Sunday Luncheon

The old boy went swimming, he goes every Sunday morning
whilst the little slave stays home, cooking luncheon,
Mark is in the garden, butchering the bay leaf tree
Don't know what got into the boys, going manic with my trees
So as the boy goes,   Mozart lands on the deck
haven't heard him for a long while, it's about time, he came, out
As I was preparing the chicken, Mozart started with Symphony No.29
So I cut chicken in half, as I can't bare to see a whole chicken before me
He was playing so beautifully, the most amazing sounds
The problem, I can't just listen, without waving my hands
then No.35 came on didn't like that sound, it was the funeral march,
don't you know, in my haste to stop that cacophony
I dropped the bloody knife, and oh bugger I nearly kill, my foot.
so limping I go to change the ruddy thing ...and Symphony 38 comes in ...
Ahhh, that's much better, powerful, powerful music
So chicken goes in the oven, with shallots and little potato's
and I always put bay leaves, and garlic for the flavour
as I start on the veg, symphony 39 comes on,
the most beautiful sound, the whole Philharmonic orchestra
right there in my kitchen, had quite forgotten, how beautiful it sounded
so I prepared carrots beans sprouts and cauliflower too,
then I made a cheese sauce, to go with it ...then symphony no. 40, followed by 41
I started on the pudding, so I made a tart Tatin.
no so sure of that spelling, but it matters not, you get the gist of it
I made it with plume's, and very nice they were, I made a caramel with orange rind 
cinnamon and star aniseed, it makes a lovely liqueur
to poach the plums in then serenade No.9 comes on
oh my it feels my whole brain, with the most, ecstatic music you can imagine
So what the hell I burned the caramel and the plums too
so I put a hat on it and serve it with ice cream ...Yum.
so that's what music does to me, completely and utterly lost.

Feeling The Blues.

It's dull wet and grey outside, so am here hiding under my quilt
why do days like this, have this adverse effect on me.
I feel sad and alone, misery is taking hold
what goes through my head, you don't want to know
I tell myself, just get up and get on with it but somehow 
Somehow, I can't find the strength as I hide under my quilt.
It's as if the whole world is crying, all those tears falling down
but crying for what, I'd like to know...
The boy brings a cup of tea, just to get me motivated
I should be ashamed of myself, have not much to moan about
but yet here I lie, hiding under my quilt
I could cry a river even an ocean maybe... but as soon as the sun comes up
maybe I 'll quit...I know am a silly person to be feeling like this
when there's so much out there worse than this.
but I'll go hiding under my duvet yet, just for a little longer. 

Rising Feelings

Rising Feelings

The eyes see only what we want, they can not speak
Like that Clap of thunder...over the hills far, far away
Am a woman that walks alone without experience of the world,
Might as well, be a child in all innocence,

But a child does not kiss your shadow as we dance,
hand in hand in the street as we dance hands interlocked,
As If we'd never let go stay just as we are, now.
Why waste time sleeping, you'll be leaving in the morning,

And I'll be left weeping...we'll share the pain the sorrow.
Immersing in the laughter for the here and the now,
for when you're gone, I'll be in the grips of melancholy, hereafter
As I reach helplessly for that star... that shines high above

With the feeling of emptiness, forever more in my heart
For when I kiss you eyes your lips, as I kiss your fingertips
For I know you'll be gone, far from me, from me!
What will I do when midnight toll's away

When I reach out for, you and you not there
I  sleep awake sleep awake, in the thunder of the night
When my whole being trembles, like the trees in the forest,
As they sway & dance, in the moonlight.

Leaving me all alone, as you've done without a thought in the world
I shouldn't have said I loved you, between that hill
And the mountain high, what I said to you and you to me
The shining moon trailing you has brought you close, so close

To hold you to feel, to feel you close to me, the hungry kisses
Brought us to an impasse, the poetry that goes beyond you or me
We have a hunger in our eyes our lips, this thing between you and me
Hurt feelings, as you ignore me, for am human with feelings too

I can love- hate just like you, but as we clash interlocking our arms 
As I touch your hair your face, feeling love in my heart
As you came in from the storm, constricting my heart my soul
You are killing me my darling, with your poetry verses of love.

                   

                                            By Connie James

Good Morning World

Good Morning World
It's a great morn, here sun shining blue, blue sky,
white fluffy clouds scattered about the firmament
am about to hang the washing out, am sure it'll dry,
there's a bit of a breeze out there
amongst the trees, as the leaves are dancing
ever so gently, then I shall do some gardening
potting, pruning or what have you, trouble's those little blighters
are attacking me, cleaned the greenhouse out yesterday
and those little blood suckers, were having their day
this morn I am, full of marks, from those little cannibals
that are attacking me, came across a bumble bee
lying about motionlessly, I thought I'd revive her, you see
I tickled her with my finger, to see if it was to late, as she moved
I jumped, to run indoors to fetch some honey...
I mixed a little honey with some water, stood there drip feeding her
as she started to move and became awake, moving her legs & wings
I stood there smiling, encouraging her to drink
am afraid I don't know, what happen to the bee...
for when I went back, she was nowhere to seen
hope she was ok.

Temptation To Much

Temptations To Much

But the temptation's too much,
much too much to let it be
I've only that flickering candle light,
to just about see, and there's a certain warmth in it
as I sit by the opened window, letting the night in,
as I try to write ambiguous words
that I know not the meaning of,
like those meaningless words written on the wall
mirrored like, deep into my psyche, secrets dreams,
dreams that gives one that warm feeling all over,
dreams that one wants not to wake up ever,
as the wind blows through the window,
bringing me back from my reverie,
as my pen touches my lips, the lips that call's your name
the pita, patter of the rain, on my window pane,
bringing me back to reality,
of thoughts floating through my mind,
what if, what if, it was he,
as I play with words in my mind,
dreaming unconsciously, of the stars and moon above,
as I reach and touch, touch uncertainty,
that vision before my eyes,
that vision that I've created in my poetry...
the madness the sheer madness,
that magic between you and me,
as I find my pen start uttering,
my eloquently ambiguously unintelligible sort of poetry
Like a rebirth deep within me.

                     By Connie James

A few seconds ago 

Moon Light Kisses

The moonlight kisses him.
but that's the way one feels, as we walk in twos 
when one walks by the moonlight, of the old town ruins,
that velvety darkness that engulfs you,
whisperings all around you, like a lament.. 
from some distant soul,
trapped amongst the rocks red dust the ruins,
and the whispering amongst the trees,
from the soul that's lost between the old temple and gateways.
As he sits all alone, writing his words solitude engulfs him,
shadows all around in his mind,
he talks to them shadows.
Oh restless shadows, be at peace, won't you
I am not about to disturb, your world !!!
but to write my words, my words, my words of solitude..
The lyrical words of a poet that lives inside of, me

My Younger Days.

Am back to my younger days, each time I see you,
I think about you continuously, as the rain kisses my nose my face,
the silence is the killer, between the words,
when there are no words, yet there's suppose to be love.
these words strain through my mind, as I stand by the door, 
it hasn't stopped raining, the winds, picking up, a wet, wet night,
just stood motionlessly, the shadows descended,
as she stood there in silhouette,
which made her seem more desirable,
except for the age, nothing seemed to have changed,
she looked wonderful. Thank goodness we brook up,
that made her more alive in me,
the wind catches the book she's reading,
as she looks up, her eyes settle on me,
for a moment we just stood frozen in time,
it was wonderful, just standing there,
inhaling that scent of hers
and that aroma of coffee seems to follow her.
She looks up once more, then looks away,
all of a sudden there's a power cut, darkness descends,
as I strike a match, she says thanks,
just like a novel or a movie, once the crowds go,
that leaves just the two of us.
However life not that simple,
I find a space on the bench, & sit looking at her,
as the light fades between light and dark,
the wind and rain still falls,
behind closed doors we light the lamps,
open windows, nights of poetry,
is she thinking the same, is it, she! 
or am I getting a hopeless romantic,
or it's not her, it's not she, as the light falls on her face,
he realizes, it's not her, she's not the same woman,
I was looking into the eyes of a stranger,
I shivered, stranded there, she was not the one I've fallen for,
many moons ago, I stand alone although she reminded me of her.
oh is it an illusion, no, no illusion
there's nothing left between them, 
Except poetry.

                    Connie James. 

Its Me ....................

IT'S ME!! 

It's me,  she whispers quietly as she opens the door,
he was sitting at the table, his papers all around him, 
the breeze scattering them in the wind, 
as he looks up she's standing before him, 
with laughter in her voice, as if challenging him
it's me she says again 
I can see, he looks at her admiringly.
The wind is laden with rain
there's a storm coming says she,
she extends her hand taking his saying,
let's go on the river chase that storm away,
he looks at her as if she's just flipped,
chasing storms indeed,
she extends her hand she does not desist,
and hand in hand, they walk out into the storm
you've forgotten says she looking at him,
nothing's forgotten its there within the air
the light the stars your voice, then the silence,
am I really here! am I real? 
Oh yes you are real, your not real, you are mine
But, but, why so many questions, 
be with me, just be with me.
he stands holding her hand, 
he's eyes never leaving hers, 
I love melancholy, but not in your eyes,
he presses her hand it's still stormy out there,
it's been a long time; he begins its been a long time
since I've spoken of love, let me say once again,
before there's no returning,  let there be,
let there be, let there be my words, like your whisper.

When Poetry Arrives

Ahh,  my brain can't take,
cant take much more of this,
it's impeding me from thinking,
as they go from a kiss to  kiss
the light in her eyes,
and the tears in between,
please, please packed in, or I'll scream
the house in the blue lane,
where the evening wind blows
the slanted new moon, the flower seller,
where I met you...the rain softly falls,
by the window, as you wait in vain, 
I sense your scent, I touch you,
like drops of dew, in vain.
the silent mist below the star night sky,
and the shiver like a secret thief in the night,
the journey back infinitely long,
like a king without his sword
as I trace your tears from your eyes,
a body scared and kissed replete with love
that's when poetry arrives.

Primitive Love

Me gusta muy bien....
Las palabras primitivas del amor
que me voy escribir por ti, 

I'll create my own shadows before they've gone
for the lover that comes in a storm,
intense lightening in their blood,
for the burning kisses they bring,
to a naked body is more than you can abide,
the shivers that it sends, right to the core, of you
you're, whispering its mesmerizing,
your senses its hypnotizing you..
as I listen to your words of love to no love,
that's when there born, beyond their lament 
the untouched touches that come,
you mind is crying out, deliriously  
the pain's excruciating as you begin to feel 
Or not feel, it's immaterial as you fight your mind
to retain control of feelings, that you can not...control
when you mind is intoxicated, with this need     
this need, as he's whispering, whispering 
he's poetry, his verses of love, 
in a mind that's dulled,
with his hypnotic verses of love.
screaming off love to no love
when he say's
Te quiero, te quiero