I've been writing poetry for quite sometime. Inspired by a new love, by my children and stories I would tell them. So much I've written was created for childrens story books, as well a reflection of dismal times reported on the news. Either way, my heart, or my sense of humor was involved to write it. Hope you enjoy them, L. James... aka Lazlo

Antidote

I have never told you about your picture,
of that face so proud and good,
of the way I feel about that brow,
I'd kiss it so...I would.

I'd wipe away the tears of sorrow,
chase away the fear.
I'd kiss those brown eyes...I would,
and hold you close my dear.

I have never ever felt this way.
I ache inside it's true.
The antidote to all my pain,
you know my love...it's you.



Written by, Lawrence James
Copyright© February 2003
All Rights Reserved

70 summers

The old man sat beside the fire, rocking too and fro
And daydreamed of things he saw as a boy and of times so long ago.
He remembered his dad, who he helped as a boy
He remembered the horse drawn plough.
He remembered his first pet, a hand reared calf,
That grew to be Daisy the cow.
He worked hard on the farm, always something to do,
Always up at the crack of dawn.
The milking, the ploughing, the sowing of seeds,
The helping a lamb to be born.

He remembered the day, seventy summers ago,
When he first met his wife to be.
She’d moved to the village to teach at the school,
Her name was Miss Emma Leigh.
As a tear trickled down over his weathered cheek,
He remembered the day they were wed.
He could still see her eyes looking into his own,
“I do” Emma had said.

A sob welled up from within his chest,
As he remembered the birth of his boy.
“He’s a healthy set of lungs,” the midwife laughed,
As he wiped Emma’s tears of joy.
Staring into the fire, as it danced in the grate,
He could still hear his boy’s happy laugh,
As he gave him a toy, carved from a log,
A hand painted wooden giraffe.

The old man wiped his eyes and remembered the day
his boy proudly went off to fight.
He remembered Emma’s heartbroken sobs
As she awoke crying in the night.
A letter arrived at the farm one day
That filled them both with dread,
“We regret to inform you your brave son was killed in action”
The letter had read.

Emma never got over the loss of her boy
her health was never the same.
And soon death crept up, like a thief in the night
And swiftly snuffed out life’s flame.
The old man sat forward and poked at the embers,
Then settled back into his chair.
He thought of the friends, who had drifted away,
And left him alone in despair.
He remembered the way they’d reacted, when he
talked of his boy and his wife,
And the words they had uttered about - how time heals,
And about getting on with his life.

He began to feel weary, his heart beating slower,
He felt his time drawing near.
He knew he needed a well-deserved rest
And felt he had nothing to fear.
He gave one last sigh, and held out his hands,
And reached for his boy and his wife,
Then they walked hand in hand, through much
Greener fields,
Then he’d ever seen in his life.

Written by, Lawrence James
Copyright© February 2003
All Rights Reserved

Corner of your eye...

Come in and sit beside the fire,

thaw the cold out from your bones.

Cast off your shoes,

draw off your socks,

your feet must feel like stones.



The log is glowing the grate,

the rooms bathed in it's light.

When you entered through our creaky door,

you gave me such a fright.



I was reading a ghost story called,

"Through the corner of your eye."

If I said that I did not feel spooked,

well that would be a lie.



It's a better book by far than,

"The waking of the dead."

Now snuff the candle, bar the door,

and lets be off to bed.


Written by, Lawrence James
Copyright© February 2003
All Rights Reserved

The Fairer Sex

A woman is a creature,
who knows she's always right.
She'll argue till she's blue,
that black is really white.

She'll ask for your opinion,
on a dress that she's just bought,
my advice is save your breath,
your opinion counts for naught.

When a woman's getting ready,
for a night out that you've planned,
she'll occupy the bathroom,
and make it no mans land.

We men can just take minutes,
to shave and dress and then,
by the time that she is ready,
we'll need to shave again.

Poor women suffer badly,
from headaches by the score,
but they only seem to get them,
when they enter the bedroom door.

I wonder if it's altitude,
that affects them in this way,
because headache pills don't sooth it,
they still don't want to play.

Please don't get me wrong girls,
for my lack of understanding,
perhaps you act the way you do,
because we men are too demanding.

So please, PLEASE! Sign my guestbook,
if you think my theory's wrong,
that men are the weaker sex...
and women are the strong.


Written by, Lawrence James
Copyright© February 2003
All Rights Reserved

Amber Rose

If I could rewrite history or turn back time.
If I could live my life anew.
What would I change? Who would I choose to meet?
Well I would pick one person...you.

A shy young women you would smile at me.
My heart would melt with just one glance.
Oh yes I’d turn the clock back now I know,
If God would give me just that chance.

And we would walk in fields all be bathed in gold.
The sun would make them look that way.
And I would whisper, "Mercy - I luv you",
Oh yes a thousand times a day.

As time went by we’d wed and then have kids.
And then they’d grow and have their own.
And we’d be proud to watch as they nurtured them.
And all of this from seeds we’d sown.

Well as time did pass and we grew old,
And saw our winter growing close.
I’d hold that girl I met so long ago,
And I would kiss my Amber Rose.


Copyrights © June 2002, Written by, Lawrence James - Laz...
All Rights Reserved