Like a Broadway Revival waiting its turn,
“Please” and “Thank You”
Wait in the wings.
Special purpose words, honorifics of a sort
Paving the way for smiles and success.
Who owns them?
Everyone, you and I,
Trillions of living and long-past gone.
Origins in strange forgotten tongues
Skipping through a curlicue alphabet,
Into thoughts of multitudes
They must travel from minds with purposed intent,
Past heads ablaze with gratitude,
To lips, air sufficient to explode,
Making courtesy the order of the day.
A nod, a wink, a cockeyed grin
Confirms society agrees,
You got it right.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
12/16/18

For Sweet Maggie

Some lucky miss, a beauty
Among the rare persimmons, enjoys her
world.

Always exciting, ever surprising.
Laughing
Persimmon, as exotic as a voyage
To some far kingdom, forgotten by others,
No memory except her own.

Cloaking the delectable self
In a story, demanding the tale be told.
Yet, never to betray her inner mirth.

Standing for herself,
Grand, suggesting taste,
Nectaring each slice of apple it kisses.
Oriental, orange, mishapened so slightly.
No need for the magic of becoming.
Pure nature always in its fruit.
Unsung.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
12/16/18

A solitary hunter, of single intent,
Perched in a tree stand
Watching the morning break. Cold,
but warm-hearted, knowing
He can feed his family for another year.

Disturbing the calm, roosting turkeys
Start a chatter, hell-bent on being heard,
Grabbing attention from the squirrels,
They take center stage.

He wonders if they will stop
Alarming the prey.

Wild birds
Incessant in piercing conversation,
As if their squabbling
Kept the earth on track.

The noise penetrating his brain
More powerful than the winter hoar.
Annoying this stalwart,
This man among men,
Defender, provider, hunter,
Following the ways of his
Ancestors.

Hands cupping his ears,
He shouts at them
“Stop, stop it, you’re driving me nuts.”
Crazed, he considers shooting a few
Out of season.

They cavort
Up and down in the pine perches
To the ground and back,
Distraction for anyone less-skilled,
Less-committed to providing for his kin.

Their talking, back and forth, never ends.

Ready to let them have it,
He aims at one in dominant display.
Feathers spread in noble grandeur.

But,
He stops as they stop.
Suddenly on cue, they bring back
Quiet, as if concerned for the hunter’s
Need to succeed, to fill his larder with venison.
The communal conscience of these bright fowl
Takes over, spilling avian love into human survival.

Drawn into their silence,
He sees the doe, one of the millions overrunning
The land, possessing the forests
In search of dwindling grass.

Sighting at one, another comes into view.
He knows shooting the first-day’s trophies
Means a family’s contentment.

The two white tails move in a sea of amber and brown.
He shoots once. Twice. Downs them both.

Triumphant.

Now the birds begin their encore,
New, different music to his ears.
Well-earned symphonic concertizing
Set in the cold, grey dawn.

The snow begins, he leaves the hiding place,
Descends from the tree,
Begins the real work, gutting the deer.

Relieved, he invites the feathered strains.
A smile breaks out in his eyes,
A whistle of syncopation in his voice,
A grateful nod to his winged friends
For knowing when to stop their turkey talk.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
11/17/18

“Is it a big surprise or little?” he asked,
In A Wonderment created in 36 years.

She, afraid under the least pressure would
Crack,
Makes a zippering gesture along her lips.

“Ah, come on, I’ve got one for you,
If you tell me first.”

“Not true, not true, you pretend you have
Something behind your back
And it’s an empty hand.

“There.
It’s a surprise.
It’s empty.”

Though she’s heard this a thousand time
Come
Out of his mouth,
It makes her giggle, unsurpressingly,
Nonetheless.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
11/15/18

Shocked, believing it must
Happen all at once,
I stubbed my toe, the right one,
In the fast move.
Not quite a jerk or a shuffle
More like a soccer kick gone wrong.

A husband laughs and can’t stop.
It’s what he had hoped for,
Proof.
“Haste makes waste.”
He’s always right, of course.
Seeing the inevitable in my pursuit
Of the extraordinary, that flash,
Instantaneous Brilliance
Followed with life lived
Big
Wild
Satisfying.

Does it matter
I’ve used up all the chances
In my biographical inventory,
Wasted every miracle counted
In that cloud-bound book that kept
Me whole?
I insist the guarantee,
The incandescence
Will reseed my soul
I’ll be
“In the moment,”
Again.
Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia
11/7/18

Here is a Wizard
Invisible, cloaked in
Shocking
Elegant
Indescribable
Blue

Just waiting to be asked
For a bit of
Prestidigitation,
Abracadabra.

Fantasy on the run.

Take a chance
You can’t go wrong
An organic fit,
You two.
Ask, he’s aching
To show his skills.

Not much call
These days for
Enchantment.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville,Victoria
10/11/18

Layers of real life
Intrude on false happiness.
Euphoria gone.

Life ends with whimper.
Death panels like dry leaves fly.
Fog preempts all light.

Salvage a laugh or
Two, perhaps three or four, more,
Like a clover’s bloom.

Find a friend, share these.
Delight in fresh strawberries
Juicy on your tongue.

Beans, the smart little Rappahannock bear

Naughty little bear
Thievery in his orchard
Romp. Peaches his goal.