He spoke to me on his cell phone
As he walked from his apartment to the rehearsal hall. 
Twenty minutes that was my allotment. 
And then a fast good bye
as he buzzed himself into the theatre.  

I expected no more. 
He was PJ
who deigned to give me as much time
as my limited creativity warranted.

Of course I solved his problems–that was my job,
To get him past the boring,
unnecessary necessities of dealing with
every matter that wasn’t worth his time.

But he never failed to ignite
In me
A spark of inspiration,
An excitement for new thoughts,
outlandish ideas.

PJ Paparelli,
boy genius of theatre.
Dead at 40.
Killed.
Trying
To save
a flock of Scottish sheep from an oncoming, speeding lorry.

Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia 

Patchin Place, Gregg Rothstein Architect

Joyce and me (breaking rules) up and right, Left
And down
In a tree
Singing or swinging
Or is that the wind we see
as we live a dream (or is it a wish)

to live on Patchin Place
Not any place on Patchin Place
Just the place on Patchin Place
So filled with energy
We’d learn to employ
Words
Like:
Perspicacity
Nemesis
Overwrought
Fadge 

Reliable thought patterns
That stuck to it’s (breaking rules) walls, its paper,its floor, its door knob, its stairs,
Its window pain (breaking rules)
Left behind when he left

If only to live on Patchin Place, the right place
On Patchin Place, the only place on Patchin Place
That is where wheel (breaking rules) think more
Try more
Live more–
Of coarse, of coarse (breaking rules)

It’s number FOUR.

“Here she comes
My blue-eyed baby
Breaking hearts
All along the way
Every swish gets a swash.”

“Unconcerned that the uninitiated
Put her last in line, she tells me.”

“Little do they know my powers,
But soon, oh, they will swoon as
I take my regal place in their
Shopworn World.”

Gentle soul, her knight errant,
Bloodied and broken by the chore,
Prepares a haven. Perfect abode to
Meet her softness, best he can.

She spies his efforts
Sees she might be impressed,
Might deign to lavish him
With love.

“Yes, I might.”
She purrs with her
Mystical airs,
Her exotic Siamese
Ways.

Izzy ,the kitten,
Explores her new domain.
She has a home at last and will stay.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia

All of science can not explain,
Though it tries mightily,
The off beats of the human heart,
The perfume of a baby’s breath.

If it could take the common patterns:
The steaming coffee, the floss, the sunbeam’s
Streaking cross a window not lately washed.
Take it to task, demand an answer,

Our fate would be assured.

We could live in personal nirvanas,
Trading cards like kids flipping
Baseball legends,
Romping through Elysian Fields
Of Periwinkle.

But, no.
Hypotheses don’t calculate.
Theorems don’t sway reality.
Our time leaks out or dances gaily,
We decide
And that’s the fun of it.

Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia