Poetry by Steve Lambert

Steve Lambert was born in Louisiana and grew up in Florida. His writing has appeared in Saw Palm, Tampa Review, Trampoline Poetry, Louisiana Literature, New World Writing, The Pinch, Broad River Review, Cortland Review, and many other places. In 2018 he won Emrys Journal’s Nancy Dew Taylor Poetry Prize for his poem “Serenade for Larkin.” Interviews with Lambert have appeared in print, on podcasts and radio. He is the author of the poetry collections Heat Seekers (2017) The Shamble (2021), and lies about the weather (2025); the book-length poem Dutch Ears (2025); and the fiction collection The Patron Saint of Birds (2020). His novel, Philisteens, was released in 2021. The collaborative fiction text, Mortality Birds, written with Timothy Dodd, appeared in 2022, as the first title from Southernmost Books. He and his wife live in Northeast Florida where he is a librarian and teaches writing at the University of North Florida.

Birds, Again

Mountains will agree with you on nothing,
Not even where to begin. This is why I go
To rain for sustenance. When it rains anything
That isn’t nailed down is, except rain, and
Its cousins, the other waters. Plus we just
Don’t have any mountains around here, only
The odd hill and hills aren’t the same and they
Have compliments for the rain and are magnanimous,
Say things like you’re very nice and don’t mind
If I do. The leaves become clairvoyant in the
Rain and whisper secrets to the birds and this
Makes the birds feel special which seems like
Flattery because they are. But I can watch this.
Can just sit and watch this. Then the sun, again.
Then the moon and its cape of starry night and
Light clouds. Then a Larkin full-stop. Life.

No Harm Done

Winter comes and
Always
Tries to kill you

Which is only natural.

Things do what they do
With or without you.

It’s the indifference
That’s scary
Not the effect.

It’s not mattering.

The mystery only needs
You for a moment.

And need is too strong
A word, the wrong word
Like all words.

But keep trying
And you might
Come close.

And nothing will
Have changed.

No harm done.

They call this instinct
Which is the wrong word
Like all words.