Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15 warm night, windows open cool morning, windows closed what aches becomes smooth what is smooth becomes achey home is there, and also here you are sometimes here, and sometimes there we can choose to be silent, and be together as well  as speak when we are apart we can look at our lives as seamless or we can look at our lives as with seams seamless becomes with seams, as what has seams becomes seamless cool air travels through open windows some cool air stays out with windows closed there are times for being overly hot and times for being overly cold no one has ever drowned from gazing at the sun, nor has any one melted by looking at snow today i prefer jazz to zydeco if you ask me tomorrow, i might say that blues truly resonates if you don't like the present channel you are on get up, walk across the room (remember before we had remotes) and change that channel...do not sit down take action on your life and th...

we forgot the trees were turning when we were working on the barn somewhere between the joists and sky-light hammering, we just stopped mindlessly in our tracks and without a moment to waste, we flew clear across the smooth pine floors and out the sliding roughened wood doors for just this: blazing color on high trees lit as if from within the very core of existence radiating bliss- as if for only us: a kiss of pure amber honey words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

sky darkens soon after sunrise as the once dry leaves of the oak click a damp, yet deliberate song, speaking in tongues within castanettes- the slippage of sun warning everyone to play fair, choose to walk upon the damper, greener ground-- leaving thoughts that weigh the meditative mind- to usher in a lighter step-- first bird song, an impatient blue jay, robust, jeering his autumn feathered friends- a moment of pure unadulterated silence, and then-- a single wing of a blue jay appears, through picture window, so soon... we begin humming, 'blue jay way' until its incandescent chant fills the brightening room with tinges of blue, transfixing all who view the magnolia's nude arched branches-seem to embrace her own trunk, and then-- reach closer to the isinglass, from where we choose to gaze--sensing a clawing invitation to join--- how breathing bodies become swept up in the woodland dance inside the warm golden room, with tinges of blue- a sun...

“Poetry has an immediate effect on the mind. The simple act of reading poetry alters thought patterns and the shuttle of the breath. Poetry induces trance. Its words are chant. Its rhythms are drum beats. Its images become the icons of the inner eye. Poetry is more than a description of the sacred experience; it carries the experience itself.” -Ivan M.Granger I'm inclined to say that some poetry has the power to engender what Mr. Granger has expressed. That would be good poetry, the kind of poetry that I not only enjoy reading, but the kind of poetry that catapults me into writing my own poetry. If good music carries with it music, less than good poetry carries an irregular pattern of sound. Without judging, I am not being pejorative in my observation. Both reading poetry out loud, and hearing it read by the poet can be a visceral, "full body" experience, or not.  I choose to both read and hear poems that create a definite alteration  in my mind, bod...

the day is a mystery of stillness the quiet cuts through the thick air delivering dampness to those who walk, or sit amidst this quiet day one bird sings in the lowest branch of the maple tree my neighbor planted last spring--its growth evidenced by its leaves tinged with a deep blush waving worlds through second story window as the sky slowly becomes more grey a terrorist attack happens each time we turn our backs- when we face our troubles head on- as train cars sit in a depot after hours there becomes less laundry to do as we witness the building up of stress and the releasing, as leaves shall tumble through a clearing-designed in earth tones- chanting all living things as one entity-tethered in god and goddess tapestry how the wind grows unaware of its ability to cool the poet stationed by the brook casting no shadows in a sun deprived sky words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

how sky lights up at dusk reminding our inner core to both broaden and deepen brackish waters of home are silenced- just as soon as sky darkens we are quelled simply, without vowels or consonants-- colors create sounds- silently uttering twinkle twinkle on upright piano, one last bike ride before dark.... pizza, ballet, the breast stroke words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

"Everything you can imagine is real." pablo picasso she had thoughts of riding the amber moon lassoing the stars, exuberant with her new found perspective what was vacant, became full what was full, watered down the darkening black blue sky sent fertility to planets needing nourishment on a ballet slipper bow impossible to know why wind whirled her curls becoming more taut she knew to listen for quick change spent in a higher thinner altitude pears procured in mid-air welcomed peanut butter kisses stuck on sweet salt anyone thought of immediately received natural healing on contact, rigid thinking caved into the swirling river rapidly offering a quick game of frisbee football before the real meal is served dinner gong- everyone we ever cared about sat down to talk freely how gravity cooperated preventing floating baguettes, whole bowls of fruit from flying high above our mouths, all that is imagined wholesome, our beings firmly p...