He met her in the courtyard by chance,
though pitted against each other
in a fierce competition, both willingly enrolled,
they fell in love, at fist sight, as if by a hidden cue.

Left out, by this turn, unexpected
they felt, no spirit of competition in them is now left;
two yarns in the magical weave of life
braided in perfect design, excellently blended in quick time,
can any one orchestrate a moment like this?
It's an apparition from the womb of time,  on its iridescent wings
flew down to intervene, on behalf of some spirit, evil or noble
who can tell, except when,  time is ripe.

Life is a walk through dark and enchanted woods
we stop a while where, paths diverge,
and  take one, sometimes by sudden impulse,
most take the beaten ones, the less traveled appeal some,
holding the hand of a beloved bathed in silver light, at the moment,
will it lead to destination or not, one knows not,  that moment is decisive,
at the end as much intervention of fate, if one views that way, as human proclivities.

sleep now
do not you
worry i'll

lift the tremble
i'll
carry

Dear,                     you so

and your
skinny heart
i will

,Sweetheart

impulse its beating to leap
clear your chest
and upon the night


        SOAR

by feathers of such kisses
as unknown by any
lady's lips

save

           Dear

                 the yours
                 easy
                 pink fantastic


cloaked in youth wild
and the rich sable
of lusting dankness

to be warmly moist with tender you

its eating body
of your nubile coffin full
its muscles sore
at your plaintive tug and pull

(the blanket your
shift of fayed
thighs the
bury hands
your head shortly
haired in a small
grope of my
gaped briefly
fluttering mouth

and a SQUEAK you
emit at my kiss i
can feel your ribs
'gainst my ribs i can
and snare more deeply
their sharpness
to my breast                  )

and Dear

sleep now
do not you
worry i'll

The slow serenade of time.
The subtle spin of the clock’s tireless hands.
In endless cycles
she dances out the destitute rhythm of days.
I'll weave you a web of words
the seconds bouncing on its brittle strands.
This life is tiresome
with rusty claws I'll change my fiction face.
Hung up by rope in the shed
I'll use my bare bone canvas to make something new
someone better.
Those starving tree moored beasts
I'll hide in the rustling leaves, haunches raised for the pounce.
I want to have no perception of time
a man of madness, melancholy, impulse and innocence.
Raise your cups high
toast to everything you ever had.
Toast to life
I'll drink to never knowing it.

God made me human
she was feeling capricious that day
actually I was meant to be a frog
                        
green and certain, self contained
content to simply squat and watch
flick a sticky tongue at a passing bug

observer of two worlds
at home in both
a leap-in-waiting

able when need or impulse
dictates to skedaddle
with the nonchalance of a Buddha

a gleam of green and gold
glistening on a lily leaf
or kerplunking into deep cool water

Frog had I such toes such elegant legs
I too could scrutinise the mysteries
of pools, the undersides of lilypads

do you wonder Frog
whether there are other ponds
do you dream a dream of elsewhere

do you pause to peer skywards
harbour a secret  wish for wings
ah, what may lie beyond your pool

but perhaps I ascribe                                        
too much mystery to you Frog
you simply are

whilst I, I am stuck in wondering,
trying to connect two worlds two realities
damn damn the divine indifference



                                  
  Tricia Lambert
   2010

roll with the punches baby try not to shatter while you wait to
feel it
it might take a while for every synapse to come alive but
i promise you'll feel it in the end
light up like a christmas tree with every nerve impulse 100 watts your body
will light up the room.
you cast shadows on the moon and i wonder why
is it so cold?
(this wasn't what i wanted when i picked up a pen,
but it seems
like every poem becomes part of you
your blood runs in these pens and i can't help writing about you and your
talus -
that word means both
jagged rocks when you look down from a cliff and oh is this what you want
and the bone of your heel
that you grind into my chest and damn,
i think
that sums you up
pretty well.)
because your sparks were always the best thing about you,
when you short-circuit and sputter and all your lights flicker your synapses
have more life than they know what to do with
roll with the punches and cradle your cheek and be grateful that
at least you didn't crack
because electricity and water don't mix and you've killed enough sharks
in your lifetime.
you don't need another funeral on the mind
when you're still watching the procession
of your own -
(or maybe it's just a fantasy
which is
more likely than not,
you were never able to face that talus
at the bottom
or your christmas lights sputtering and
stopping) -
you watch your own funeral and breathe and i
pray
to god for a miracle
because your measured breaths are the saddest thing i've ever seen because i know
you're just breathing by eights

[eight protons eight neutrons eight seconds in and out
atomic number eight processes to stay alive]

the periodic table hung on your wall like a map of the world you
breathe by eights and i pray harder and breathe ragged you were always more measured than me like
you're morse code and i'm an earthquake
you're heart rate and i'm arrhythmia
you're chemistry and i'm alchemy and you disprove me with every breath
you the child of bright mathematics i crumble in your gaze
but still you short-circuit and i stroke your hair and breathe ragged while you sputter
your synapses can't hold all your life so i'll conduct the overflow
ground your talus in my chest and i will take all your flickers for my own.
it might take a while
but you'll feel it
i promise
because it's not so cold with your short-circuits in my chest and i bet it's not so numb
with my pens scratching your arms
you light up and i wonder how you can breathe so steady
with all this smoke
in the air
(i was breathing  ragged already but you said asthma suits me and
i guess you're right because
you were always the one with all the elements memorized while i
struggled to remember that air
could be something other than
painful)
you short-circuit and i stroke your hair and pray
for your numbers to add up
this time
and you sigh and disprove me
again
because i only live in your flickers and sputters and my
ragged breath
and i pray you will flare brighter light up stronger because
when you feel that punch
i can't conduct that impulse.
roll with the punches baby you'll feel it i promise it
just takes a while
breathe by eights keep that heart rate steady
you imagine your funeral procession and sputter
i breathe ragged baby i will take all your misfires
and write odes to your sparks
just be ready for that feeling when it hits.

an intimacy of affections and intimate attentions
hovers in the air
sometimes shimmering
perhaps swirling
this way and that
creating at its core an impulse of hope
of a shared dream
drawn to each as each is to each
as in pursuit of that which is hidden in our hearts
obscured by what we think we know about ourselves
yet we are drawn into this thing
and find ourselves called to each other
in pursuit of our dreams of love
yet we have lived this long experience
these shared echoes that we realise#
each without each would be stunningly incomplete
a lavish perfume it envelopes us
invests us with new forms
in the most powerful and novel ways
with new rituals and language
we bristle with unexamined interpersonal connections
so gentle, so powerful, so beautiful
like the terms borrowed
from tow different galaxies of homeless stars
yet complement each other as a whole
for we have found it
what
love
what is it
it is the music only we can hear
for we are the duality of our dream

I'm getting used to limited oxygen by now

although sometimes my chest tightens up

and I feel an extreme impulse to break out of this glass

Then I remember how many times I've tried

and slump down in defeat knowing


I'll never get out of here

I don't care to see
The moral stances
From overly sensitive types
With their soft hands
And wisdom-less insight

I don't care to associate
With low impulse cut throats
Who only think of themselves
And shelve their selfish hope
With their greed

I don't do anything
That has me
Relying on a single thing
So i can flee
On the drop of a team
To my door

I'm always going to be
Solo
Leaning on the beam
Of a door
Listening
To whats in store for me

And I don't need to breathe
The ashes of fascists
To know they passed us
For the masses
To caste us
Into flames
As they walk away

And i don't want or need
Anything
Nor anybody
After grumbling it all through
As the truths
Will have me
Setting somebody free
In the violent liberties
Of my profanity

I'm nothing fancy
Just a little bit antsy
And an asshole
Frantically feeding his dreams
From the ditches and drains
Of a technological stain
On the land

I pray every morning
With closed eyes
And clasped hands
Without a single god in the sky
But if i can convince
Myself of the lie
Just to get me by
I will be alright
And the guilt wont rewrite
Until tonight
Where i will write it out
Under a single light
From a dreary house

I'm all about
Letting the dogs out to play
And when I'm all out of thirst
I let out the slurs
Of a babbling idiot
Bantering with the fidget
Of ridiculousness
Under the fractal prisms
In which I'm imprisoned
Wishing
I would shut my mouth
Change the channel
Or just close you out