tricia-lambert - Hello Poetry

Into the blender- Pineapple juice, half a carton Ice, a handful Coconut cream, a well shaken tin Bacardi, a goodly dollop Justine says I should add half an eggwhite For the froth But how the hell do you halve an egg white So I leave it out. A few seconds unholy racket And it’s ready to pour Into my favourite thick heavy glass Put the pitcher in the fridge And take on impulse. ****** good Brings back a tiled balcony in Puerto Vallarta A small boy wearing an iguana Tricia Lambert

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Feb 8, 2014

Feb 8, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC

tricia-lambert

PINA COLADA

Into the blender- Pineapple juice, half a carton Ice, a handful Coconut cream, a well shaken tin Bacardi, a goodly dollop Justine says I should add half an eggwhite For the froth But how the hell do you halve an egg white So I leave it out. A few seconds unholy racket And it’s ready to pour Into my favourite thick heavy glass Put the pitcher in the fridge And take on impulse. ****** good Brings back a tiled balcony in Puerto Vallarta A small boy wearing an iguana Tricia Lambert

19

a sound poem does not hesitate does not prevaricate does not wobble about it states its purpose smartly develops its theme without hesitation even with a sense of urgency creating images sometimes memorable often fleeting having laid a table set out a feast plumped a sofa full of feathered cushions created a false sense of security it then leaps up and exits swiftly on tiptoe perhaps trailing a whiff of violets bloodstains a wry smile a hunger pang an uneasy longing leaving its reader in the lurch wondering where did that go Tricia Lambert (On being given the prompt-A Sound Poem)

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Feb 8, 2014

Feb 8, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC

tricia-lambert

A SOUND POEM-

a sound poem does not hesitate does not prevaricate does not wobble about it states its purpose smartly develops its theme without hesitation even with a sense of urgency creating images sometimes memorable often fleeting having laid a table set out a feast plumped a sofa full of feathered cushions created a false sense of security it then leaps up and exits swiftly on tiptoe perhaps trailing a whiff of violets bloodstains a wry smile a hunger pang an uneasy longing leaving its reader in the lurch wondering where did that go Tricia Lambert (On being given the prompt-A Sound Poem)

27

would that the wind-flung raindrops at my window were pebbles thrown by my lover. white Geranium prunings left lying in a heap this morning, snowballs in the yard what is your question? triangle face tilts toward me Praying Mantis asking tuxedo cat chin pulled in licks crumbs from his dicky front powerlines- a stave ruled on a page of white sky making music- perched starlings. this hill is getting old on one side her skin is gone slipped into the sea below her bones are showing through I know how she feels driving home from Mahia way out to the left across the green sea sun breaks through cloud strikes triangular white cliffs a row of giant shark teeth Wow I shout Wow Bronwyn,changing white clay into frogs moans “It's the toes that take the time”. windstirred bamboo black brushed on silver moontrack spilling down rippled sea. Frog steeped in knowledge of the mysteries of pools tells me only “croak” WAIHEKE the Island lies far off sea bites off bays then licks my memories fade ZIG ZAG unseen visitor left a calling card behind- tiny feather floats

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Feb 8, 2014

Feb 8, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC

tricia-lambert

RANDOM FRAGMENTS

would that the wind-flung raindrops at my window were pebbles thrown by my lover. white Geranium prunings left lying in a heap this morning, snowballs in the yard what is your question? triangle face tilts toward me Praying Mantis asking tuxedo cat chin pulled in licks crumbs from his dicky front powerlines- a stave ruled on a page of white sky making music- perched starlings. this hill is getting old on one side her skin is gone slipped into the sea below her bones are showing through I know how she feels driving home from Mahia way out to the left across the green sea sun breaks through cloud strikes triangular white cliffs a row of giant shark teeth Wow I shout Wow Bronwyn,changing white clay into frogs moans “It's the toes that take the time”. windstirred bamboo black brushed on silver moontrack spilling down rippled sea. Frog steeped in knowledge of the mysteries of pools tells me only “croak” WAIHEKE the Island lies far off sea bites off bays then licks my memories fade ZIG ZAG unseen visitor left a calling card behind- tiny feather floats

46

In the flawless dark high overhead Torea shrieks ripping holes in the silent korowai of night again Torea calls and further off faint again now silent the cloak ripples settles repairs the tears stillness sprawls warm as aroha Tricia Lambert Torea-the Maori name of the Pied Oyster Catcher Korowai-a ceremonial cloak Aroha- love, unconditional love, similar to the Greek, agape

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Feb 8, 2014

Feb 8, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC

tricia-lambert

NIGHT BIRDS

In the flawless dark high overhead Torea shrieks ripping holes in the silent korowai of night again Torea calls and further off faint again now silent the cloak ripples settles repairs the tears stillness sprawls warm as aroha Tricia Lambert Torea-the Maori name of the Pied Oyster Catcher Korowai-a ceremonial cloak Aroha- love, unconditional love, similar to the Greek, agape

25

I'd like to eat a mango As I glide through a Tango My bubbles would pop While doin’ Hiphop I’d soothe my soul Swingin’ Rock and Roll No time for slumber While doing the Rhumba My blood would pulse To a Viennese Waltz Dizzy’s how I’d feel Skipping a Scots Reel I’d dance Ballet With my valet I’d cut a rug Doing jitterbug I’d be happy as Improvising Jazz I'd like to swing a Fire Poi In exotic far away Hanoi I’d fly to San Francisco To indulge in Disco I’d as soon not talk Sliding through a Moonwalk I’d wear a yarmulke While doing the Polka I’d get the gist Of doing the Twist I could unwind With a Bump and a Grind I’d take off my wig For a fast Irish Jig I'd be a hot Mama Performing the Cha cha My heart would sing To a Highland Fling I’d step up the tempo To stamp a Flamenco I'd feel alive Just doin’ the Jive Now the ending’s your choice For better or woice! One is glad One is sad Pick one and it’s done- I’m off to France It’s the witching hour For a chance to dance And I’m a wall flower. Tricia Lambert

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Feb 8, 2014

Feb 8, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC

tricia-lambert

MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE

I'd like to eat a mango As I glide through a Tango My bubbles would pop While doin’ Hiphop I’d soothe my soul Swingin’ Rock and Roll No time for slumber While doing the Rhumba My blood would pulse To a Viennese Waltz Dizzy’s how I’d feel Skipping a Scots Reel I’d dance Ballet With my valet I’d cut a rug Doing jitterbug I’d be happy as Improvising Jazz I'd like to swing a Fire Poi In exotic far away Hanoi I’d fly to San Francisco To indulge in Disco I’d as soon not talk Sliding through a Moonwalk I’d wear a yarmulke While doing the Polka I’d get the gist Of doing the Twist I could unwind With a Bump and a Grind I’d take off my wig For a fast Irish Jig I'd be a hot Mama Performing the Cha cha My heart would sing To a Highland Fling I’d step up the tempo To stamp a Flamenco I'd feel alive Just doin’ the Jive Now the ending’s your choice For better or woice! One is glad One is sad Pick one and it’s done- I’m off to France It’s the witching hour For a chance to dance And I’m a wall flower. Tricia Lambert

47

I used to take pride in my ability to stand on my head with my palms flat on the floor forming a triangle with my head or yoga style head cupped in my hands and forearms to elbows taking the weight I could kick up one leg following the other to come together and form a perfect column or I could tippy toe towards my trunk balance my knees on my jutting elbows lift my hips through ninety degrees then raise both legs skywards or I could tuck my knees in and unroll upwards like a punga* frond perfectly controlled powerful exultant I remember the feeling of triumph when I balanced there the soles of my feet visible to God my blood pounding and pooling in my head upside down against the world loving it *Punga- the New Zealand tree fern

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Feb 8, 2014

Feb 8, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC

tricia-lambert

when did I stop doing headstands

I used to take pride in my ability to stand on my head with my palms flat on the floor forming a triangle with my head or yoga style head cupped in my hands and forearms to elbows taking the weight I could kick up one leg following the other to come together and form a perfect column or I could tippy toe towards my trunk balance my knees on my jutting elbows lift my hips through ninety degrees then raise both legs skywards or I could tuck my knees in and unroll upwards like a punga* frond perfectly controlled powerful exultant I remember the feeling of triumph when I balanced there the soles of my feet visible to God my blood pounding and pooling in my head upside down against the world loving it *Punga- the New Zealand tree fern

29

And each of us is a poet and each of us is a dancer and all of us are the poem and all of us are the dance and each of us is a singer and each of us is a dreamer and all of us are the song and all of us are the dream and the poem and the dance and the song are the dream and the dream is our lives we live in the dream

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Jun 22, 2013

Jun 22, 2013 at 6:03 AM UTC

tricia-lambert

IN THE DREAM TIME

And each of us is a poet and each of us is a dancer and all of us are the poem and all of us are the dance and each of us is a singer and each of us is a dreamer and all of us are the song and all of us are the dream and the poem and the dance and the song are the dream and the dream is our lives we live in the dream

7

Bones beached gleaming in black sand Moon dust scattered careless etches stones Sleeping dragon unseen slumbers under hills mapping power Silver scaled fish flash shimmer in green pools Blood rises answers the pull of dancing moon cloud crossed moon white moon high riding moon wishing moon fishing for dreams moon reflecting searching out bleached bones dream seekers Dragons in waiting

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Jun 22, 2013

Jun 22, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC

tricia-lambert

DRAGON MOON

Bones beached gleaming in black sand Moon dust scattered careless etches stones Sleeping dragon unseen slumbers under hills mapping power Silver scaled fish flash shimmer in green pools Blood rises answers the pull of dancing moon cloud crossed moon white moon high riding moon wishing moon fishing for dreams moon reflecting searching out bleached bones dream seekers Dragons in waiting

25

At the East End Cafe a Canadian folksinger strums up a storm on a guitar- a bargain guitar- he got $1000 off the price of it We don’t know any of his songs Locals tap their feet to his rhythms talk to people they talk to every day but louder tonight fuelled by beer and wine and a determined bonhomie Ange and her girls cook up a storm behind the counter serve us steaks and real pizzas and creme brulee Late night kids stroll outside peer in - curious- at the unaccustomed goings on Beyond the plateglass windows the inside lights orange globes reflect in the darkness like floating pumpkins I know the river lies out there just moving on down to the sea

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Jun 13, 2013

Jun 13, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC

tricia-lambert

BIG NIGHT OUT IN A SMALL TOWN

At the East End Cafe a Canadian folksinger strums up a storm on a guitar- a bargain guitar- he got $1000 off the price of it We don’t know any of his songs Locals tap their feet to his rhythms talk to people they talk to every day but louder tonight fuelled by beer and wine and a determined bonhomie Ange and her girls cook up a storm behind the counter serve us steaks and real pizzas and creme brulee Late night kids stroll outside peer in - curious- at the unaccustomed goings on Beyond the plateglass windows the inside lights orange globes reflect in the darkness like floating pumpkins I know the river lies out there just moving on down to the sea

31

I dished a crescent moon onto a page of poetry But the point ran away from me- it just would not stay put Perhaps it is looking for the spoon. Is that a little dog I can hear laughing.

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Jun 13, 2013

Jun 13, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC

tricia-lambert

HEY ****** GRIDDLE

I dished a crescent moon onto a page of poetry But the point ran away from me- it just would not stay put Perhaps it is looking for the spoon. Is that a little dog I can hear laughing.

8