Oh sure, she’s Photo Op
Perfect.
But don’t fault her for that.
She didn’t ask for a head of
Ginger curls
Or eyes deep in questioning.
All those traits,
God-given.

The “Nature/Nurture Argument”
Swirling near, tossing her locks
Ever so much more appealing
As she finds the words surpassing
Her age,
A surprised family listening on.

The charm grows day by day
Moment to moment
Captivating strangers from
All walks of life.
Her universal appeal brings
Maitre des and diplomats to
Her sphere.
Her conquests multiply.

Scootering round,
What will be her next adventure?
A trip to
Oz
Or
Wonderland,
An Alice or Dorothy note
On her filigreed dance card.
Circus or Zoo.
Carousel or Ferris Wheel.
Learning with each toe tap
What life has in store?

Quizzical , as to why these encounters
Succeed,
She turns deeply inside
Her tiny body
Searching for the source
Of her power,
Blyth Spirit, she.

Growing so in age and grace
She wonders what will become of her.
Only twinkling answers come her way.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville , Virginia
August 16, 2020

God was sparing no expense,
Pulling out all the stops.
This was a landmark,
RED LETTER DAY.

John Richards,
Intellectual Extraordinaire,
Confined to the earthly plane,
For now,
Was born fifty years ago
Today.

His brightness of spirit,
His lightness of soul
Cried out for celebration,
But even these words
Were too dense to describe his essence.

John, merely being John, was enough
To encourage men, women and children,
Dogs and cats, mice and gerbils
To crack out their kazoos and penny whistles
In a barnyard symphonic event.

Heaven was abuzz,
Lightening and thunder were on tap,
Sun rays were burnished,
Comets redirected to linger over
John’s back yard.
And rainbows, oh yes, spectral wonders
Dripping with wishes waiting to be fulfilled.

Golden chariots overflowing with
Priceless collections
Speaking of every artistic age,
Chiming in each mode of refinement.
Fine-tuned to herald in its Era.
Clamoring to be heard.
“We’re ready.”

Colonial pocket bottles nestled in the folds
Of peonied silk kimono.
Tiffany lamps protectedly wrapped in
Goblin tapestry.
The Art Deco, cheek to cheek with Mid-century Modern.
Post-Impressionism hugging Washington Color School veils.
A Warhol tart nestling on a Mapplethorpe bum.

Trend upon trend
The best of the best,
Exclusive choices
And all God’s gifts for John.

As a last minute precaution
God summoned him and asked,
“John, What do you really want,
I mean really want for your Day.”

As always, generous with his gifts,
God gave John the right to keep
Or confer his
Bounty of glories. But you never knew
With John, always capitalizing on surprises.

‘John replied, out of the blue,
“Gifts I have aplenty.
And You’ve given me
An intuitive sense of style and
Unquenchable eclectic longing.
I treasure deeply.”

“But one more wish is all I ask,
The answer to the universal question,
What is truth,
What is beauty”

“Hum, that’s a tall order, even for, Me,
Your God.
Might take another 50 years to work out.”

With that they shared a syncopated grim.
Locked arms,
In a jolly mood and
ambled down the street to their
Favorite Dive Bar
For a drink or several.
Exploring one another’s agile brains.

“That answer might have to wait
Till John’s 100th, which
Would come soon enough.
But for now, the fun is in the search,
An endless pursuit
Never,” God said,
“Done.”

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 14, 2020

“Read all about it.
Tomato Master 2020 Crop
Defies reality. Every fruit
Perfect in size and
Spherical dimension”

So how did he do it?
What were the skills?
Horticulturally based.
Mathematically inspired.
This man knows his stuff
And how to use it wisely.
Not a feature has been ignored.

From sweet, intense pulp
With seeds all in a row.
To peel with just a bit of crunch
In a hue that defines
“Tomato Red.”

Tomato Master
Proves again,
His renown, his title
Is secured
For another year.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 13, 2020

Distant,
She hears it strummed
And runs toward its twangy
Folk fulness.
Heart free, never sad.

Always true and bright,
Donald plucks his tune.
Special, his alone.
Still there.
So bright.

“Smile, my Love,
Laugh.
I’m ever close at hand.
Kissing you, my Lady,
Gentle as we remember it to be.”

Ever dancing
With the strains
Of Time.
Years are moments
Till we meet again.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 7, 2020

Not much a nuisance
But nonetheless, pesky fly.
Not in ointment, still

Be done with it, fast
One felled strike, perfect swat aim
Murderous. Blame me.

Better than insect
Footprints tromping in my jam
Cheers! Sanitation.

Charlene James Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 11, 2020

It began with one
Fallen robin from a tree
In a city back yard
Nothing unusual.

Than as if on a
Johnny Appleseed mission,
This John took off across country
Rescuing birds, species by species
Combining a Chapman’s passion
With a Noahian dedication,

Disney would smile at the images
That abounded on this trek.