“No, I don’t want to be an astronaut,
Or travel along with hobbits.
I don’t want to dive in the deep blue sea,
That’s for sure.”

Determined, the tyke adjusted his hood,
Brushed off his parka and headed for the door.

“Where are you going young man,” his mother
Asked calmly, careful not to disrupt the story
About to grow by creative leaps and bounds.
Knowing there was perfect logic in this
Recent adventurous episode.

Other sons take the easy road,
Hers would not. His plan, already well-formed
Would open a door to understanding words, thoughts,
And, of course,emotions,

“You’ll get lost Thomas, in the cold and snow.”

“No I won’t, I know how to read tracks,
How to find my
Way back.
Alaska is my goal, the tundra.

Grandpa taught me.
I listened.”

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
November 5, 2019

It’s all about the Heart,
Not thumping, bumping,
Gyrating in its cavity,
But sweetly whispering
Words of love to the Brain.

“Oh, Wise One, Dear,
Where should we go for lunch?
A forest glen by a gently
Flowing stream? Should I
Prepare tarts or tea cakes,
Pastel petit fours or
Robust German wursts?
A blanket or afghan, downy pillows,
Oriental silks. Tell me and I will obey.”

‘Silence. I want to think, to massage
My memory for nuances once forgotten.
Be quiet, Pest.”

“Oh, Wise One, Dear,
You put me off, dismiss my care
Without a single kindness, ounce of
Courtesy, modicum of tenderness.
As if I have no say,
No sway in our affairs.”

Her left valve fluttered unhappily
And right slumped low. With resignation,
She started her trek to find a Love.

Stopping briefly at the Lungs,
Knowing they were already a matched pair,
She moved on.

Perhaps the Stomach would love her,
But with Gut so gross a name could she bear
The monogram?

Off she goes, left side and right,
Moving deeper and deeper down the spine,
Never forgetting Brain, she pines for his love.
“Be quiet, Pest, Pest, Pest,” echoes in her Ears.

Should she try Spleen, Kidney, Liver,
Asking them to be her love? Too introverted.
The Skin and Bones,? No, no, too thin a support.

She comes to rest at the
Singularly unattractive, bruised and battered Left Foot.
She stumbles on its much-needed, least-treated, forlorn Toe.

“I’m so sad,” she said hardly looking at his carbuncle locale.

“So sad? Why my beautiful, lush, crimson maiden, why sad?”

“I am unloved, Well-trodden One, unloved by all.”

Without hesitation and astounding vigor, he pledged his troth.
“I love you more than the highest mountain,
The deepest valley, the longest road.
And let me assure you, dear Heart, I’ve been up and down them all.”

The curtain of irrational romance lifted.
Heart has a thought for the first time, at last.
“I find contentment with you, Toe, yes, true love at last.”

“And now,” crafty Toe calculates,
“My Precious, be calmed.
You need not work so hard.”

With aortic release,
She shut her pressure down.
Blood slowed,
Then stopped flowing to the Brain.

A whimper ushered through
The gray-celled terrain.
Thought suspended,
Brain gasped, calls it quits
In the idea zone.

As Brain, dumb-founded, flounders,
Heart knowing it was a trip well-taken,
And Toe knowing he will never walk alone
Frolic in the grass, carefree.

Entwined, the new-forever lovers pulsate.
The lowly Toe gushes with glee,
“Only a Toe!
Ha!
Guess again,
Pampered Pundit,
Cerebral Snob,
Your mental gymnastics are over.
It’s bloody, bloody revenge
For Heart and Me.”

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia

A new scholar braves the storm
To make his mark.
Well-clad as a totemic frog,
Lunch box shining, shield-like
Ready for action.
‘Brella raised as sword would be.

Unafraid,
Well, mostly so.
Excited,
Well, even more.
His speedy feet shod into
Perfect, unblemished sneakers.

What a mind in a brain
That sits beneath that copper-colored thatch.
As if each strand electrifies
the next,
and the next
Emblazing the world,
Calling out,
“Do your best, my fine fellows.
Do your best young women of all humankind.
Do your best, mighty angels of thought.
Conquer all evils, I’ll aid and abet.
Not too difficult if you trod on with me.”

Philosophy, metaphysics
Even thought-numbing science and math
Easy if you, Thomas,
And your totem move forward together
In crested creativity, inspired by evolving art.

Ask for help? No need.
Arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, music
All eagerly poised in your back pocket
Wait to spring into action
Into being.

A raindrop here
A flash of light there
An extra thump of heart,
Then more resolve to meet
This day, it’s challenge.

No delay.
Nourished, nuts and jam.
Nurtured, kisses, hugs.
Surrounded, assured that this is only one,
The first of all the best steps.

Taken, explored, examined,
Filed away, successful.

The scholar, unafraid,
Well, mostly so.
Meets the challenge
Well, mostly with half-smiles.
Mostly
with the promise
Of his first day of school.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
September 4, 2019

Like others who can’t resist stuff:
Stamps, coins, books, paper weights, arrow heads, whatnot,
He is unstoppable.

His treasures are just a bit bigger, heavier, costly.
Born out of passion, the urge, the obsession,
He collects
Tractors.

Why not?

Left alone with his check book he would be the
Indisputable master of these farm behemoths.
His wallet would forget the closed position, as he added to
His inventory; seeking more power, more comfort, more innovation.

Oh, but he is more renaissance then one-sided in his desire to accumulate.
His yearnings extend to gathering
Chickens, tomatoes, and counting residential blue jays and cardinals.
With impeccable skill.
His preoccupation is to watch nature fill all its spaces.

But superior among his collections is his accumulation of historical facts.
Not miscellaneous or sundry, instead with precision, he documents the hamlet of Bramwell, West Virginia . It remains the home of his heart,
A place worthy of an epic, not a mere poem.
Every fact carefully selected, each life perfectly curated,
inventoried lovingly, displayed with distinction
For all the cyber world to see.

The masses are invited to take note of Tractor Man’s
Delight in his sense of place.
Framed, preserved and secured.
There is no vacuum in his world.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia, March 11, 2016