Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

late july- neither here, nor there she sprawls out under a willow with no thoughts, other than getting back to the garden on time for the cool wind- blowing from the west; rain- no where in sight the earth remains still, yet gravitates to the western wind feeling at the moment like a rainbow fish under water, skimming the surface of a shallow river- moving north and south all thoughts as slippery as trying to catch a rainbow fish, festive--gets away by just a hair floating northwards meeting with no formalities at the mouth, spilling saline secrets--deep into the heavenly sea words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

redwing blackbirds linger on the tops of reeds alongside the grist mill- close to sunset they review the arc of their day at rest, and in flight-- we fail to see the bright stroke of red tucked in to their black bodies but just now- while perched quiet the stillness infectious to all those who take the time to drop baggage and simply be among the red wings who become our teacher at dusk and never ask for anything we too make pure our life stripped of pretentiousness when all that echoes in our veins is this: "it's kindness that brought us into this world and kindness which keeps us more than treading; we navigate through sea weed, vine choked dogwood trees, day old bread, soured milk-- we rise like cream so close to sky's edge, are moved by wind, & restored by sun's radiance the new moon of possibility becomes all we care to breathe ~words and photo by kate lamberg (c) '14

National Beat Poetry...on Long Island! Tuesday, September 8th, 2015 Port Jefferson Free Library/East Main St./Port Jefferson.. 6 PM Sharp- 9PM Sharp Poetry Features: George Wallace,  first poet laueate, and Kate Lamberg, Poet/Musician/Host Musical Features: Richard Sackett, Christie Baker,  and Bob Reminick. Open Mic follows Features! Free, and open to all! Fabulous Refreshments! Don't be Square---Be There! 'splash' ~ photo by Kate Lamberg (c) '15 ~ Kate Lamberg~Host/Admin.of National Beat Poetry--On Long Island! If you wish to participate in open mic poetry/music: Kindly email Kate..at : healerkate77@gmail.com

pink rose of sharon breathes in outdoor zendo spills sun-warmed secrets haiku/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

haiku/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15 how turtle survives clover lawn, sweet tart berries keeping to himself

iced coffee meshes with the sharp beaks of birds blaring beneath my window facing north, no glare to keep me from noticing how the light to the west beckons, without mistrusting how we all can be lured like a small piece of cuttle fish a dangling participle attracting hooks of songs from fishing poles, played softly down by the delta deliberately waiting for the first silver minnows to appear through the clear morning harbor- heaving a cargo of snails pushed up through the ages of volvcanic sand- smearing the dry sun burnt land with new breathing life dancing by the delta to the blues my grandma took me by the hand to show me some summer evening when the air was a perfect opaque stocking- safe and without snares we colored together in a coloring book i learned was just a sky, and our fingers pretended to be crayons it was before i entered into the public school system before I knew that I could do whatever i set my mind to but secretly...

Your heart is the size of an ocean. Go find yourself in its hidden depths. ~Rumi expansion contraction joy and pain waves rise up crash down in a single breath what are you doing to make peace with change how are you inspiring others--in the way you are naturally imperfect celebrating the height of the wave, and the flattening water the impermanence of mood becomes what true humanity shares what brings you and me to a common denominator of waxing and waning "we" once you get me, are you allowing me to be me-- as i make my intention's list to include both getting you, and letting you be the magnificence you soared into the world with benevolent bright blessings, like baby's breath..... innumerable and sacred words/photo~kate lamberg (thank you rumi for always coming through at the correct time, for my greatest good)

shade trees, offering the touch of coolness body craves, mind seeks while soul sings so softly we can almost hear the touching of aspen leaves in the dry brittle heat of july we can almost hear the cool blue of harbor bells calling us to surrender relinquishing the sweaty hand of heat's incessant horror we dive in--unrehearsed deep in the quenching of harbour blue we are restored--become moored in liquid lapis ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

"When you walk with naked feet, how can you ever forget the earth" Carl Jung it's only when we insist on shoes clothes, layers of ordered thought that keep us from touching keep us from being touched by this earth we call home she can, and she has been known to wrap her willowed arms round those who accept the presence of new spring green leaves the refreshment of a southwestern breeze it's enough to bring us to our knees now isn't that better than running directionless among mind thickets and the onslaught of honey bees oh how we've put ourselves in the line of battle, in the spirit of it being, "that's how i feel" when we give it up for the will of willows the ten million things emerge two dozen geese fly diagonally over the house sounding like huge hand painted fans cooling our minds, sending strong ropey roots even deeper into the origins the ...

the ivory colored goose eggs sit in an old rattan basket placed on the weathered pine wood table, upon the worn slatted  porch floor with views of the ceaseless stream directly  below; every time the stream runs behind the house, the participants are left breathless--a water view to die for-- in winter it is most difficult to see the river run there is an abundance of snow piled up above the frozen stream, beside the stream that would in spring break open into dance yes, t.s. eliot--april is the cruelest month we get used to it--we do not get jaded by it--we celebrate all the stream says to us whether it runs in a trickle, or a steady pulse of galloping ripples: a race horse with no conscience how she sweetly swirls in spring while the wild daisies spill their petals of white and yellow stones, weeds,  pine needles both breathe and are breathed into another fiasco under water as lovers battle out who is right underneath the spot light ...

carman's river-photo by kate lamberg (c) '15 "we inter-breathe with the rain forests, we drink from the oceans. they are part of our own body." ~buddha when we deny the presence of trees, seas, earth---we reduce our own capacity for humanness to acknowledge all bodies of water, sky air, and earth as being no different from self-honoring is to enliven and empower our own earthbound vehicles-- allowing us to move with grace, scanning all the various layers of the atmosphere: swimming, flying, dancing, connecting all beings with each other as we revere the very common thread we call home ~kate lamberg (c) '15

logic never releases its hold as well as little waves against the shoreline taking to deeper waters spontaneous sets up camp where the run off of adages punches in the gut she- spontaneous slips and slides in a muddy oracle of bliss forgetting the time a spit shoe shine works best in hot weather tempering the leather the july sun on the harbor bobs up and down, sashays sideways in the form of a cross st. francis never gave up on animals, humans, and chocolate brown robes the dark night of the soul awakes with pink high heel sneakers hip hopping through newly leased clover the lavish spread of picnic items procured promise pate' fois gras on a baguette- hold the horn between your pursed lips, and blow Braham's lullabye ~words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '15

the burning off of clouds seen from the ocean's center surprises, independent of the hundreds of times this magic takes place-- all over the world illusions are burned- without a living trace that smoke would, or could- get into our eyes smudging how we used to theorize: birds bounce near foot tall cornflower blue chicory growing by the sides of the back roads seen in the hazy damp lemonade light at dusk--late summer, where even stray cats go seeking cool hollows-- living on wild berries,  and an occasional mouse,  upon the plain earth- spreading for miles in every direction- as flat ground on an island is a fine design for finding higher realms, and natural dining: one rectangular blue slate boulder becomes the stage in which this takes place so often that dreams echo in the cool blue strength of stone alfresco--- for whomever finds it, to know-- they shall never break bread alone poem/photo~kate lamberg~kath*odes (c) '15