Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

to resist napping on this rainy Sunday afternoon in May could not rattle any nature lover... we can learn a new song... with the rain as the background-- bossa nova--jobim style jive... how the rain drops slap the pavement-- in syncopation... pushes the percussionists to dust off congas-- and to get on with laying down the beat, the music-- bathing floor to ceiling- with a driving pulse helps to distract from the desire to walk in a light drizzle at dusk-- the sweet ending of May still satisfies our need for the profusion of flowers falling...gently-- with the rain-dappled petals at our feet Words/ photo-- kjl '21

Before bed, I had a idea for a poem. When I woke from a dream, I had all the imagery for embellishing the poem that still sat unwritten, resting--in the gray crevices of my skull. To tap the initial burst of the poem would require sitting in a darkened room with pen and paper, and simply pour out words uncaring as to how they would initially flow. To achieve a rich rendering would necessitate a patience and laser-like focus--not unlike the way Leonard Bernstein conducts---not distracted by the dancers on the stage, or in my head.

no, no, no--don't want to know  why you're still sitting in the shade this earth is made from carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen-- igniting the heavens and waters with a warm brush of blue currents embracing the swimmer in non-linear expressions-- how long can water assist a non-motivated swimmer to mingle with rainbow fish, shining irridescent daring the muted cartwheels, the opus handspring-- blessing the seamless pirouette, turning

patiently waiting all day for the skies to separate, degage', and dance the dance-- simply known as blessings in the form of blessed rain; surrendering seems to be the only choice within the domain of harmony

light meets up with light-------------------- in the dawn hours--not unlike------------- the inter- facing found between------------- people, plants and flowers---------

Ginger snaps are crumbled in the kitchen, as she experiments with a new recipe- invented on her own. When people meet as adversaries, it becomes a challenge to ever see each other any differently. Oh, if only they could bathe in the same peaceful light! A cloudy coolish start to a Monday leaves her wearing a blue cardigan, and leggings, poemless. The cicadas woke her at three a.m., keeping her awake for hours. Such audacity for him to assume she needed weekly prompts for poems, or guidance writing haiku. Blessings arrive in scribbled notes read from a spiral notebook. The world is held closely spinning in control of not back sliding before the movie ends. Chances taken by speaking what she feels at any given moment does cleanse the build up of edifices- those false promises. This might get anyone closer to living a blue rivered paradise. There are flowered trees waiting in the depths of the woods for some folks to escape KJL '21

She hears the rhythm of warblers in the hollowed out oak tree. Like a rotund baritone drone, or a sleeping snore--as a steady background to everyday sounds- garbage trucks, and low flying helicopters... circling above- as seagulls, not doves. Still droning, hardly owning anything besides a fireplace, wild- flowers, and a singular smile. Staying awhile for boggle or scrabble-- deep into the late spring night. Drone ends. Luciano Pavroti sings his favorite aria. No other sounds make any sense. Ears open to listen, quite intently to beam-- in triplets the richness of sound. Crowning our sensibilities into song. Doggie barks are terse punctuation marks--- in between the non-stop lawnmowers in stereo. Looking up at condensed garden and one un-assuming sky- brushes purple rouge over a pallid canvas, high in the catskills. The purple money plant, prolific takes over the pile of ceramic and plastic planters left since last spring-- underneath the wheel barrow-- leaning against the...