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