternity is an eternity----
no getting around that dear soul    

who as opal, to my ruby heart 
rises as a gilded starfish
never to be known as anything but
my one true love who, along with me,

worships..the simple sound of water.....

whooshing against rowboats, 
and the song of wind gently skipping
through the tight skirts of sails .
as we trudge forward---  

all baggage thrown over port side--- 
to nourish other water fowl--and allow
our travels to be lighter... barely skimming
the glassy  surface of brackish waters...

our eyes lit by the same marine magic    ...
. so be the prayer to get us  where we so desire
sea green foam on  water's edge, coupled with the wind,  
striking hard upon the earth.. our inescapable fire...

~kate lamberg~..(c)all rights reserved..'13 

all the trouble with the I/ME

"Yes and thank you are the opposites of selfishness. The ego can only be erased
through happiness and gratitude."
Arnaud Desjardins


her life, as  a blackboard
filled with numbers and letters
I, ME, larger than life
the intruder in the chalk dust

the one who grabs the goods
all that is left from the bad equation
and runs imbalanced through thicket
night time scratches in the dark

I, ME can only be
obliterated
with one honest stroke,
one conscious erasure

heart attack alley way
where all the ME folk flail
and give it up for one day
leaving only YOU

creating "my" only joy
driven by a need to plant
violets on all the places
my ME stormed out ungrateful

Kate Lamberg

flower photo by kate lamberg~*~

I only learned last night~

In memory, and loving dedication to Kathleen West, and her family and friends..

i only learned last night of
a facebook friend who took her own life
so sad that i did not get to know her better
a poet's world is so tightly wound

with truth and love and mourning dove
with hurt and deception's pain 
no wonder when it all gets
to be too too much

we go running for shelter: the barn is locked, all friends are leaving...
the garbage can, knocked over by evening wolves in passing..
cunning fox is on the hill we used to have, for ceremony--
where are all the sacred places we can go, and do our work?

the angels soothe, but the hungers persist---
forming longing lavender letters to be held up
on large parchment paper 
for any soul to see---it's plainly evident..

written in the song of songs-- dearest solomon, 
can you teach us how to trust ourselves,
who have not failed, but wish to erase
all the powdery chalk of illusion's garden.. 

can you hold us , in the light of downward spirals...
we know the source from which you yearned ..
similarly gazing at water's edge...with urn of water and herbs,
comes sauntering, my love for the first mourning dove 

katya (copyright) '13
  

Messages from Angel Gabrielle~

"Did you know when you are worried that the angels draw closer and begin to play their strings and flutes?
Did you know that. when you feel the most alone.... we are here, to hold your hand and bring you to your feet in music and in song.?"

To remind you that you are never alone.
Separation is fear's statement of illusion.
Fear would not like you to understand
that you have entered the world through loving,
in loving, by loving, and that your nature is to be simply that. Love.

Seeking love where there seems to be none.
Being love, as a verb expressing the active principle of truth.
Love, separate from the romantic sentimentality so tied to your culture.
Where romantic love has a place, as it serves healing, connection,
and growth...it is not "above" the love affair you have with yourself.

So hold yourself in high esteem.
Look up at the highest branches in the trees,
and beyond to gaze at stars.
Know the beauty of all nature is reflected in your soul.

Your eyes shine as a million suns glow.
Your heart expands each time you breathe
in the purity and grace of each waking moment.
Your steps on mother earth resound deep in your mother's belly. 

You have come home to believing in the beauty of yourself.

words and photo by kate lamberg~(c) '13

The world~ Poem, by.Edna St. Vincent Millay

photo by kate lamberg..(c) '13

“The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.”
-Edna St. Vincent Millay

temperance

  
1~( i wish my effulgent fire)

i wish my effulgent fire to subside---
to turn all that has charred 
into porous ivory bones
smooth like the pond's surface
on this moonless night--
a dying down of intensity--
so we, my love can see  
the starboard side detecting 
the last falling star-scratching 
an emblem in my throat 
to silence me 

2~ (incising my heart to grow)     

incising my heart to grow, encoding my mind to know..in my smile to show-- it's only angels trumpeting  so reach for the hand that has played the line  of defense...   for the last time,  as the circle, protects...a  semi-permeable membrane   allows... all the goodness of marine water to swirl seaweed at your feet.... diving into marina at dawn -  empowered by the vision confirmed-  the sky before dawn...   how the clouds appeared  to curtsey, bow and sway- unfolding a  new  found passion- play. a solomon's seal of trust, among silent grasses

Kate Lamberg  Copyright..(13)

summered

poppies pop in season
burning campfires, so freeing--  as river slides up north
who can tell the things that befell us--which way
the tributary seems to parallel  the constellations---

ursa major,  one big dancing bear
donned in an apron-- she's making claw foot cookies
from oat grass and molasses-- cinnamon bark steeping in brandy,
orange rinds simmering with raw local honey & grapefruit peels--

it was a night to remember--  how we forgot
the mosquito nets is beyond me;
we lived for the moment--
as x's and y's pooled in unison for our honeyed moon--

by the time  we reached home, the bird had flown-
the tune we had crooned,  cracked the code
we mourned, we built up the house
from  our one-room school house to our sub-terranean shrine-

river still  runs-
with enough sun  for the whole darn clan:
sangha, mishbucha,* familia-
all blood pools in unison

 Kate Lamberg
  8/18/13
copyright..all rights reserved...(C) kath-odes~*~
* mishbucha: family, in yiddish

sunset on long island~by kate lamberg..all rights reserved..(c)

Informed by Water~Chapter Two

     The rehearsals for Peter Pan were going OK. I was so pleased to be cast as Tiger Lily.
I had to sing "ugga wugga meat balls" as I did a kind of serpentine dance, wearing gold tights and black leotard, with.a fringed golden tunic, and brightly colored feathers in my braided locks.
Often I'd be dancing barefoot on a leafy rough cement garage floor  at the Young's home.

Stef, the director allowed the production to be more woody allenesque:..
.Letting the actions/movements/words of friends who had known each other their entire lives to inform the script.. more so than any words written down.

     It was for our annual block party. We were the "Bower place" kids. Twenty one homes, twenty one pairs of parents every day of the year.  When I had a fight with my biological parents, (at 14).. I could skip down to the Weidman's, have tea, and sleep on their orange leather couch in the den. Until Mother Hen called my Dad, and he came to get me. "What are you doing here?", he asked...I said, "I was just running from one home to another. 

     Once, after half day kindegarton, I got off the school bus, and followed Marcia home to have lunch. I did not think, (at five) to call my parents. I did not even know my phone number by heart. Now I shall never forget: HAMILTON ONE-5860...My brother drilled me after that horrible afternoon. My mom had the cops after me....I was innocent...Just at Marcia's enjoying a pasta meal!!  I remember how she stood up on the step stool to reach for the pasta, cheese, and olive oil, and placed the oil, salt, and pasta in the boiling water like a professional!!

     My mom did not let me do anything more than butter the brownie pan, do dishes, make salad, stir the soup. Later, the whole family would notice my great love for culinary delights, and allow me special moments in the kitchen. Of course I always snuck in when they were away, and made the place so sparkley clean...even the white glove queen(my mom) did not know I had been there..

     .I'd be making opera caramels, toffee chocolate squares,  tuna salad with extra red onions, celery, horseradishy mayo,  'katalina salad': chopped cukes, carrots, tomatoes, scallions, green goddess dressing,  and grilled monte cristo sandwiches (grilled ham and swiss on rye, with pickles and russian dressing/sauercraut)... for my friends. We'd dine on the redwood table out back, and giggle over the large jar of mayonaise, and crumbs we left for the old crows.

(to be continued)

Informed by Water~Chapter One.

Chapter One~Introduction to "Informed by Water" or...'how I found some dry land to call home;...
~by Nova Fundy~ (all rights reserved~copyright) ascension press~


Maybe it was because my dad used to make up old sea shanties to sing to me before bed. My interest in being by the water and staying by the water most likely is because I grew up on the north shore of long island.
But these two facts alone were enough for me to open the dictionary one day, and randomly select a place to make my home, by the year 2001.
I was into all of that sci-fi, with a touch of voodoo and white magic. I was to be a good witch and offer prayers to the flora and fauna. At ten the world shone so brightly, as imagination's door was always left wide open. The squirrels birds and grasshoppers often shared my room with me growing up. Shoe boxes, lining my closet housed little critters that I'd "save" from being consumed by garbage trucks or the "knife man".

Ice cream trucks always came up our dead-end block around 7PM in summer. Strawberry shortcake/almond crunch were my favorites. My brother liked anything chocolate. The nicest he was one summer, was to get a few quarters from the utility drawer for our ice cream, while I was playing double dutch jump rope. Looking more difficult than clearly it was, ...a hop with the right foot in between two ropes, going in opposing arcs. Plus we'd sing, A my name is alice..and never repeat a girl's name; when we did, our turn was up. Betsy and I were always 'neck in neck', with often a tie at the end of the evening.

We jumped rope at the end of the dead end block, where there was a turn-around circle...bordering the golf course.
I

We had a "magical" cut out in the sturdy silver fence, where we would slip away after dark for pre-pubescent practice sessions. Kissing sessions on the golf green. Spin the gatorade bottle. I was pleased as punch to get the bottle pointing at Juan or Jeremy. They were eager, but oh so green. We girls had to walk them through the steps. :And close your eyes," I would often say!

I knew my friend Tanya's parents had had separate bedrooms. But according to her, they had plenty of sex. How did you know, I'd often ask her. She said it was obvious on Sunday mornings, as they'd "sleep in" and let the kids find their own breakfast.

waiting for guests to leave/ after the guests went home

waiting for the guests to leave:

no barrier reef can keep
your song i tuck inside
my velvet bag--away too long
when sailing with the trade winds

angels know me too well
they would not give up on me
after having walked around
the frenzied wax museum

where people who go to see them
are their own kind of artifice
holding up the devil's bargain
in isinglass mirrors---too freaking fake!

while homestead hums...
in bright cherry wood patina
melding with earth tones
baritones, chess played

after the guests went home~

chilling on escargot and grapes
little canapes with red bursts
of caviar--fluted glasses filled
with bubbly...flaky amigos

perchance to waltz into
a small cluster of trees, whispering
about my fall from grace---tis i that
smiles on the miracle mile---fortuna
winks, and lets me into her cleaved chest

powm and photo by kate lamberg~all rights reserved..(c)

 

waking to crow song

waking to crow song
now a more biblical silence
wraps around the land
like a crazy coyote dreaming
in soft grey threads
of high lands, fresh water
streams past sight

sounds breaking the barrier
between pink sumac berry bush
and strutting on one's own-- poplar
far from the madding crowd
we start our own trends
based on chekovian props

such as old maple dressers
spectacles that need cleaning
and day old soup... picked at
like little crows who get
under my skin, and then
side step "responsibility"

rests in the beak of the beholder
caw caw pe-ow pe-ow

poem and photo by kate lamberg~
all rights reserved, (c) '13

We are awakening into Fifth Dimensionality~

We are all awakening, aligned with our dear planet's changes.
Shifting from a 3-D awareness of our selves, into a 5-Dimensional way of being. Instead of being defined with what we do, we are more and more greatly owning our abilities to live in the inner world of truth and freedom.
No longer being victimized by a hard cold "unfair" world, we take responsibility for changing the world in which we share with each other.
Our Joys and our Sadnesses...are Community/Collectively based.
My Joy and my Sadness are Your Joy and Sadness. Your joys and sadness are my Joy and Sadness.

What we want for ourselves: creativity, love, peace, harmony and justice, we want for our brothers and sisters. If not, we are still living on the limited periphery of a dark 3-D world of shadows and light, a lower more fear based existence. Where fear's manipulative stealth would say, "do it my way--i know best for you as I am strangling your every breath, your every potential".

Love can only listen to love. Light only gravitates to greater light. Truth can see a lie a mile away.

There has never been a more ripe time to step up, and listen to our inner core. What is it we wish to do/act upon for the benefit of all of humanity, and our dear mother earth? What we worship in our mother earth, we in turn honour ourselves with: for living in integrity, dancing our passions...into the light of everlasting wonder and bliss.
So be it.
~words and photo by katyajo~(c) '13
—

estuary

fresh water, as arctic snow melts
in a down stream trickling
to meet up  with saline  waters

at high tide mark 
in flattened low lands 
forming estuary
 
a liquid so rich
with vibrant life 
we sit in pools,

supported by granite foundations 
a mottling breeds  gratitude  
for all things 

earth water fire air 
surrendering rings 
blessed solitude 

we as raised souls 
make moon love bath, 
do share star showers,    

moonstone  melting
blessings in our hair
skies flickering flair

kate lamberg
(c) copyright '13

the rain may

the rain may begin
we never cared
we let the rain begin
the fragrant forest became our fortress,
where we came up for clear piney air


~Kate Lamberg '13 all rights reserved

wild country~

"We simply need that wild country available to us,
even if we never do more
than drive to its edge and look in."
~Wallace Stegner~
(photo by kate lamberg~(all rights reserved..(c)..6/13)

moon glow

she moon widens at her waist line
revealing a fullness only a woman
would know; the ebb and flow
of mother's fertile womb

and then when we have turned
for just a moment--she enters
the fullness of our being - beaming white
to celebrate all that is feminine in flight

a vision of such opal beauty
no tree or rock or bird could ignite...
as we pause to gaze in rabid delight
on this shiny million star-ed night
 

kate lamberg
copyright-all rights reserved..(c)
8/16/13

the first seagull

the first seagull sings her plaintive song
one to last a whole life long
why wind and rain do ever
make it through this time

is beyond my reach
cannot believe
what words echo
as wooden vessels dry docked

on safe harbours for another
dozen years of  "nothing sung
as it appears"--dinghies do steer
to light house's warmth

like butterflies do to fuscia
flowers- forever succumbing;
we navigate a course 
with all we know....and still the rapids,
that painful undertow 

words and photo, by kate lamberg (c)


                                                                                                                                    

  




                                                                                             
                                                                                                                                                                              
                                                                                                  
                                                                                                        

almost breaking silence

the palatable silence is just about
getting to my breaking point

the way trust is broken
like well-intentioned pencils

the silence of one's heart
(one's own) beating into damp sand


saying, "oh lord i wish it was different"
but there's no place for a dreamer

in this cold calculated world
where clocks and geese tap out

morse code on geese droppings
rivers, carrying the waste--

the time we could have been
working on a poem

or making a festive dinner
such is irony--a bridge needing mending
 

poem and photo by selah~(c)

she said it like she meant it

she said it like she meant it
simply she was not ready
but did not wish to remove
the tethered calloused hand

that wove a secret consortium
for friends. like lovers, mistrust the boundaries, becoming clouded
at birth and never do stop
sending messages of solidarity we mistake for confused crops

mixed messages send her climbing the maple tree in the yard
where she fell once at ten, the paramedics got there too late
she was already conscious, how fancy was fate?
this was a slice of deja meeting with vu--

who would wait--why she could not---
she was flying  on nature purveying
the finest of berries brought in from local orchards
cheering the pompous and the meek

sharing the silence, no needing to speak
pass the pinto beans and dirty rice please
this is what home feels like at ease--
all checkerboarded...

red black white... purple blue skies glinting,
beneath egyptian beech tree
imported when the ocean liners
were up to only goodness knows what.

.Kate Lamberg
July10, 2013