when grace shows up

when grace shows up in solid carriage
the angels play their minstrel song
the sky lifts and opens on cue
leaves past deep  crimson fall through

the small dome we call sky forever opens
exposing layers of light- too infinite to speak
a shining gabriel fills our chalice heart
sending moon beams of joy to start

the song of forever gratitude
lifting generations of earthly beings
unto their feet, to feel the change
colors swirling, as nature does rearrange

purpose under heaven sighs
as furtive fragrant moss and pine
glows it essence- pooling with the growing
moon,  a conduit--no longer drawing lines

so rest your troubles at the foot of time
and climb the boulders you've justified
in peaceful hearts, mind is left on stoned beach
to be carried out by the storm- no longer in reach

so teach the ones you love with might
to test the waters in their flight
making calmness soar by singing- as truth
and love meet on turquoise winging


Kate Lamberg
10/27/12

seattle beach~ 9/12 by katyajo

it's always dark when she awakes

we choose our parents
as souls crying to be reborn
into earthen vessels, for artist souls


look inside to see
their own temperature--what makes
for a good poem.   honesty told through

a pin hole in a wooden flute
found by the banks
of the susquehanna river
casting in the wind soul

reminded  to be a part-
nourished by the wind art
of cooperative blessings

we ache joy in cyclones &
form wax winged words
like birds-- knowing when to perch,
and when to let them fly

Kate Lamberg
October 24, 2012

fluffy october cloud~ photo by Kate Lamberg~

Integrity

dampness follows the sun,
like a dead beat at a party--trying
to prove he is right and you are
worse than wrong--your thoughts
have no bearing in the world
of righteousness; good,
you say--and sway--

go slither out the door
go bouncing down the rocky path
with more joy than words can sputter
a bubble of clarity dodging the cutting
of a terse wind--getting away

and rising over the moss covered roof
beyond the purple feminine hillock
straight to the place where
your wash is left out to dry

upon the narrow strong low branches
of the pine tree--sunflower shells left
mixed randomly with pine needles
of varying levels of age--some resinous green, &
others brown crumbling to the touch

all meeting at the base of the tree--
for harmony happens without a plan
no need to ready your self--slow down
the peace you seek is just

doing what you do with no intention
but this: to follow heart's true happiness
sometimes beneath trees, other times
swinging arms around the few friends
who know you completely

without judgement
love you
no matter
what you say
it's written that way

no dodging the truth
when it softly touches
your cheeks and mouth
smiling upwards & onwards
both beyond and within
your small comforts

courting the highest:
forever is now--now
is forever's prayer
blessing all that it touches
obliterating all that does scare

Kate Lamberg

saturday afternoon on shore rd. setauket. photo by Kate Lamberg~

• 
  

a string of six haiku

Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination. ~Voltaire


greens blues whites and reds
kissing their essence cleanly
core being autumn

cobalt blue sky sighs
shimmying up close to the sea
water and air aligned

white birch next to red maple
standing on mossy green yard
blue sky and sea as bookends

soft rolling green lawn
warm grass, damp cool earth below
bare feet creep--do know

orange butterfly
sweeps around my wide open eyes
draws a figure eight

cormorant hangs out
on the raft for a short rest
before the deep plunge

Kate Lamberg

orange monarch, seen by the beach, 10/22/12

red maple, next to white birch

cormorant on raft~setauket harbour

'We all flow from one fountain soul' ~John Muir quote.

We all flow from One fountain Soul. All are expressions of One Love. God does not appear, and flow out, only from narrow chinks and round bored wells here and there in favored races and places, but flows in grand undivided currents, shoreless and boundless over creeds and forms and all kinds of civilizations and peoples and beasts, saturating all and fountainizing all.

~ John Muir, 1872 ~

 whatcom falls photo by Kate Lamberg~

light pushes through

light pushes through
color ripening, as autumn
fruit forever demands
our witnessing--its sweet

sour showering
its wish to join
our day old bread, sugar, butter,
inside a nice homey pudding

light, the forever common
denominator: the purveyor of truths tended to
by the faith of gardeners, football fiends, rowdy
wrestlers, buddhist dancers, poet politicians--

light sparking interest on first look
maintaining our curiousity  throughout
the swiftly turning pages
of the book--with all its

peacefulness, rantings
& rages--the reason
we push through
to do any blessed thing:

the telephone ring,
a neighbor whistling
the birds, now singing
at seven a. m.

the season of deliberate
death of green leaves, the holy
birth of brown cashmere sleeves
putting the sandals on hold

until our cruise next spring
permeating every crack
with heels to grind
on slated walkways

and newly found hallways
closing in the rooftop terrace
for just a little while
we wear a cozy zippered smile

at musk fragrances shared,
when we walk our talk, bared
to the cool october air--
knee deep in sand, dirt, shells,

pummeling, mumbling--malas
strung, ready for puja at dusk


Kate Lamberg
10/20/12

angel cloud~photo by Kate Lamberg

blue heron

 blue heron lurches
for lunchtime meal in green pond
stirring my senses



photo and haiku by kate lamberg

To breathe in all the beauty

It is a warm rainy Friday morning.   Waking up to the soft music of the rain, causes me to stay in bed longer, listening to the rain's gentle caress.  Feeling gratefulness for the rain's power to cleanse, nourish the soil, flowers, trees. Also, I love how the rain gently, yet firmly reminds me to go within more often. To meditate when life serves up its challenges, as well as when  things are balanced and serene.

I breathe in all the beauty, abundance, light, and joy that are available in the universe, and breathe out any uncertainties, fears, and negativities  into the earth.
I am grateful for my good health, love of parents, friends, and my daily creative abilites to write poetry, compose music, and to facilitate healing.

May everyone have time and space to go within today. To inhale the peace found in deep silence. And, may you return from your inner journey refreshed, restored, and centered...feeling the vibrancy--your true alive self!

Peace, Joy, Love, Light ~*~
Rosha Kate

Build your inner environment. Practice Silence...
I remember the wonderful discipline of the Great Ones.
When we used to talk and chatter, they would say:
"Go back into your inner castle."
It was very hard to comprehend then,
but now I understand the way of peace."
~ Paramahansa Yogananda

this month of sudden change

this month of sudden change
filling the sky with huge clouds
brightest of blue skies

crisp red leaves pressed up
against the stunning blue sky
breathless i do sigh

its the suddenness
of all this beauty, that brings
me to thoughts of you

where the sun shines less
and weather suffers fewer
extremes-as our souls

balanced beams of love
carry more strength-- do endure
with less highs and lows

reaching a little
further across the nation
patience-our great composer

Kate Lamberg
10/11/12

ascension

dna spirals up to the moon
then cascades down to our crown
we create worlds in the mist
stand up for what we own

how mars, saturn and jupiter
have aligned this murky plot
to make us stand for something
on this astounding ascension

who would think our thoughts
mean less--this time when
what we feel carries
the weight of giants

she dove in an arc
from out of her mind
to the cozy blood bath
of her living heart

she strove to be
herself on earth
without trying to prove(a thing)
she's now in the groove

Kate Lamberg

our bright roofless home

The words you speak become the house you live in."
 ~Hafiz


our bright roofless home
with round openings- no walls
to keep away love

the light, shining down
upon our crowns-wakes
the truth on contact

pearlized floors echo
all the love we can muster
our joy, musky rose

sun pours by day, dark
falls by night--we dream in soft
pastels-braided truth

birds fly within this home
skylight spinning, living truth
stars blessing our love


Kate Lamberg
10/14/12

mt. baker~image by kate lamberg

the time it was snowing

the time it was snowing
and she locked the keys
in the car, with no other
vehicles in view--the snow

piling up so quickly--she knew
she'd be a frozen sculpture
if she did not have a way
to contact anyone--just who

were her friends--she looked
out into the thunderous snow
falling heavily, and at times
forming circles, like angels

drawing lines--to walk through
she captured the essence
of angels, as her dreaminess
brought her down to her knees

in the thick heavy wet snow
clods of white coolness, dripping
underneath her driving gloves
swishing through her muffler-less
collar, splling into her penny loafers

all the while knowing that someone
would be coming--she sang
to herself, hardly whispering

the headlights of a truck
came tunneling through
the swirl of a snowy cloud

she smiled and stood up
the rest made heavenly history
feet thawed, hands warmed

incense and peppermints
playing on the radio
she knew he would come
she wished for
nothing--now knowing

all do take her seriously
when she decides to
and so it is in every walk
and every talk between
friends--from this day on

puckered pink blouse tucks into
a tailored grey skirt
she now feels a part
of the world she had
always pushed away

it was only her own
self loathing--lacquered
and sealed for forty decades

the lacquer comes loose---the photo
of herself in black and white--
now morphing to pure rose light

Kate Lamberg
10/15/12

a bagel cloud--port jeff~ 10/12

ripe green pears

ripe green pears from brittany,
mixed in with new england
gritty blackberries

writing what we know & who we are:
just give me trees,  ponds, bird
songs, clear stars--& leaves

i have been schooled
in humble pie- spinning wheels
of integrity---the buddha bell

to signal another round of sitting
upon black silk cushions,
weeks of silence on end

not meaning anything--
meaning everything for sits bones
and third eye agendas

how long can the muffled air
keep us from hearing:
what whispers strain
behind windows, amidst an october rain


Kate Lamberg

truest peace

truest peace does come
when spirit becomes the dangling
participle, sleeping in the sun

Kate Lamberg

the time it was snowing

the time it was snowing
and she locked the keys
in the car, with no other
vehicles in view--the snow

piling up so quickly--she knew
she'd be a frozen sculpture
if she did not have a way
to contact anyone--just who

were her friends--she looked
out into the thunderous snow
falling heavily, and at times
forming circles, like angels

drawing lines--to walk through
she captured the essence
of angels, as her dreaminess
brought her down to her knees

in the thick heavy wet snow
clods of white coolness, dripping
underneath her driving gloves
swishing through her muffler-less
collar, splling into her penny loafers

all the while knowing that someone
would be coming--she sang
to herself, hardly whispering

the headlights of a truck
came tunneling through
the swirl of a snowy cloud

she smiled and stood up
the rest made heavenly history
feet thawed, hands warmed

incense and peppermints
playing on the radio
she knew he would come
she wished for
nothing--now knowing

all do take her seriously
when she decides to
and so it is in every walk
and every talk between
friends--from this day on

puckered pink blouse tucks into
a tailored grey skirt
she now feels a part
of the world she had
always pushed away

it was only her own
self loathing--lacquered
and sealed for forty decades

the lacquer comes loose---the photo
of herself in black and white--
now morphing to pure rose light

Kate Lamberg
10/15/12

a bagel cloud--port jeff~ 10/12

light peaks through

light peaks through the water colored curtain
like moonstones on mars, as effortlessly
as wind swoops up & cools our shoulders
after the height of heat, this october

afternoon, around three
found us crawling
in the garden,
dead-heading & weeding--

letting the true
colors of autumn
spring to life- if only
for another month

yellow orange red joy
if only for another month
the grandest golden light
hitting marigolds--restoring her

purpose in shiny new shoes
set out for eyes to wear,
as they go walking through
leafy paths, lumbering again

as branches from yesterday's
storm are gathered carefully
to host a fire in reborn eyes
to remind those who wander

lonely-- that this height of
beauty shall stay within our hearts
as long as trumpets sail sounds
of lives on point--spinning without needing

another blessed thing--outside the leaves
are scarlet, are falling--for love is sighted
on this apple tree,
below we sit, simply

smelling the rotting apples--
biting the ripened ones that fell in our laps--
the sweetness&tartness

lingering--as we are grateful
for everything--softly, as palms
together do whisper--do sing

Kate Lamberg
 

part of a watercolor by katyajo~ (circa 1990)

a string of haiku~after reading neruda

“As if you were on fire from within.

The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”

~Pablo Neruda

red-orange rose~portland rose garden

still, you reside here
within my vessels gleaming
your light holds my love

the deep crimson rose
breathes between felt images
of your being love

the soft yellow rose
promises friendship- along
with stirring embers

romance from seaside
to mountain tops-- consciousness
raised to new heights of being

precious purple rose
supporting spirit's meeting
skin-warmed from within

whisper orange rose
sweeps us-as in serenade
soulsongs whirl our love

Kate Lamberg
10/10/12

what you say means the world to me

what you say means the world to me
be it light as a swan's feather,
or leaden--like buttery
golden cakes of corn

just make sure
there are elements of nature
in your countenance
when you speak

you've just lost me
when you pontificate
about who is dying in the news

i read the reports; i know the numbers
tell me how it makes you feel 
as what you feel allows me to know

how it is real for you;
i am not ordering you to speak
any special way

i am just informing you
what turns me away, what
makes me peer out the window

at the traveling blue grey river
which causes me to linger
and listen to the strains of

chopin melting into jazz
a pirouette, morphing into
a barefoot lunge

messing around the house
when it's raining--we clean up,
we study, & listen

whoever has decided
that my favorite month
will be littered with rain

needs to have their head
examined; i am missing
the golden honey of october

shining on the maple wood
table, in the late afternoon light
as we scurry--getting ready

for a warm soup meal--
as the light descends earlier,
we embrace the darkness

light pours back into our vessels
as if on fire with the warmth
of our rose scented skin

Kate Lamberg
10/9/12

Pink red rose, at the Portland Rose Garden~

riding a station wagon with a bunch of buddhists- a droem(a poem, based on a dream)

riding a station wagon with a bunch of buddhists
we were driving on a busy road, with huge trucks
of stainless steel whizzing by

i said, don't you think our teacher would
go over onto the shoulder, and let
the noise and traffic pass us by
the others agreed that was a good idea

so we took a sharp left, into the beginning
of someone's stony driveway, to wait
out the storm of massive steel trucks
whizzing by as if there was no tomorrow

i told the group, that if they were going to wait
at least an hour, i wanted to go for a walk
sure, but be back soon, they all chimed in

i walked next door, and gazed at a lovely
tudor home, made of stone, wood and glass
decided to walk down the driveway, and then

up a grassy hill, to find myself peering out
at the ocean--mostly calm and flat,
blues and greens and greys and whites

i fell into a kind of a dreamstate, as I sat-
then discovered some wooden boxes
filled with wild flowers; i picked a few red,
blue, and orange flowers, placing them
delicately into my shoulder bag

then I heard a voice from the driveway
it's fine that you are picking the flowers
no one comes around here much anymore

i moved to this oregon coastal town
many years ago, after seeing the lights
of the big city--that's san francisco, i mean

it was wonderful, but i always craved
the silence, followed by the sounds
of the waves

i was happy she did not boo me away
as I walked towards the driveway
i decided to let the flowers drop

out of my shoulder bag, letting the wind
take them and place them
wherever they were meant to go

standing, while this older woman
was sitting in a wheel chair staring out
at the world going by

i noticed her blond wig
had fallen
onto the driveway
i picked it up, and placed it
onto her angelic head

she said it was nice to see a soul
on this sunny day in may
i did not correct her(it was october)
i smiled with her, and touched her shoulder

i said i must get back to my friends
they are parked next door on a white
stony driveway, with a huge white house
and black shutters; we were all waiting
for the traffic to dissipate

clearly she had no idea what rush hour was
clearly she had had no visitors for many years
clearly we connected in ways only soul knows

i traced my steps back to my friends in the station wagon
soon we took a left out the driveway-- we were headed
for a quieter, more northern town

Kate Lamberg

i must be the shape of a cedar tree

"We are shaped and fashioned by what we love"
-Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

i must be the shape of a cedar tree--
and maybe, the openness of the wide open sky
i must be the shape of a rocky bed,
or the unending coursing
of a mad river running-

i'm shaped by my forever changing
expressions of what i love:
the many phases of the moon dancing
the vacant low tide, followed by
the fullness of the tide gone high

and still i'm shaped some more--
as rock is carved
by the coursing river,
as voices are lifted to sing--
upon the moonlit shore

~Kate Lamberg

hills above the bellingham bay~ 9/12

what is fluid

what is fluid comes down
crashing at all who witness
this soothing primeval caress

like words, the falls persist
forming poems from awe
like birds, the falls exist

marking fluidity in flight
bolstering stream's depth
through the delicacy of light

sure of herself as she lets go
holding on to nothing allows
a semi permeable membrane

to exchange particles
of liquid love on the chorus
conceiving anew at the refrain

trailing off to welcoming rock
carving tunnels of prayer
here and there

nowhere special, surrendering
nobody interfering in her rushing-
gliding on moon lit blue stone

Kate Lamberg

whatcom falls~9/12

four a.m.

the crackling of four a. m.
within the crisp cool of october
cats spooned upon the piano

waiting for tiredness
to wash over me, like a huge
wave of warm bliss

eyes getting heavy
now-- slipping into the arms
of sweet unconscious sleep

Kate Lamberg
10/6/12

emma sleeping~

we celebrate all things

we celebrate all things
flowers left to be gazed at, picked, arranged, &
placed within a blue ceramic vase

a gift from the mad monk
who ran a store in the west village
by the same name--
who gave me this blue ceramic
curved vessel, as a way

of saying thank you
for the massage i gave him
on his dining room table
on the east village side street

with a glorious lobby
housing crystal vases full
of asters, zinnias, and daisies
a huge picture window behind
the elevator--

where one could gaze
at wildflowers growing
in the blue slated courtyard
huge pots of flowers breathing

life for city dwellers looking
for a little oxygen, a little
respite from the stress of traffic
and unrelenting urban noise

the mad monk offered me a glass of cabernet
i declined, and asked for a cup of green tea
with lemon; we spoke of simple times
me: having lived at a zen center
upstate new york, only three years before

he: having lived a life of wannabe zen monk,
running a store-- a facade for his inner promptings--
the closest he could get to being a roshi,
within  a monastery--and customers responded in kind-
a reverence shone in their eyes

we laughed and cried joy tears, as we regaled
various zen teacher & authors we both loved:
d.t. suzuki, whaley, and my beloved teacher,
now passed on, john daido loori;
he told me i looked like emily dickenson,
with a suntan(i blushed)

as the sun set through the kitchen window
i felt it was my cue to leave
down one flight in the elevator
back to the ground floor of existence
the lobby hosting flowers, now curling up for evening

i skipped outside; the night was cool, yet
comfortable, as i was wearing white sweats
i hopped on my yellow ten speed,
& petaled crosstown-- to my humble
west village walk up: thompson street

sandwiched in between
west third and bleeker;
lugged my ten speed
up six flights of steep wooden stairs
and floated into grace

Kate Lamberg
10/5/12

golden california poppies, on pacific street, bellingham, wa.~photo by Kate Lamberg~

she plays her cello
until the last rays of sunlight
fall softly on her hands
her instrument warmed
by the late day sun in autumn
the music falling like orange leaves

  ~Kate Lamberg~

John White Alexander (1856 – 1915) - A Ray of Sunlight (The Cellist), 1898.