At last these Plums took the Daughter in Kind
From Lord Raffles' Paradise she adored
A Marriage of Saints she thought to remind
Though behind her Door was Melancholy.
But who a Pony-Child in Fashion's New
Could taste the Recipe she may not like?
Clotted Cream? Or Fish in the River-View
Tore through the Muddy Dress to greet her Delight
This is not the Age, Tories of the West
To switch on Lights dimmed for your Books to read
She is a Sweet-Tooth; Or Filmer at best
Just give her a Spoon; She makes one Great Mead.
She is my Friend. And the Plum's Diver Son
Rewarded a Follow never un-done.

She applied the latest fashion tips to her lips
and put on the newest dress to cover the mess.
I held her as she swayed in front of the mirror.
"I want to get away from here," she cooes in my ear.

It rains ridicule as she tries to be classic cool;
storms that brew from within-
and there's no way of knowing how it'll begin.
She'll say that she's a succubus
but I promise that she's a star and thus
destined to implode but shine beautiful before death.
And I await to be burnt by her deathly breath.

She says that she feels detached,
I read the message that has hatched
from ten eggs thrown from a wrist.
Her lips are mine but all I do is miss.
Her lips aren't mine and all I do is this.

I **** time with new noise and old sights.
She asks if I'll be home tonight
and I wish I could because I'd clearly sway thee,
macabre debutante lover baby.

Her name is Tricia and as I whisper,
her cheeks blush.
"Don't break hearts or mine too much."
I could say the say the same for you, my Josh.
Couldn't we all break broken signs
with the love we reallign?

I tantalize her lullabies with eager hands
and lethargic eyes.
I shoulder her and press her near,
and kiss her from neck to each ear.
She slides hands and traces each crease.
She runs her hands as soft as fleece.
My hands hide in her underwear
and she says,
"How did you remove all of my air?"
She fixes her hands and grabs my base,
I kiss each corner of her face.
Stroking, stoking my desire,
I ask her to lay naked by the fire.

I disrobe and throw each cloth on ground.
Tricia takes off her bra and there is no sound.
Her ******* make me eagersome
and, suddenly, I'm no longer numb .
I tell her that if it doesn't feel right
that we don't have to make love tonight.
She walks and her feet kiss the tile.
She says she wants to stay for a while.

We get lost in blanket and the cloth is soft,
as we move from the fire to a loft.
I tell her that her lips are silk,
her chest plays songs,
and her taste is milk.

Her feet appear behind my head,
and she bites her lip until I feel dead.
I place my hand between her thighs
and listen to each moan and sigh.

I hear her shudder as I break her soil
and I feel my body start to boil,
as I push in and kiss her nose.
She throws back her head
as her mouth can't close.

I wake up and she's next to me.
I kiss her forehead to thank for harmony.
I pick her up and let her bloom in my arms like a flower.
And then I walk her to the shower.

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

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

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

Listen
to these green plants
pleading
beseeching

you would think
they'd be used to it by now
but every year the same old thing

look the rain is finished folks
you're on your own now
nine months before the next shower

this is how leaves suffocate
see the gray dust clogging their pores
hear them choking
under a wind thrown blanket
this is how they drown

brittle and crackling the grasses
soon the weight
of a starving grasshopper
will be enough to snap
them

shrubs will dump
their curled up castoffs
earthwards
scribbled twigs alone
will remain

from now on
only the thieving airplants
will thrive
viral invaders
******* sap from reluctant hosts
who can ill afford
to accommodate them

now patient rocks
are emerging from cover
each a palette of vivid lichens
sundecks for snakes and lizards
now that the clamouring grass
is gone

the land lies baking
withdrawn
curling
into herself

even the air
sighs
slumps

soon fire will come
to cannibalise
the undergrowth
play chasey
through the dry grass
send ants scurrying
downstairs
flip a nod
to the big old cactuses
tickle the toes
of the mesquites-
who will stand stoic
observing the pillage
around their hot feet
and shrug
resigned
seen it all before
they are above it all really

fire
will play homage
to their indifference
lay down
a black velvet carpet


wind
will whistle up
tiny tornadoes of ash
to pirouette
and perish

everyone
will accept the inevitable
eventually
and just knuckle down
to wait it out

in a state of trance
floating
                  on a dream
                                      of rain



Tricia Lambert
Mexico
Nov 2010

ANTLIKE STRENGTHS
A poem by Tricia Hague-Barrett 1993

An ant carries its large load across the cracks
in the path on its way homeward
Nothing gets in its way
Nothing prevents him from succeeding,

If only I could have seen the end in the beginning
where struggles are frequent but passable,
testing but not breaking my resolve to give in
to the desparate feelings of loneliness, tiredness.

Ant-like, I too have to learn to carry the heavy load,
The Teaching load, the Administrative load,
carry it across potholes, ditches, mountains
and through distant valleys of calmness.

Turbulent tests, stumbling stones,
each there to guide me along the way
Like guardian angels, each one
Heralding the Dawn of a New Day.

Ends.
(C) 1993

See this gray dust
Swirling
It is the ground bones of ancestors

They are in my nostrils
And on my tongue
They congregate in my ears
Where they chatter lightheartedly
And beat their drums
In rhythms syncopated  
With my heartbeat
Oh yes, my blood recognizes that tattoo

They clump under my toenails
And collect in the creases
Of my withering skin

If I sit long enough in one spot
They will engulf me
Cover me in a fine quiet shroud
I shall succumb to their insistence
And surrender without fuss

Soon enough
Sun shall crack me open
Desiccation shall be my lot
My bones will give back the light
Insidious lichens shall colonise me
Insects explore my crevices
Corroded, scoured by indifferent winds
I shall slump with a final sigh
No  body,  aaaaah

Then
I too shall blow about
On the breeze
I shall be no more
Than an irritating speck
In the eye of a grand child
Carrying  marigolds.



Tricia Lambert.    

On November 2nd, Dia de los muertos, Mexicans honour their ancestors and recently dead, with elaborate shrines in homes and public places. Families visit cemeteries, taking food and flowers, noticeably marigolds, and the celebrations are loud and long.

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
**** **** the divine indifference



                                  
  Tricia Lambert
   2010

this is sublime.
          vengeful tides of occasions spent thinking too much have
          sent me spinning out of de-controlled skies again
& this sudden urging urgency to be everyone's knight in used armour
will not penetrate through my outer skin

I cannot sit here anymore
              sit here & watch as the skin turns to
              bones, turns to dust, turns to..

I remember meeting this elderly woman on Bank Street in 2007
& what struck me the most about her was that circumstances never
for a second trampled her smile.. her love of life seemed to contradict
an article I read several weeks later that stated all those without
a home were junkies, one hundred percent of them would take change
offered to them & fetch their fix..
                                                                 I knew that just couldn't be..

there are stories
the woman who gave her son up for adoption.. I think her name was Tricia..
the nineteen-year-old girl, Chloe, sitting by the Rideau Centre..
& the elderly woman, I did not catch her name..but I'm sure someone
out there has called her "Mom" in the past..

yes this is sublime.
the tides are swelling high now
& occasions spent thinking too much about
what's on the horizon are throwing me into
                                        
                                                     deafening spins..

See this gray dust
swirling
It is the ground bones of ancestors

They are in my nostrils
and on my tongue
They congregate in my ears
where they chatter lightheartedly
and beat their drums
in rhythms syncopated  
with my heartbeat

Oh yes, my blood recognizes that tattoo

They clump under my toenails
and collect in the creases
of my withering skin

If I sit long enough in one spot
they will engulf me
cover me in a fine quiet shroud

I shall succumb to their insistence
and surrender without fuss

Soon enough
sun shall crack me open
Desiccation shall be my lot

My bones will give back the light
Insidious lichens shall colonise me
Insects explore my crevices

Corroded scoured
by indifferent winds
I shall slump with a final sigh
No  
body  
Aaaaah

Then
I too shall blow about
on the breeze

I shall be no more
than an irritating speck
in the eye of a grandchild
carrying  marigolds.




Tricia Lambert.

What have the dead poets left
for me to say about moonlight

I shall tell how it spills
like milk
over the stilled land

my thirsty eyes lap it up
softly
my soul purrs


Tricia Lambert
2013

Tricia, I know this and it is in my heart
I knew I loved you from the very start
You are in my dreams when I sleep
In my head when I weep
I see the car everywhere I go
I see your face in everyone I know
You must believe me my love so strong
It was never meant to go so wrong
I made a mistake that is why I cry
Let's fix all of this before I die.

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)

One year ago today I tried to **** myself.
I called you crying on the phone, begging to see you, saying I needed you. I did. I did need you. You said you had other things to do, and that included her. And you hung up. I went into my room and I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't breathe. I saw the bottle of Tylenol *** on my headboard. We had a conversation in my head. I finally took the bottle and chased a handful with water. It came down hard. But I waited. I texted you a couple times and got no response. Then I fell asleep for a while. Then I woke up and I had to go to work. I left and started letting the animals out but the entiretime I was in so much pain. My stomach, my head, my heart, my lungs, my legs, my hands, my eyes. It was all useless. Ifelt like I was going to throw up. I thought I was dying. But I didn't. Tricia texted me and I told her everything. She called my mom. My mom watched me work for the next couple hours. She never said anything. When I finished, we went home and I locked myself in my room. Thenext day I called into work. The next day I went to school and I had an anxiety attack. So I texted my mom asking her to come get me. She did. She tookme to see Stacy, my therapist. They convinced me to go to Research. And after an hour of saying no and crying, I went. My first day was what would have been our one year anniversary.

Dee Bach is not me
only a cover,
to let out the pain inside.
But she is not me anymore
I do not feel the daily
pain that once was.  
For I am me.
I am Tricia.

I met a girl in a restaurant
Working in drive-through
She took my order
And She took my heart
I don't know what to do

With golden hair
And Emerald eyes
A smile like the rising sun
she filled up my life with the light of love
And I want to be the one
She loves back

At first she was a damsel in distress
I protected her as best as I knew how
Then I found that She was a true princess
And I couldn't find the ground

The sight of Her sets my heart on fire
And takes my breath clean away
I never thought that I could feel so strong
And so helpless in this way

I met a girl in a restaurant
And I'll never be the same
She took my heart and I'll love Her forever
And I hope She feels the same

I love you Tricia

Tricia, each day that goes by more and more I miss you
Not one goes by without thinking of your beauty this is true
Baby you are the only one for me
My heart it burns for your love
It means you were truly sent from above
I hope and I pray that you and I feel the same way
I know you try to block the way you feel
Your love is mine I don't have to steal.
The feelings I have are just for you
Deep inside you know it's true.
We belong together till the end of time.
Your love and beauty will for.ever be mine.

I tell you now I miss your touch
Miss your Beauty oh so much
Your eyes and smile I will always see
At night when I close my eyes
And the vision so clear like the big morning skies.

Tricia my love I need you now and forever in arms
I don't need gifts or material things
I need only the feeling that your love brings.

I miss you so much it's plain to see
That our love was meant to be.

The first time I fell in love
I was so very young
Eight I think I was
Old enough
To know that she was someone special
What a girl!
I used to dream about her
Then she moved somewhere in the world

I lost her, even wept
Oh so long ago
But then came Julie
In the 10th grade
Oh, I loved her so
She was brilliant
Sunny too
I had my first kiss with her
But the next year we were through

Let me tell you about Paula
We were at university
Oh what we learned together
Of which I should not speak
Those were good times
Golden yesterdays
She became an actress
The movies took her away

Next is Sandra, so much sass with class
We worked together closely
I can’t remember who made the first pass
Let’s just say we were intimate
I wanted her to stay
But she went off to Paris, France
Fashion held her in sway

Patricia, my dear Tricia
Is the one who captured me
Irresistible, just plain marvelous
She fulfills my needs
With smothering kisses
A smile so ever bright
She became my missus
We’re together every night