A Poem in Two Parts

Photo by John Richards

Anxiety

The ghost in the closet
Was patient.
He had learned from his
Ancestors.  Bohemian-like today,
Dressed in holiday finery: spats, cravat
And beret, he waited.

He gathered ungrounded concerns round his chair.
Sat preening each,  plucking
To  a sharp point, calmly, every jibe manicured.
No reason to press his case too soon.

His victim’s frame of mind,
The strongest tool he had
kept in wait.
He cleaned his nails,
Glossed his teeth, Brylcreemed his hair,
Till the whirlwind of fear
Spun off sparks of panic
Penetrating the door.

Fingering his
Antique watch, it’s dial and fob,
Elegant filigree,
Clicking open and shut, again and again
Exchanging one echo of fear for another,
Guarantee — no drug or palliative would dispel
The Angst of uncertainty, of unknowing,

He took a brief nap, content he’d done his job.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
June, 2015

Banish’ed

Awaking, he stretched.
The nap was good
Filled with gothic banshees,
Most monstrous creatures,
Devils of all degrees and dimensions,
And his own expanded ego
Playing out in an unparalleled operatic form.

The gentle tapping on the door
Meant nothing to him.
Someone destined to run
Hellbent
When he ceremonially inched it open,
The more fearful than a splashy exit.

There had always been a slither in his manner
Snakelike-silences became him.
Oh, he loved his victims’
Inner gasp, their search for air,
Finding none, forcing them deeper into fear.

Like the bite of a troublesome bug
Anxiety convinced himself
He had won.
Proceeding without proof,
He made his signature sound
Few could make.
Saliva spewing over canines,
Disgusting to say the least
He was ready for battle.

But what kind of foe was this,
Curly-haired, chipmunk-cheeked
Rouged and cherry-lipped
She stood her ground
Her balance undisturbed.

Behind her gathered a family,
Obviously hers,
To reinforce
Steadfast intent.

One by one they made
Their declarations.

“It’s time to go Joe,”
Dad issued with military exactitude.

“Ride on, you old coot”
Said the Family’s Heir,
Bike spanner, in hand, at the ready.

Smooth as silk in style and carriage,
”it’s time you disappeared
You phony mirage” declared
The Darling Daughter.

Finally, the unsinkable Matriarch
With all the steely charm
only she could master, asserted,
“Out now, and ne’er darken our closet again.

Like a bat in an over-worn belfry,
Head hung bowed in defeat,
Anxiety had no recourse.
He fingered his cravat, spit on his spat,
And angled his beret.
Shrinking more with every noiseless
Footstep,
He made his way, out the closet,
Cross the room
To the window.
Over the sill
He was hit by fresh, wholesome breezes
Then leagues of exotic
Birds twittering, announced Anxiety’s
Disappearance.

No match for this stronghold,

Banish’ed.

He knew he could never come again.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
April, 2020

Vespers, 1998-2017

Vespers is gone now
From her bed, not from my heart
Scores of Angels blest

Long on love and years
Proud in every movement, She
Awaits my entrance

On the next stage, phase
Of our ascent together,
Our storied mountain

Catch a glance, see her
Preening, purring, self assured
Shakespeare’s feline queen

Jeweled from paw to pate
Whiskers sleek, shiny threads pure
Delights life in death, still

Eyes bright, knowingly
Tuned to vast universes
Taking me along

Vespers is gone now
From her bed, not from my heart
Scores of Angels blest

A friend, well-meaning,
Suggests I get a heated bed pad
To put between my “pee” sheet and
King-sized, fitted linens.

“You’ve never had a better sleep,” says he.

But I’m afraid.
I see myself going up in flames,
Jeanne d’Arc-like without
The benefit of holy voices.

Even at the lowest setting
Something will go wrong,
From toasty, I’ll go roasty
Like a Medieval suckling pig.

No way.

Photo by John Richards

The Walking Wounded
Step all round me.
They and I afraid to touch.

Cautioned by the Sun,
“Leave space between your atoms,”
It advised that too dense a mass
And we will implode.

In lieu of “hellos” and “adieus”.
“caios” and “tatas”
We excruciate over
Times move —
a.m. to p.m.
And back again.

Fretting over issues
Of when moments became and went,
How they got so quickly sore
Then even worse, Infirmed .

We look longingly for a place to rest
A chair on which to sit.

No lounging here,
Perpetual motion, the rule,
Never wind down
For if it did, we’d have to
Call it quits,
Call it a day.

Mornings, noons, and nights
Taken away,
Replaced the Sun
With Dark
Losing motion, knowing only pain.

Photo by John Richards

A Beauty, She, of eyes and ears,
The classic dress of shamrock,
Tresses, copper, laced with gold.

Always happy,
Loved and loving.

Her kitchen tumbles with sweets,
Joyful morsels fall from her touch,
Taste tingles with delicosity,
Her permission to munch and mange’
To your heart’s content.

And, is that a banjo
To add with sounds the glory of her sights
And touch?

The Baker at heart plucks out a tune.

Sadness never parks at her door,
Or if it does, flees when she peeks outside.
One flash of that smile and troubles
Melt away
Like chocolate on a sunny day.

He knocked at the door of the tiny cottage in the shire,
And with good manners,
Waited until it was opened, not doing it himself.

Only then did he enter.

He carried a sack of frozen veggies, a pack of Marlboros,
And bouquet of wildflower filched from a neighboring yard
Tied with a purple string.
“For your injured eye, your vice, and your perfection.”
Boyishly shy, unsure of whether this was proper etiquette,
He handed them to the damsel he wanted to love.

A command performance, meeting the beauty’s
Guardian, showing his respect without presumption or haste,
While aching to hold her, kiss her, carry her away
With all the romance he had never learned
In ivied halls.

Her freckles, hers alone, and Cinderella feet,
Meant to be caressed, made joyful after too
Much work for so small a maiden.
If only he could, in that moment break all ties,
Have a steed to mount and a castle of his own to which
To fly.

He would do it.

Instead he retreated.

She too much a Muse for him
Could only smile, hope, and wish
Someday they would recall
Frozen green beans, cigarettes,
and purloined posies, together.