Claudine James Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

My mother is the poet who wrote these poems. When she was delivered, I think she probably danced her way into the world. She was a poet, a dancer, a writer, and a musician. She was warm and caring--a people lover and an animal lover. I think she started writing poetry when she was a teenager. I was the only offspring of my loving parents, and I loved them. She didn't think her poems were good enough for publication, but my husband and I did. Therefore, after her death, we decided to try to get them published posthumously. We are both happy and sad to get them published for her. --Patricia Leonaitis for Claudine James

Tribute To My Dad On Father's Day I looked at his hands so peacefully at rest, Serenely folded on his quiet breast, And prayed "Oh Lord, give him a task to do If you would have him happy there with you-- A garden or a flower bed to tend, A fishnet or a small child's hurt to mend. For those dear hands could never idle be-- They worked or played--or prayed so faithfully." I can see them round the handle of a hoe, Or in the dirt, making his flowers grow, Or bouncing a laughing child upon his knee, Or holding his precious book so tenderly. I can feel them--through a fevered night, Or firmly guiding us on paths of right. I want him to be happy there with you-- So give him, Lord, I pray some task to do.

Things I like the mountains, calm, majestic, wise, I'm sure that in their ancient bosom, lies The answer to all things. I like the desert--endless, ageless, blest, Unsuffering now, from its quenchless Thirst, in the rest death brings. I like the song of birds, in early morn, Ripping notes, tumbling over one another, In their effort to be born gave me a thrill. A baby's outstretched arms, and trusting eyes And sweet beguiling smile, behind which lies An indomitable will.

Reverie One night beneath a spreading elm I lay. And looked up through her black lace negligee. I saw the diamonds gleaming in her hair, And heard her softly whispering her prayer. Her feet were covered with green velvet sod-- And I knew that she was holding hands with God. I felt alone--and wished that I might be As intimately close to God as she. Then suddenly, I realized how greatly I was blest, For wasn't I reclining upon his very breast? And while I lay in reverie, this gracious, lovely tree Had spread a soft and shadowy black lace cover over me. And it seemed she was whispering thoughts I already knew God's holy love is every place--he cares for me and you. I reached out my hand to touch her, and saw her gently nod... And in that instant we were one--the tree, and me, and God.

All poems Copyright © 1996 Claudine James. All rights reserved.