Words cluster around letters.
Think about it!
They gravitate, coalesce
For their own benefit,
Recognizable as sharing an attitude.

Mighty “B”
Sits second in the string of 26,
Unconcerned it might get lost in the
Shuffle.
You Barely notice it.
Nearly Blind to its import
But, it is well-used
By Buglers Blasting Blue notes.

It is Brilliant.

Exercises in “B-ness”
Bring Blushes into
Boudoirs.

Now,
Consider the Beauteous
“B’s.”
Blond Braids, Beads, Bagatelles,
Bibelots , Bracelets,
Baroque Bibles
Borne By Bald Barmen to
Brides along with Bawdy Ballads
Borrowing Bells Brandished on their bunions.

If all seems Banished from your Brain
There ‘s always Be and Being to Bring it
Back .
But By now you might feel Batty,
Battered,
Brain-Buzzing
Like a
Bee.

Beleaguered.
Believing
Bare Bears Belong Behind Bars on
Biedermeier Banquettes Bloodied By Blackbeard,
Blurred and Blunted,
Beginning the Beguine
Bursting Balloons and Bubbles.

Betrayed bloodlettings
But Bloodless Bodies,
Beaten, Bitter, Barely Believing Baseball Banter.

Blessed Bromide!

So what’s next?

BINGO !

Place a Bet, Begrudgingly at Baccarat
On “T”or “G”,
See where it takes you.
Barnstorming, Bandstanding, or Beguiled,
Breaking the Bank,
Or
Broke,
By God.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville,Virginia
July 30, 2018

With no idea why it was in my mind,
I’ve always wanted a pair of
Wooden Shoes,
Authentic, direct from the land of
Tulips.

Now I have them.

Swooped up from a thrift shop bin,
I am a cute Dutch fashion plate
Or would be, were it not for
Senior Fear
The constant dread– the fatal fall.

Oh, Sweet Clogs,
Why did I wait too long to make you a home,
Bring you in from discardment ?
I might have clip-clopped my way through
Bulbs and bulbs and bulbs
As splashes of flower hues stained my
Thoughts and dirndl.

Alas, instead my cane
Rackets its melody of age.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 22, 2018

Bad Moon called Blue Moon
Conjures fear in us, until
Stars come out to play.

Charlene James-Duguid
AMISSVILLE, VIRGINIA
JULY 22, 2018

one two three four five
make a haiku come alive
One two three four five

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 22, 2018

Should be a rare,
Interminably long, epic poem
placed in your talent quadrant
So you become a fine-oiled machine
On autopilot.

You perform by rote with ultimate emotion
Working in all the arts.
It is perfection when nothing
Goes wrong because it has in the past.

The juice never runs dry, it bubbles up
Like the finest champagne
In every corpuscles.

The Fates chose you.
You can’t say no.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 22, 2018

Each night, round two a.m.,
I wake to the same dream.
A perfect girl-child
Seeking comfort from her tears.

Fear, sorrow, want?

I don’t know why, but they flow
Till I lay her on my breast,
Soothe her cheek,
Smooth her hair.

It takes some time
Til, with a little giggle,
Then a sigh, she cuddles in,
Closes her drenched eyes
Peacefully, replaces woe
With weary eyelids
Fluttering in their own
Lullaby.

Sad little child,
Perfection set aside,
You’ll learn to laugh
Not cry, the way,
Imperfect though it be,
We survive this
Vale of tears.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 12, 2018

She sits, a flower,
First-unnoticed ,
Then daffodil-like, pure yellow,
Waiting,
Always waiting.
Beautiful in her imitation of
Springtime.

A quiet smile.

Sometimes tender, fragile,
Blushing tiny rose, or
Often green with bright-colored tangerine petals.

Her blues most striking, a new meaning to the colors,
Cyan, cobalt, teal.
Even steely grey under her charge
Given new presence.

If he were alive,
And she were wed-able,
He would hope
So grandly
To capture her bouquet each day,
Take it on a calliope ride to Arda
Stay for High Tea in the Middle Earth,
Invent a dozen new words,
And be home before dark
To ready tomorrow’s color.

Alas, He never comes,
It’s not allowed.

So

She reads and reads again
Every word, then two, three, then a sentence, paragraph, epic stanza.
The magic in his kingdom,
Hers, this hold on happiness
High fantasy never higher.
This is her heaven.

She favors his genius.

It brings him joy,
that she, like no other,
Knows
His real thoughts,
Thinks him not foolhardy
Looking for lost things,
Cavalier as any troubadour.

He sighs, asks again and again
To no avail,
To be reborn in her life where
She will always be dressed in periwinkle,
Wearing a color called
Waiting.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville,Virginia
June 30, 2018

Like tiny kisses, pecks, perhaps
On cheeks young and old.
Travel long distances, they do,
Whistling as they go,
Fireflies in the darkening eve.

Joyful, two growing girls, glowing,
Learn brands of doing
Only lightening bugs can tell.

Magic and science are on their fingertips.
Glimmering tests
Of knowing,
Then, knowing what to do with knowing.

Keena, taller by a bit, thinks they’re brilliant jewels,
So asks them,
Questions their luminosity.
‘’How and why can you shine .”
Curiosity plays off her brain waves, one by one.

And Mira always thriving on a dare, catches one in her hand
While handing up-side-down on a fast swinging trapeze.
She wants to know
“What are your names?”
When none replies, she gives them names, wild ones for sure.

With new-found magic, miracles in hand,
New friends who skirt the ground with ease,
At home, now new,
They send their kisses through the night to
Others needing magic.

It’s their doing that peoples the universe
With spectral hope,
And names too delicious to repeat,
Unless in whispers—
“Pumpkin, Puff, Ghost, and Don’t.”

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville,Virginia
July 9, 2018