Pilgrim Lost.

The smiling face on the mirror may be real or not be
Like the half hidden faces knocking on that door so green. 
Just before he arrives on that bus that comes from village to village,
carrying coconuts in mass and there leaves.
And the children shining like the sun, so bright. 
The ageless woman in her dignity in her ageless beauty she smiles at strangers, without impunity.
She cares not what they think what they say, In her world nothing's taboo, 
She up front come what may. I invite them to sit as I face the valleys so deep
The winds so fresh coming through those hills in the valleys down bellow, the cashew trees.
At the church yard he enters so sure of himself, he's a beauty of a man so very handsome..
He stands there proud proud as can be,
Its written on his face that he knows what he wants he'll not compromise..
He came from beyond the sea from some far far land, he smiles at me and I nod at him smilingly.
As we sit together in the departing bus, through the tunnel he's hands searches mine.
I looking at him surprised, he had a beautiful smile his sunlit eyes looking at mine
With pretensions not as if he knew me.
Coming far far away any city anywhere he was very knowledgeable at the things he said,
So appealing was he. At the bus stop, we stopped for a coffee very amusing was he, 
His laughter so contagious tinkling peals of laughter so unusual in a man perfect was he.
I could write and write pages on him.
When we said our goodbye's so sorry to see him go, 
He was a breath fresh air so sad to see him go, as he boarded the bus back into town. 
The sight of that departing bus from me, 
Its as if an impressionist painting left unexplored, to dry in the moon light. 
Through the streets I roamed through building churches , 
And at midnight alone at the station I cry inconsolably
Like a pilgrim I've been searching for the one,the one that lives within, in my mind my soul. 
There're footsteps approaching I hope its he, but whether its him or not, 
I want him not lost he's mine you see.
The sound of the bells sounding, the nippy hills winds kissing me 
Now I see he's a different person, melancholy resides in he's eyes. 
The face I loved the shadows of the night behind his eyes.
Our eyes met sitting at the bench not a word passed our lips, 
As if we're two pilgrims at their collected pilgrimage..

To Be a Wanderlust.

To be a wanderlust, how I'd would love to be..
To travel wherever I wanted to go from A to Z.. 
I'd drop everything at this precise moment.. 
I know I'd go wandering from North to South.
Roaming from East to West..
I'd hide under a stone where no one could find me..
I'd cross every river and ignore everybody.. 
With the silver moon and I would swoon, if I came across he !!
On the river side and those green hills far away, 
With the moon in the sky and I on the rail tracks where it came roaring by, 
that train in the night passing by.. 
And I promised I'd be by so near, on the other side of the tracks.. 
With you on the veranda, where the river touches us
As we dangle our feet just underneath that veranda, where you and I..
Uttered those words, that you'd so reluctantly uttered.. 
Your best words, as I roam with my love once again between my city and your city..
Where once you kissed me..when the train came roaring by.

The Stars Know It.

The stars know it; as I lie down on the sands,
I lie down beside you with the naked moon above in its half light
Dreamily I look at you..Being pampered by the moon naked, 
Shadowed by the boat just along me and you 
And the lantern on its deck casting light ,
Just like the stars high above us scintillating with a smile. 
The stars knowing why you and I in shadow of the long boat. 
Time and again searching words to say to you..
But each time thinking of you the words wont come true,
As I try and try what to say to you.
As the sea breeze hovering over me, 
Over you depositing little kisses between you and me.
Once again I kiss the sea, it matters not how near or far we are,
Your always in my thinking, for my thoughts always thinking of you,
Whether your far or nearer,  my sights on the far horizon that I've kept for you,
As I stand by the doors of the beach huts, between me and you,
I kept the horizon for you. 
Sacred or not the remaining love always so true and beautiful
As when your eyes look at me as they used to do.. 
The stars know-it as we lay on the sands
Between the sea the long boat below the half moonlit naked moon. 
The stars know-it , the stars know it......

Then What.

When I open the door and he stood there, 
I could not believe it was him.. 
I looked at him stupefied the cheek of the man, 
As he was soaked with rain with a flower in his hand
As he was knocking at my door. And ?
I was sitting at my piano when the lantern shown,
I was playing Brahms Lullaby, a dream of love, 
Such a sad tune its there for one to see,
But as the wind flows it blows the sheets of music disturbing my flow,
My concentration. Then? Then I pick that book, 
I've been meaning to read until then didn't have the need to start anew. 
It was called the notebook, and from page one I was hooked, 
Such a lovely story of love of perseverance, not giving up when things got tough, 
Being there for instance. When? when she opens the window to let the night in,
Its so intoxicating the scent of the night. And?
And there she is behind her window pane watching for when he came.. 
I stayed  around just for him..
Whether he knew or not I stayed only for him; Then?
Then I opened the door and there he stood; Then? 
Then with an epic of words, of a beautiful fable real or not,
Written in my words of an ever ending obsession of love..
And ? and then the poet came; The rest is poetry. Then? 
The rain came and hand in hand we run, 
Reaching high with our hands as in prayer;
As it lashed down we didn't care if we got wet or not,
We were soaked through right through.
There was nothing left to be said for we've said it all
With our lips our eyes our hands,
The obsessive hands that would not quieten down.
That obsessive love. The rest Is like poetry in motion..
Then? There is no then. But just now.!

Who Am I

Who am I !! That's a question, I haven't asked myself..
A question I have to think about...Am she that has moved from here,
A long long time ago but each time I comeback...
They ask who are you? am I stranger,I don't look and sound the same, 
Even my accent has changed, as they ask yet again "who are you"?...
I started from here where the flowers grow, those yellow white blue petals,
In the morning dew..Of the rain that constantly falls,
Making my little corner of the world memorable..like those unsung words ,
And the unwritten story's that have been kept for me. But who are you? 
Am she the girl that was the best of the lot ..so they'd say...
They never emphasised, they wouldn't say .. 
She's suppose to be a good looker, except she didn't know it, so innocent was she...
I have written some pages, oh I don't know, I can't remember...
Such a long time ago..as I knock on the door of the old abode I shout is anyone there.
A voice asked, Who are you? Why couldn't anyone remember me...
Got tired of them asking who are you? The afternoons through the evening,
The long nights that I roamed...the streets that I roamed, trying to find myself, for no one knew of me..
But you've been away a long long time!! 
I have been away. But am back. 
Back here to my roots, where its light ,where the sun the rain, 
The darkness the light and the day & night. 
Then when night I will write, and after the first line...
I'll be hungry for the words that'll follow, 
Like a bird in the desert looking for water thirsty for the knowledge, 
Knowing here I am, in the rain. Yes my words. And you always.

Keeping My Blues Away

Weather report not too good you see..
The sky's opened its flood gates, hasn't stopped as yet raining
Its all grey out there, grey grey as misery 
The trees are weeping, their branches sweeping the grounds
Heavily with rain..My acer's look magnificent as they sway in the wind
Its storming out there, the colours turning from red to bronze to gold
Colours of the Autumn..Gladdens ones eyes as you look mesmerised
At the beauty before ones eyes.. drinking the colour of nature.
When ones heart is full, in everything it extols Autumn upon us
To deliver through ones eyes, the beauty surrounding you.
Meanwhile my sky's is weeping on us.. gladding my plants with a
Much needed rain to gladden their eyes there roots,
Stopping there sighs as they gasped, their heads touching down
For the lack of the wet stuff..But I like not the greyness of a rainy day
It leaves me low, my spirits dragging me down vicious spiral you know
And I can do not about it..the feelings one feels within,
When its grey out there..must pull my socks up
And maybe play Tchaikovsky, Beethoven or even Vivaldi four seasons
My spirits need lifting that's what I'll do,
I'll stand there baton in hand like Papa use to do..
Conducting Tchaikovsky Beethoven Vivaldi,
Until am crying or laughing
With happiness.
Weather report may be getting better..Indeed will see.
Have a good rainy day, my friends..I'll be playing music really loud
to keep my blues away.

Freedom Of Speech

What do my friends think of what I do what I say
They do not always appreciate where am coming from 
I say what I feel within, I must say I think not always! 
But that's just me If I stopped to think every which way  
My mind wouldn't cope of what to think what to say 
So I say what's on my mind at the time, come what may
Some take umbrage at the words I use,
But I mean not in any way to be insulting or rude
That's just the way I see things in my world, whether I like it or not
If not I'll jump down with both feet first, worrying not if I get hurt or not
Disparagingly yes or not.. I care not if they like it or not what I do or say
Agreeable am always not what's going round in my world or not.
My way is to say what's in the forefront of my mind
Whether others agree or not what I think what I say..come what may
But am tired of being told must not say this or that or write that, 
But as I am not a child but an adult I'll think say & write whatever I choose to say
Read my words they need not anyway, whether there racy or not
At the time I think not being racy in any way..it just evolves that way
I've got an open mind In the way I see my world, it's not always worth
Jumping down one's throat if one likes not the usage of my language
I guess I know better not, it comes to mind, not whether one should say
This that or not..But my God gave me a brain whether it's good or not
I guess I must use this brain of mine, to visualise within me what I see
In my world, whether it's great or not, my world does not always agree
What I see within, why did he gave a brain just to torment me,
Or to make me think, to make sense in, what I see, for I always sense do not see 
In the things surrounding me.. I like not what I think in many ways,
Turbulence within. The ones that shun me of the things that I say
But it's a free word is it not..miss them such a lot debating in every way
Those so called friends that are not..friends in any way.
The freedom of our speech was such, umbrage we'd take not
At what we said or not, I miss those days speaking with reservations
Not, my way. if I can say not my mind's dishing out, whatever you do or say.
One of my faults must say, things the same will be not
If freedom of speech is free not, curtailed or not
I censor not in any way..
Freedom of speech for all wouldn't you say?

                                         By Connie James.