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

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)

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

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

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

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

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