keeping the lion's mouth open

for  st. brigid-patron saint of the arts, healing and nature


for heaven falls, to meet up
with earth rising, wind skimming the surface
fires are born deep deep deep
beneath the crust of humble bread

our woodsman pan would find quite neat
he'd sit down and polish off an entire loaf

in between courting dear liza, the buttermilk queen,
Just down the lane.

they'd learn the fine art of goat grazing, cheese melding
barn raising, dyes from berries grasses and tree bark
incising secrets--burning hearts in thick inflexible bark
following you down the lane with buttermilk biscuits

playing croquet in the fanciest of parks
striking the mallet to the glass green ball
there she goes, side stepping her opponent
throughout the grey pallets, down the dry river bed

and lets herself rest there, unaccompanied instead

all grows quiet at dusk
the village returns to how it was before
this gran dame came round and did double cartwheels
in the park after dark

it was a festive night, no fright-
without a stranger in sght;
jonquils jump over picket fences in camden

culling cuttlefish at dawn at the docks
when the first fishing boat pushes off
at the first peep of sunrise coating
every pine frond, just as merry as you please
for the depth of the bay
there will be rum and rough play
but they'll all come home again

swinging fishing gear like healthy men
shining from capturing the saltiest of fish
dining on love's providence, as they do pray

Poem and photo~by Kate Lamberg
all right reserved..(c) '13

the rain fell like pearls

that rain that fell
in the meadow
where we were sprawled out
underneath the sturdy oak,
seeming to grow as high as the sky itself...

sent us watching more closely-
when we stood up for greater air;
in its falling, the rain, began
to show signs of wide pearls pelting
the earth on either side of our dancer's feet, melting


poem and photo, by kate lamberg
all rights reserved..(c) 7/29/13

placid sky

the sky at dawn turned placid
shed its color--to fall
into tall grasses, mind fields, rock gardens,
height of summers' flowers

freely parading without pride,
not exploring- stilling
the human need to be heard ...
heaven quakes on a duck's back..

seedlings do flips below the surface
of rich chocolate soil- devils food fare for the masses
luring ladies and gents for the tryst of a lifetime;
leviathan alters cellular memory--circle of willis 

waxes and wanes like sea anemone..
strangled strands of dna loosen
and separate;brain storming
in high gear, helps firing to be reforming

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

sky over the long island sound~mid summer, '13..by kate lamberg~all rights reserved..(c)

taking the time

taking the time to fully dream
the rain, so soft falls below the willow

taking the space, of this vast human race
we leap in cognizance of the one

sharing the love that we are composed of
makes the journey blessed beyond belief

~kate lamberg (c) '13

if ever we

if ever we did not speak again
let these words serve to illumine
all that conjoinment between us,

seized as a turkey runs
for nourishment on the wings
of satisfying a hunger,

going as deep as the pit of our stomachs
coming up for air
and then we plunge

without seeing the light of day-
no mind, no care
it's us, enveloped there

with very little air between us
skin slides upon skin
letting each other in

Kate Lamberg (c) all rights reserved

remember that thought

it itches from behind
pushes you to sit upright
announces it is not leaving
until you pay full attention
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..

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

polished stone in palm

 

 

your hand in the hand of mine
inner orbitals do brightly shine
 

sweeping the burning hot sand
pleased to blend with the land

kjl~'13 (c)

proverbial slurs

slopped clay on the wheel
endlessly turning--as dancer
fully knowing--spotting a point

on the distant horizon
keeps the dancer from dizziness,
and the sailor on course

a driven mule shall carry no moss
stones dancing in moon light
shall reach  the furthest points of the universe

without a moment's notice,
all souls align  with what is just
plain goodness  taking a joy journey

parrots smile on cue
no audience required
bellowing in earth

tried and true-
not too shabby; yet path could be
taken in one's strident sleep

Kate Lamberg~
all rights reserved ('13)

long island sound~eaton's neck...7/13..(c) by kate lamberg~all rights reserved

inborn work ethic

too much blood for silence
too much silence for a breeze

i can tell you are wearing work clothes
and wondering what to do with all the cheese

i receive messages in the imploding hot wind
learning to step with gingering papaya

the keeper of dreams follows us
to mountain's peak--polenta bakes

for guests coming around the mountain
dinner assembles itself for a song

Kate Lamberg (c) All rights reserved...............

walking towards dawn

it wasn't quite light, we were walking
towards  the beach- not far from our home---
a tremendous distance away, from the  bay of fundy-

however much  she flows through our arteries
not a cloud in the midnight blue sky
pre-dawn delivers a palpable mist

we talked about making ciabatta breads-slicing them,
and grilling with olive oil... chopped fresh tomatoes with capers, garlic..
and the distinctive crunching sound as teeth sink in  

who of our friends are truly benevolent..
beneath the sky awakening
tethered to scents of sea salt

we spoke of a living trust..
as soul vessels--
steering away from talking about it

Kate Lamberg
7/18/13

bvi, 'at dawn' , photo by kate lamberg~all rights reserved..'13..(c)

squishing through mud flats

one step onto the  wet sand at low tide
causes me to sink deeper  than i had anticipated
slipping and sliding   through nature's slick thick

wetted sand--not easy to navigate
doing a little cross country mud dancing,
spying on butterflies, tall brittle grasses

tide so low---where did all the wild life go..
buried beneath the cool mud,
for the remainder of summer's harshness


kate lamberg
7/17/13~all rights reserved~(c)

photo by kate lamberg

Happy Birthday, Edna St. Vincent Millay~

 i know i'd feel right at home
on your chenille bed spread
sinking into a plucked poem

edna's garden~steepletop-photo by kate lamberg(c)

as you did, figs raw
cut open to expose
sweet female central
freshly brought in

from the asian grocer, just below;
your hard floor to whisper ceiling windows,
with wild cut flowers of purple, blues, yellows--
arranged disobediently




wearing red chinese slippers,
you sneer at the news, finding ideas
on your fire escape, a view
only you share with pigeons

who know your brave baring-
the black and white and black
you wear to dine on leaves, rich soil;
cardinals keep for centuries behind glass,

as yellow butterflies pinned
at high school prom fly
to the steep le chase-
far from the fashionable

yet you gleam, currently
the rage; a feathered hat signals
your've been picked to write ; purely
write the night and day away, wearing

the soles of those burnished chinese slippers
down a rose bower:
in a life time, disgised as an hour;
you're a shower of rubies,

colored planets that land
only to sit and write
all night, and into green goddesss
dawn's hour

your piccolo cleanly sweeps
away all unnecessary verbiage;
a bit of gold mica shines
in the never ending doorways,

worshipping your abilities to say
what pops corn without electricity
what glows in the dark
without being exposed to nuclear energy

what leaves men, women, children
cats rabbits, dogs, deer
still in their tunneled vision

hitchhiking your beauty
from riding boot
to rainbowed heart
to dark sun out

your illumination
shall not be blown away
it was written
in the holy book of love

once lit
you live though
the purple flame
of St. Germaine


Kate Lamberg (c) all rights reserved
July 14, '13

hummmmmmmmm

hum of the air conditioner  after hours keeps us awake
the chocolate will not be held responsible
for the damage already done -- when court is held by the irreversible--
blue birds fly in to oversee  saris, portraits, promises--

left out in the orchard  for an entire summer season....
gets raked in  with the tidal silkies,
the volley ball net, we never put up 
because of the high heat and lack  of participants~

pardon  the pun,  but willy would get a kick out of the tirade of words- this bird backs
into a floral shop  after hours,  and is left with a potted  geranium  in the center of his crown--
a thumb proud to meet with indexes:  sadhu sadhu sadhu -- codices, kabbalistic courtyards
no poem shall ever be met with  judgement.....catapult me out of town  first  

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

silencing the words

silencing the words from spilling,
was like  keeping waterfalls  from dropping--
was as impossible  as curbing words
from proceeding  with caution--

she was living in an uninterrupted stream 
of red wings waxing--blue green waters  finding a way 
underneath the narrow road,  flipping over grey rocks,
catching feathers  on her way--

a mapless tiny green toad- 
restless and raucous she sheds 
small purple thoughts, as she climbs 
cardigan mountain- a jewel cut  for hiking boots,

and  prayer shawls  &  rhinestones from grandma,
feather and bead earrings  from the flea market in the pacific northwest-
she's completely her own person,  down to her calloused ballerina feet.

barefoot, she'd grip pretty well to the rocks along the shore-- 
in summer, walking to and from the lighthouse.. 
dear lighthouse, perched as high as any pine-- 
pretty soon autumn would come... 

light tinge of resin in the air.. 
in no time- she'll be making
sassafrass and pink sumac tea.
cut and turned upside down to dry in the cellar

apricot and peach preserves,  with honey and ginger,
slathered on sourdough
with a quart of blueberries,
for the ride home

Kate Lamberg
July, '13, all rights reserved~(c)            

me at fourteen, smiling for dad

whorl

like the magnetic pull of one's iris,  
adjusting to more or less light
or the center of a hurricane..

the template of power  
seen between the eyes 
crystal blue bindu chakra  

green wood wavers 
in pond's reflections restive   
water nymphs swing from black willow   

amber peasant blouses uncover 
the hand sewn button holes
stitched with a contrasting hue   

(what to do)  darning on cascades
tempered land rocks and sharp haciendas
emptying onto the promenade 

of valencia oranges,   drifting further down
the river of pure fiendish fellowship   
the baptism bellows for more subservience

courtesy opens doors, gets you what
you thought you wanted---   no no  no 
it's in the glimmer of a tie tack- one horizontal bar

beveled silver and brass.....
burnt sienna and peacock yellow 
 red acai berries, diluted at the source   

where  sunbow  river empties
into the mighty columbia    
colliding with the time

blackberries pop sweetness
where you don't look away--
say in your warm brandy voice,  "stay".

hand held bells   tend to ring at the time
when  we thought the kiss was coming   ...
an act of congress--. ..peace provides

creature comforts not found
in any wing of government...so help me,
goddess lives in saline waters.. 

.Kate Lamberg~(c)..all rights reserved...July 13, '13

sweetheart roses

sweetheart roses
drenched in rain water at dawn
hold quiet prayers

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

we can be each other's lighthouse

we can be each others lighthouse 
as from a distance we can see 
no obstruction wailing--just   
the wide open sky, the raging sea

when wind and rain come furiously 
and vessels heel, seemingly 
without a prayer to save 
we look upon a further lighthouse,

in eyes  of the those who witness 
no masks can make it through the night 
we reveal our naked anguish, then god 
will hold the helm in washed down decks

absolving fear, as tung in groove foundations
we stand the test of journey's soulful singing
 holding trust to speak
of teak and brass bells ringing
                                                                                             
Kate Lamberg
July 10, '13, all rights reserved                                                                                    

When we take the time to go within...

"When we take the time to go within through meditation, prayer, steeping in nature,
or making art... we are calling upon our highest self...Remembering our truest essence..re-creating our own powerful energy...
.Protected by the bombardment of negative lower energies, we can truly be in the world. but not of the world." 

~Words and Photo, by Kate Lamberg~ all rights reserved(13) ~

the rain may begin...

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

words and photo~by Kate Lamberg '13 all rights reserved~

i have seen this field

i have seen this field
so many times i think
i could walk across blind-folded
and find my way

to the dogwood tree,
and to the darker douglas pine
standing silently
on the other side

i know this field
in terms of dandelions
getting stuck in toes
and bees buzzing to and fro

through clover on spring mornings;
i taste the blackberries plumping
on the other side of the red barn
that borders this grassy field

no longer needing to memorize
how the mid summer grass feels underfoot,
or how the wildflowers scent
the closing in of dusk,

or the shrieks of birds at dawn-
as all souls wake to  drink coffee and yawn
awakening --in time
with tender touches of musk


Kate Lamberg, (c) all rights reserved
July 8, 2013

photo by kate lamberg~all rights reserved. (13)

lost and found

All language is but a poor translation.
~ Franz Kafka

we lose each other
so often when we peer out
in opposite directions- to gaze
at the changing wind: how we trust
its intensity-- still desert air, arctic gust

could it be.. that the very way
we lose each other, could be
the formula for how we find
each other---gazing, in the quiet
praising silently the changing wind

words and photo by kate lamberg (c) all rights reserved
July 6. '13

 

 

soothing trees at dawn

soothing herself by the window at dawn
she breathes the new born air
freshness pours into each pore
as she surrenders
to each waking moment

birds, who she did not hear
when stretching in the privacy
of her dark cool bedroom
now come alive
in livening piercing song

trees nod in recognition
feeling her eyes cast
on their thick alive loins
sap seeming to rise for no one
in particular

yet filling in  front center, &
peripheries, with such soothing
piney essence; she could not help but linger,
wondering what it was that brought her
to this window, at this blessed opening of day

photo and poem by kate lamberg~all rights reserved. (13)

trust comes undetected

Let this be my last word, that I trust in Your love. ~Rabindranath Tagore♥

trust comes undetected
by those who would rather
see the peeling grey

unaffected by highs and lows
some folks from the high country
make trust a part of their every day

neither seeing the peeling paint
nor the fallen branches strewn
they keep their gaze skyward

listening in to the river jewel,
they surround themselves with cobalt blue
drinking in the surrendering view

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

blue medicine buddha tanka

blue medicine buddha tanka fell
while i was sleeping
some glass shattered in a downward direction

awake,  i discovered i liked the print better in the naked light of day;
figuring the gods and goddesses had not breathed fresh air since 1972, 
it was time to give them an airing-

like seeing the sumptuousness &
hearing the  heavens break open--
in front row seats of 'the mikado'

blue medicine buddha tanka..photo, and  poem- by kate lamberg~all rights reserved~(c)

Emma and Dan, on Devonshire Rd.

   The top of the coffee table, was a true waltz into Emma and Daniel's soul. It had all the necessities this loving couple would ever need. Here, on the dark mahogany coffee table, etched with turn of the century British schooners,  were: a deck of blue plaid playing cards(extra glossy), three coasters of Niagra falls, a mug of Postum, a dish of plain soda crackers, with a few hearty slices of that orange squishy cheese, we called Vel-veeta, Dan's favorite. Daniel was watching the "The Honeymooners", with his total attention, sitting in his green leather easy chair.

At the same time, Emma was singing some summertime love songs, busy preparing dinner in their tiny kitchen, seven floors up from the street, Devonshire Rd. It was a stately ten story red brick apartment building with a door man, white marble floors  with french doors lining the entire back of the spacious room, emptying out into a lush tree and flower filled yard. At least in spring and summer.  

Down the bread went into the toaster, a lovely shiny silver toaster fitting the thickest of bread slices, even a bagel.The time it took to walk twenty-two paces through the dining room, the long narrow living room, and finally to the den--to wake Daniel up from his little snooze and back again, is all the time that was needed for the toast to pop up golden brown. She spread some butter on  the rye toast, and arranged the pieces carefully on the bluebird and sunshine china.

  After boiling the mushroom beef carrot stew all afternoon, Emma began to ladle the rich burgundy infused melange onto Daniel's deep bowl, and then hers.   Placing both plates on the dining room table, she lit one white candle for the sabbath, and called Daniel in. Dinner was savored, as Stravinsky played softly from the radio.  After dining, and shortly before it became dark,  they stopped at the large armoir in the living room. Emma opened the two doors of the cabinet, revealing a drawer housing a box of dark chocolates. She picked one for both Daniel and herself, and held them in her left hand, as she reached to hold Daniel's left hand with her right hand.

     They retired into the den with their chocolates neatly resting on a pale olive linen napkin. Sitting on the black and white love seat, hands held relaxed, Daniel said he'd do the dishes. In the morning.

~Flash fiction,  by Kate Lamberg(all rights reserved)

someone's on something

 someone's on something 
and it is not the usual varietal 
of tall swaying grasses 

 poppies bow in consort 
 with those who pay attention, 
trying as it becomes 

we trust our guide to lead us-
 to not a promised land, 
but to the nearest ice cream stand 


Kate Lamberg~all rights reserved,
(c) 6/29/13

Grasses and the head of an egret, on the harbour~photo by kate lamberg-all rights reserved(c)

high above the evening clouds

high above the evening clouds
i stand and sing,
my heart out loud

days of daring drift to sea--
i sing of staying with
my accordion heart, and with thee

a flower knows its rightful home
within the earth, as sun bakes sodden loam
we too know when home is home, not refuge

when we find the golden thread, on woven loom-
as newborn powers burst forth.
sounds echo... and do boom

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