She’s tiny, ever so petite,
And fragile
With a tumble of golden curls
Crowning her little head.

Lost in a sewing box
These hundred years
She’s unsure of her magic
Now.

Can she bundle joy,
Fill a home with laughter,
Bring thoughts of gaiety
To a woebegone world?

Shopworn, she,
Yet hopeful her magic has outlasted
All the dusty days.

How to test it?

Wish!

Yes, you, reading this now.
Ask a special favor,
In a polite tone
And see if it comes true.

The sweetest bonbon,
The brightest ribbon,
Better still, the grandest step
In the lightest dance.

Toes that barely
Brush the floor
Saying things
Words cannot say,
Opening worlds,
Raising antique memories,
Blossoming in a sunshiny day.

Precious doll,
Victorianna dear,
If we believe,
Your magic will live again.

And, yes, believe, we do,
We do in candies, ribbons,
And in dance.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
June 1, 2018

Image by Lang Elliot

My only friend,
He visits every day,
Stays far longer than
Any human companion would.

Understanding perfectly
That now, my dotage
Is veneered with
Layer, upon uncomfortable layer,
Of infirmity.

His songs are determined.

And I never complain.

That’s our arrangement.
I never ask for less than his
Routine, an everyday song.

Often I’d like to help my slow-learning
Visitor understand
that knocking his head against
The window causes headaches, nothing more.
But he is content to continue.
His ways are pure
And seem to work.

How clever!

He mIgrates by night
Using the stars to navigate.
Wise above all else.

But things change.

My special friend,
What will happen to him,
In days to come?
Will he visit and bang his head
On the glass
When I am dead ?

I do not fear, for
In his magic,sweet, gentle way he sings
So I know
we will keep on together,
To touch,
Star by star,
Trill by trill, the pathway
toward our new home.

I close my eyes
And understand.
We’ll surely fly off to a
Beautiful unknown.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
May 26, 2018

Roof, hold together.
Tighten your braces against
Today’s harsh onslaught.

Rain, kiss rose petals
Twice, then leave peaceful fac’ed
Blissful in dawn’s glow.

Singular hard woods
Noble oaks, maples, ash. Strong.
Unbroken heroes.

Catchers when others
Fail. Protect creatures so frail
God alone can see.

CHARLENE JAMES-DUGUID
AMISSVILLE, VIRGINIA
5/17/18

Soured loves and acned lovers
Crash into each other.
Shattered egg shells
In uneven, disturbing, warped time.

From teenage infatuation to midyears’
Indiscretions, before the white light
Removes breath from my breathing.

Others turn embarrassment to
Memories, I cannot.
Mine hang heavy as shame dripping
Off the tree of sinfulness, the arbor,
It’s own orchard of vile fruits.

Worms, all worms.

Deformed by defilement
It steals sleep,
Plagues peace,
Destroys the little left
Of humane honor.

No Greek salvation through pain.
No redemption by fire.
No way to repair the universal wrongs.

Perhaps, oh God, by chance,
You’d grant
The worth
Of one blessed word,
Now and again,
To carry along
As the soothing balm,
A touch
Of unexpected grace.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
5/10/18

The Wood Cutter (Le Père Jacques)

Why,
If I had a choice of
Who to be,
Where to live,
What moment in time to capture,
It would be the waif-like
Gamine
Surfacing from the weeds and brambles
To help grand pere
Collect wood for a long winter’s frost.

Why she, not me?
Innocence, of course,
Untouched, unsullied, undamaged
By the ways of the world.

For years, painted to capture my soul in the
Calling, the longing
Of a perfection
Gone for centuries.

She, all truth or an allusion
We are wedded in a dress.
I long for mine to be pure
And blue.

Her small hand barely holding a wild flower
For fear of clutching
Too tightly.

A tiny wren would know.

Charlene James-Duguid

The vigil began
By those who love
One, who loved so dearly,
Strongly.

With a potent soul
Unstoppable in the
Everyday joy
God gave her.

A smile so lovely
Flowers bloom
Each time
She winks at them.

Long in this world
But not long enough
Maxine
Always loved, always loving.

Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia
4/18

Let a good poem
Slip by, die, it and others.
Just lazy I guess.

Could have switched
On the light,
Snagged a pencil,
Noted the notable.

Instead convince yourself
When morning came
The indecipherable
Scribble would have,
Yes, Have, left me stumped anyway.

Cuddle back down
In my feather thick and pretend
That the thought will come again
Another day.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
4/1/18

Sits heavy around us
Taking oxygen we need
Without caring it must be ours.
Gliding in on tulle-draped gowns,
Prussian Blue in hue,
It transmutes,
Multiplies its powers to the nth degree,
Smothering us quickly
As we reach out to grasp
At least one breath.

Its guise changes
With the seasons.
Hapless month’s go by
And bring new names
To nothing times.
In each age, we are alone,
Defying poets.
Captured periwinkle tries
To break the spell.
While vines deny it’s effort.

Delicate flowers,
Bride’s maids dresses,
And the Moon, twice full
In the month’s rotation
Could have kept us
Living.
Instead
Stealing the tides,
It sealed our fate
With a gasp.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
4/1/18

Deflating a toe-tapping ballon isn’t easy.
Its capture is like landing a lasso
As a pink unicorn romps
Across your front lawn.
Maybe a bit more difficult.
Actually, a lot more.

It has a mind of its own,
This balloon,
This sly Terpsichorean,
This rainbow-spectrumed vessel
Frilled with magic,
Lighter-than-air, gaseous gas.

What is it telling me
That I can report to you
About life, love,
And the pursuit of frivolous moments?
It guards the last gasp of air
Passionately, jealously.

Dance on, it echoes.
There is no grace in falling.
Don’t trip up in the gavotte.
And
Heaven help you
“Dancing in the dark.”

But then again
If you must,
Don’t hesitate.
Pick up the beat
And
“Shuffle off to Buffalo.”

Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia
3/26/18