Hers was widely-known.
His was legend.
And at this Centenarian’s birthday bash,
The truth of the best would be told.
An epic event.

Neither would back down.

Each determined, wearing sophisticated taste buds.
Each weighted approach precisely defined—
Ingredients, Process, Technique.

She, left much to sparse individual effort,
time restraints, coarseness.

He, banked mostly on exceptional chopping.
Bladed precision never sacrificed.

And the Prize?
So ephemeral.
No one would mention it again
But the Town would know
Who had won out.
Who had prevailed.

Table ready.
Croissants and sour dough warmed.
Faces eager.
Mouths watering.
Reporter scribbling.
Photographer clicking.
Ballots ready to count.

Whose would it be,
The Cavalier Caterer or the Conscientious Chopper?

One taste only, all it took.

Then the emergent winner
Shared his secret.
Two droplets of old-fashioned
White vinegar
Clinched his Crown.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

The night,
Darkest night ever descends upon me.
Vision cloaked, never again to recover.
No reality pokes through.
Day in, day out
No harbinger of joy.

Yet I must survive
Like a child of war or famine
Eating through every sinewed
Scrap thrown my way.
I must stay alive
When hope abandons

Paltry box labeled
My Life.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

Like nothing else,
The sound creates
Notes and clefs without a pause.
Each onto itself a Symphony.

Purposed by God
For all the reasons
Humans will never know, He
Dressed feelings in finer cloth.

He wakes the calm
With taps, and raps
That live a decibel past where
Wonder dare not roam.

A Gift, prepared with care,
Delivered in surprise
The jump of joy
Each droplet makes.

Ah, marvel of true,
Peace-filled energy
Stunning in simplicity,
A Miracle of deftness.

Past the barrier of logic,
I burrow in for a Magic Morn
With
The Gentle Rain
Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

Gentle rain can be
To souls, like birds’ songs, flown high
Beyond earthbound joy.

How could she do it?
Write a better poem than mine.
Create a WONDER world so
Full no other sphere
Is left to me.

Oh rogue woman,
Painted as a sweet old lady,
Cane gathering sympathy,
Catching thoughts
Ideaed so fully that none are left for me.

Nothing.
No way to capture creativity’s glow
On my turf, a race un-won.

Ah ha!
I think I’ve got it.
Sing a song, she won’t
Follow me there.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018