Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

  there are just times we feel split or shattered but never really broken   when someone says something belittling, to shame our very souls remember green glass bottles break on beach-- then at the end of summer feel smooth   the waves change from stormy to peaceful in minutes when we hear the wind, it has nuances of loud and soft-- changing but never dying    the sky at dawn begins as a bright fuscia, lightens to pink cotton candy, then becomes a wide white and blue dome skies trees flowers grasses: their beauty is more pronounced when they leave us, then return   a grace we can learn in relationships with others--  hang tight when flight feels like it would be simpler   dear friend, don't run from the scene of the crime before telling me... how it feels for you 'the sky at dawn'  

  driving home, with the radio cranked Steeley Dan blares out the windows... gracious greens in the form of late spring lawns, and sprawling trees--  arching over roads   air sparkles spanking clean messages: may angels orchestrate smooth sailing-almost as if we're sailing-- not driving-- while the double yellow solid lines demarcate there shall be no swerving   as more curves lay ahead, waiting... while we navigate-- high  on the newly formed purple wisteria,  wrapping its long viney arms around ancient oaks   impossible to fathom the depths of their affection-- the fellowship of live things--doorbell ringing--and stray cats meowing--  on warm black top driveways- a few minutes from home  

  Since I am a poet and a musician, the process of one bleeds into the other. I edit my poems several times after the first scribble. I try to get my words to embody:  a steady cadence(or quirky; just consistent), agreeable sounds within words and between words,  as well as clear-cut crystalline visuals.   I try not to preach or educate. Simply... I try to imply a natural state of being-- such as peacefulness or integrity, without  blatantly coming out and saying so.   How would you describe your writing process? If also a musician, actor, or painter ..how do you integrate--(or keep separate--the different art forms)?    

  Waking at five fifty five a.m., she stays in bed for another hour. She tries to reassemble the jigsaw pieces of dreams. Even when a clear meaning about her struggles and triumphs emerges, she can see the cardboard endings and beginnings of her own wholeness.    She can feel the images--not unlike thin chopped up photos peeling off of the cardboard of a thousand puzzle pieces-- to ultimately create a scene from childhood, too painful to see all at once.    Staring out into space, she understands why at times when the world stresses become too much to absorb, she too slinks away, akin to the images peeling, fading from consciousness. All in a NY minute, she becomes numb to the pain and the joy.    She floats in a one person boat-- only feeling the water buffeting her skin and bones. Somehow the buffeting of her emotions stays on an even keel.  She floats aimlessly on the open salt water, remembering to call home.

    gazing at the centers of flowers at dawn,  recognizing the time to sleep--with a delicious yawn-- floating on a watery reverie   realizing there's practically nothing to do---to get all people praising another grand beauty of a may day    what we choose to do with the time, the space, the fluidity-- will literally make or break the blessed reverie   the goodness of simply breathing-- becoming braver--  benefiting all beings by both: the simplicity and depth of nature singing--  delighting in her dancing