In the shadow of stars

In the shadow of stars

There is a woman
with stars inside her eyes
she walks in starlight; the night
sky claims her shadow
for a robe

See where her shining
footsteps trace her passage
through the dark hours

There is a woman
with stars in her heart
she loves in starlight; the night
clouds cover her nakedness
like a blanket

See where her shining
eyes light up her lover
quiet in her arms

There is a woman
with bright stars in her hands; she
holds the waning and the waxing moon;
my heart's tides are drawn to her
gravity.

Kim Helen James
26/2/04

Waking up in Avalon

Waking up in Avalon

Somehow it seems sacriligious
To impose
A day's order on a day like this.
The space between sleeping night
and waking day stretches elastic
as if I occupy a hole in time.
Others pass by
and disappear,
but the mist lies magic below
promising a day of enchanted delights.

Today
or tomorrow
I shall wake up
in Avalon

Kim Helen James
31/12/1999

Riding a rhinoceros

Riding a rhinoceros

I would ride a rhinoceros for you
ride it to Timbuctoo
and bring you back
all the golden sand of the desert in a bottle

I would overcome an octopus for you
dive it to deepest Atlantis
gathering up
pearls, sapphires, coral and rubies in a shell

I would bridle the biggest eagle for you
fly it to the cheese-green moon
collecting
shooting stars and sunbeams in a fine feather basket

I would sing a silly song for you, or
write a pretty poem, a nonsensical novel,
a dictionary
of brand new words to describe the lexicon of you

Moving faster than Wonder Woman, I
would go around the world in seventy-nine days
saving a day just for you
(bringing it home, wrapped in spices of the orient)

I would - if you asked me to -
stay up all night for a year, repainting the stars;
leaving them in your room to dry,
just to light up your dreams with silver.

Kim James
7-Feb-2000

Come kiss me, love.

Come kiss me, love, and make the time stand still;
seconds to hours and hours to years extend.
Come, kiss me, love, and with your lips' soft thrill
my heart will leap and all my passions send
a song of love; a melody so pure
that all the world will pause its frantic rush
in wonder that a touch so soft and sure
could bring the universe to such a hush.
Come kiss me, love, and make my world so spin
that all my mind, heart, soul and body dance
at your command; my love your prize to win;
a true God-given hope and second chance.
When all the world is still and night brings sleep,
come kiss me, love; come rest in slumber deep.
Kim James
2/1/2003

Two Haiku on the Train to London

Automatic doors
let in people
and draughts automatically

As the darkness grows
the faces in the window
become more real

Kim James
8/1/96

Waitress

Quietly efficient,
working behind a mask
of fine sculptured bronze
you bring my food
with studied, patient attention;

And then you smile
illuminating the soft
pillared elegance.

Kim James
9/1/96

Late night shopping.

We sat there in the restaurant,
the week before Christmas,
with late night shopping as our excuse
(conspiratorial)
sharing our lives in a box
of chicken nuggets and french fries,
having bought nothing
but a pack of future memories
in blank VHS format.

Our eyes met for an instant and held
as the smiles spread on our faces
and the corners of our eyes
corrugated in laughter and pure joy.
We said no unnecessary words
but I knew that two minds
had shared but one emotion;
refusing separation,
my son and I
dining at hope's table.

Kim Helen James
22/12/95

Tuesday, 12th September 1995

Today drags its muddy feet
and shuffles, beggar-like,
clutching its frail possessions in a plastic bag.

Today I look forward to yesterday,
the end of today's pain - mind-cancer -,
and the beginning of unknown tomorrows.

Today spits in my waking eye,
and promises, dishonestly,
a party bag of bad behaviour, if you can trust it.

Today is a delinquent;
uncaring single parent of tomorrow,
vicious latch-key child of yesterday's neglect.

Today, this day is all I can hold,
sufficient to its own evil,
a long tunnel with no more than the hint of a light.

Today is a bitter herb,
which leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

Kim Helen James
12/9/95

To my children, while they sleep.

While there is joy,
laugh, my children, laugh.
Play childish games
and seek delight in simple things.
In curiosity and disobedience,
laugh, my children, laugh.

While there is music,
sing, my children, sing.
Follow your icons;
beauty, for yourselves, in all things seek.
The world is full of melody, so
sing, my children, sing.

While there is family,
shout, my children, shout.
Make yourselves heard;
pay no attention to our petty adult games.
The world will soon be yours,
so shout, my children, shout.

While there is comfort,
sleep, my children, sleep.
Dreams are forever; every
morning brings its share of joy and crying pain;
each evening calls to mind the things undone.
So sleep, my children, sleep.

Comfort can vanish with a morning's dew,
and lives you thought unchangeable will change.
Yesterday's rock can crumble to tomorrow's sand
and castles fall before the morning tide.

While there is comfort,
sleep,
my children,
sleep.

Kim Helen James 16/8/95

After conciliation, despair

You stand, incoherent,
incandescent in your despair;
halfway up the stairs,
hurling your words like javelins
and I have no shield
to stand behind, no armour
for a hurt that starts inside.

Each fresh cut, that you open in your heart,
bleeds in me.

You slam your door
and call me "BITCH";
sobbing, on your bed,
you pour out your hurt and rage.

I am in a place
where the walls have no doors
and the sound of my voice
echoes, hollow, in my ears.

And each tear you cry burns my eyes,
blurs my vision.

You call this compromise
"defeat"
and blame me for it; don't you see
that there can be no winners,
only the illusion of comfort,
shadows chasing shadows on the wall.

Each time you stumble, every time you fall
I bruise.

Kim Helen James
12/6/95

When the Sun

When the sun dries the morning's dew
I shall mow the grass
where I walked naked in the early light
feeling your smile
as the shadow of my shape walked with me,
filling me with humble pride, sharing creation,
revelling in its freedom.

When the sun rises above the laurel hedge
I shall take coffee
where the blackbird hunts and the squirrel
stores away its dreams
for the cold silent months. And I'll remember
the sound of your presence watching over me
growing our insistent love.

When the sun burns down from above the pines
I shall retreat
where I have prepared a meal for our
communion
and as I eat I will offer each morsel to the Lord
who watches over you so far away, who will
bring you safely home.

When the sun fades beyond our Dorset hills
I shall seek our bed
where the scent of you remains on the pillow
invisibly holding a dream
that I will share with you tonight as every night
and in our dream there is no ocean, no distance
insurmountable.

When the sun calls me again from dreams
I shall return
warmed by memories renewed.
And as I prepare
to travel that day's journey I will know
that time and space remain illusory .
Your soul and mine together walk always
beneath a truer sun.

Kim James
16 June 2003

The Umbrella Woman

The Umbrella Woman

When the rain falls
When the wind howls
She is there.

Rainbow coloured and unfurled,
Brought out of the closet
To bring protection.
Under the rainbow fabric
Her fair-weather lover looks for shelter
For she is the umbrella woman

But when the rain stops
When falls the wind
Then fails her usefulness;
Inconvenient is she when the sun shines

It is unlucky
to open the umbrella woman indoors.

The umbrella woman is
A transient encumbrance,
A passing embarrassment
In fair weather when the world is looking.

She is not normal,
The umbrella woman.
Mud splashed, rain stained,
with broken stitching

She is not worthy, will not stand scrutiny
When the clear light shines.

Put her in the closet,
The umbrella woman.

Keep her out of sight
Until the next storm passes through.

When the sun burns bright upon her head
She would share the warmth, protect her lover
But is forbidden.

For she is the umbrella woman
When all her lover wants is a sun shade.

When the sun shines

the umbrella woman

weeps

Kim James

11 March 2008

Litany

What gets you most is the
silence.
As in a tomb;

As in a desert at the world's end
where the flowers of past joys
wither and fade as the dust falls.

What really hurts is the
loneliness.
As of a leper;

As of a stranger in a land of plenty
who has no language for
the things she needs nor coin to buy them.

What knocks you down is the
rejection.
As to an enemy;

As to a suitor, loving but unloved,
forbidden, fearful, sacrificed
upon the altar of remembered fault.

What keeps you going is your own
stubbornness.
As of a rock;

As of a boxer, bloodied, bowed,
refusing to go down,
drawing strength from the value of the prize.

Kim Helen James
16/5/95

In whose arms?

In whose arms shall we grow old?
Who shall share our sorrows and our joys?
Who shall we trust enough to make us bold
To tell our secret timid thoughts and hold
Us close in the late evening and the early morning hours

With whose eyes shall we share the wonders of the day,
The sudden thrill that greets a new discovery;
A field of flowers or the scent of new-mown hay?
Who shall guide us at the branching of the way
and bring us home to safe familiar security?

Who shall be there when the world is full of fears?
Who knows us better than we know ourselves;
Who understands the reasons for our tears?
In whose arms shall the passing of the years
seem like the crowning beauty of our lives?

I would not leave you though the world demand;
For I shall love you and the world be damned;
If miles and family remove you from my hand
I'll love you still and wait and try to understand.

Kim Helen James
3 June 2006

This cold night

This cold night
I will dream of you in the heat of wanting
this cold night
I will sleep while you are awake

this cold night
surrounded by friends I will be alone
this cold night
the love of you will warm my heart

this cold night
I have an aching void that only you can fill
this cold night
will become the chill morning of my desire

This cold night
I chase the words my heart knows too well
these cold nights
are all I have until you bring your sunshine
home

Kim James
22/2/04

I wish I had a little elf

I wish I had a little elf
To help me with the house each day;
To chop the wood and gather hay;
To work beside me while I clean -
I’d never, ever treat her mean.

I wish I had a little elf
To boil the kettle for my tea
And sit the evening on my knee.
She’d make me laugh and make me smile
And lay beside me for a while.

And if my elf desired to go
I’d thank her for the time we had
And never say that she was bad;
I’d help her all her things to pack
And load her bag upon her back.

But if my elf should choose to stay
I’d hold her close and hug her tight;
I’d keep her warm all through the night.
My elf and I would work the day
And after sunset we would play.

I wish I had a little elf…

Kim Helen James
5 January 2009

Plain Speaking

Plain speaking

I walk in silence
deafened by your clamouring denial.
You speak your soundless
words of love; read me the volumes in
your heart's library. I would learn by rote
each word, each stanza, every chapter;
define each reference in your lexicon.

In stillness I would shout your name;
in soundless words of love, I'd make
a declaration of devotion
for your ears alone. I'd learn the dialects
your heart alone can speak - in words
unuttered make the meaning clear.

I walk in silence,
listening for the sound
of your heart beating, your heart speaking
rainbow words of pride.
To sing in tongues of angels,
chorus of the heart, my love
my woman - those forbidden words
hidden no longer, no more soundless,

obvious to all in plainest speech

Kim Helen James
4/3/04

In Tinsel Time

In tinsel time the bells do chime.
We deck the halls and shopping malls
with plastic bough and holly wreath.
The conjured tricks that lie beneath
the plastic magic make-believe
pull cheap tradition from the empty sleeve
and, with the angel chorus on demand,
demand the payment of the damned
by overdraft and plastic cards,
with season's greetings and regards
for Christmas Joy and Yuletide Cheer;
the end of one more bloody year.

In tinsel time the bells do chime
the dance of money and the mime
of love's best giving soon forgot.
And in each cardboard palace, hot
inside each borrowed suit of red,
each Father Christmas pats the head
of every child, drags out the lie;
and so the holy days go by
and fall beneath the pounds and pence
that parents value more than sense.
The harlot traders rub their hands and cheer
the end of one more bloody year.

In tinsel time the bells do chime
and all rejoice and with one voice
proclaim, disclaim, complain the lack
of honesty in Santa's sack.
The parties drag from pub to pub
and end up at somebody's club
and after, in the morning pain,
the disenchanted mutter "not again"
and stagger through another day
but then, again, go out to play;
Until, at last, the bells they hear
that start another bloody year.

Kim James
12/12/95

Ma belle, je t’aime.

Ma belle, je t’aime.


Les mots d’amour
qui me font le plus grand plaisir
ne sont souvent
ceux que j’entends ou
que je trouve entre tes lèvres.

Un geste me dit
« Chérie » ;
quand tu me touches
tes mains me disent
« Je t’aime – tiens
laisses-moi te montrer combien »
et tu m’enlèves

Tes mains m’enlèvent, soulagent
me passionnent, me calment.
Tes gestes éloquents
me parlent de tout
ce qui se trouve dans ton cœur ;

j’y lis tes joies et tes malheurs.
Dans tes yeux, me parle ton âme,
consacrée en intimité certaine.
Et la mienne répond, tout simplement,
les mots d’amour :

« Ma belle, je t’aime. »

Kim Helen James
25/3/2007

Ex Memoriam.

Ex Memoriam.

Strange how the small things linger.

The minutiae of memory

standing out against the broad canvas of a life.

This close to the end, I remember

so many things from the beginning;

emerging now,

sloughing off the dead skin of familiarity.

Mocking me,

hurting me,

bringing a smile to my lips despite myself.

If I let them,

they tumble over each other

like puppies in a basket,

like children clamouring for attention,

like a shoal of piranha

biting constantly at my concentration

and ripping my heart to shreds.

And yet,

this close to the end,

what have I left

but the small memories?

The scar on your lip and the laugh of your voice...

the pain of joy in your face as you held our children

newborn and needful...

the hate in your eyes as you tell me to go.

Kim Helen James

12/5/95

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