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

And God said,
“Let there be goodness,
Let there be joy,
Let there be color, and sweetness.
Let there be

BEANS, JELLY BEANS.”

Standing, elbows akimbo, the little Bear was shocked.
“God naming one of his favorite creations after me
It cannot be.”
The Wizard, also akimboed, frowned in disbelief.
How and why had the Almighty chosen to
Dub Whizz’s favorite candy, with its delectable varieties,
After this silly apprentice, totally inept at magic,
The one who couldn’t even change
A mouse into a chicken.

How could God do this, and on a lovely Springing,
Singing April day no less.

They had always been friends, Wizard and God.
In the same business, so to speak, but now this sugary baptism
Irrevocably destroyed their relationship.

God and Wizard were at odds.

As they scowled, Kiwi Strawberry Smoothie, Sour Cherry, and
Perfectly Pear went rolling everywhere.
Oranges and Creme and Buttered Popcorn hid under the sofa.
Boysenberry and Tutti Frutti were deep in conversation.
Super Fruit Fusion and Very Blue found places to hide.

Whizz knew something had to be done, a truce must be struck.

‘Make you a deal, God, Old Boy.
You can name them BEANS, if I get an eternal supply. 

In return, I’ll flunk the Bear, 
make it impossible for him to use any magico–religious skills.

‘Hum. ‘
God now joined them akimbo.
He gave a nod.
Wizard gave a wink.
The Bear waved his wand that should have turned the field mouse into a Rhode Island Red but instead produced a giant Hubbard squash,

Beans, befuddle, watched as Wizard and God shook hands and evaporated into thin air, leaving a trio of Grommets singing a round for  

Universal Jelly Bean Day.

He looked back, proud.
Years, not spent dreaming. Doing.
Step by step, every chance he could get.
Every choice he made his own.
Tossing the old, unused, hard ball
Between his once teen-aged palms.
Remembering.

Sunken, not Mo.
Despondent, only for a moment.
Depressed, not his style.
On to a new dimension
Testing his sinew on his terms,
Not theirs.
Heartbroken, never.

A gnash of teeth,
A fist, ready to
Smash a hard-core door.
No, not his manner, not his mien.

Don’t get him wrong,
Not soft, not sappy.
Solid, determined,
Destined for yet defined greatness.

Moving on.
Another vehicle,
More powerful, more true.
Fit for the temperament
A champion’s resolve.

The next choice is better
The challenge greater
The sweeping glance
At what will be.

That Quixotic-look sweeps across his brow.
That Mo-like half-grin to this face.
No need to prove to others
Who you are
When all in sports
Sit at your feet.

Mo, admired, revered.
He knows himself
Regales his soul with its own song
His drummer slow to the beat
At first, then symphonic filled.

He stood tall, then
And always will
As passers-by marvel at his
Greatness.

His aide approaches.
“The Team is ready for your
Pep-talk, Boss.”

He tosses the ball lightly, smiles,
And heads for the dugout
To address his team,
Each in their own right,
A Champion.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
February 23, 2019

Nothing is impossible.
Charmed and loving.
Picked by the Fates,
Bedazzled.
One of a kind
You are chosen
And Maggie.

Owls hoot.
Bear amble.
Dolphins play.
Creatures big and small
Pay homage to your smile
You are special
And Maggie.

 

The sun shines.
The rivers flow.
Stars sparkle
Twinkle brightly
Because you make it so.
You are magical
And Maggie.

You love birds
They love you,
Taking every chance
To flutter by.
Ordinary, when nothing is.
You are possible,
And Maggie.

 

Music blossoms
At your window sill
Rainbows want to appear
In all their glory
To please you
You are wonderful
And Maggie.

Angel spirits
Decked in Nature’s hues
Need no reminder.
Happiness echoes in your steps
Every movement is a dance
You are brilliant
And Maggie.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
January 23, 2019

Chain Saw was ready to quit,
So many years of grueling labor.
“Too much.”

Woodsman, his owner,
Always willing to hear him out,
Didn’t agree on this one.
“The work never ends, must be done.
Winter’s coming on.”

That said,
And their friendship overshadowed
By the need for winter survival,
Woodsman pulled the cord.
Chain Saw sputtered, (should have been a clue)
Sputtered again, then with a burst of final energy
Roared into action.

Less concerned with the ailing machine’s
State of health and well-being,
Hell-bent on perfectly felling the mighty oak,
Woodsman placed the notch just right,
Then stepped aside, watching
A century of growth topple.

The ground shook.
The countryside echoed.
The universe joined in.
The mighty deed complete.
Now the real work began.

Carefully, Woodsman cut even rounds
Of the trunk, smiling, assured he could
Breathe easy, his family would be snug round the hearth.

He cut firewood lengths.
One, two, three, four. . . . .
But the saw had had it.
‘Sputter, cough, groan” rebelled Chain Saw,
‘I’ve done enough, years of unflinching labor,
I’m entitled to a final reward.”

Woodsman, unmoved, persevered.
He pulled the cord again and again
Only to meet silence,
Only to feel the snow under his boots
Become mute footprints.

Chain Saw sighed,
Demanded again his final request.
“Take me to my just reward,
Transport me on wings of angels
Accompanied by raspy, chomping sounds.
Throw open the gates
To Chain Saw Heaven,
I deserve Valhalla
Where all good, worn, world-weary
chain saws go.”

The Woodsman, at a loss for words,
With no alternative, honored Chain’s request.
He packed his gear,
Hefted Chain Saw into his truck
And struck out for
The Forest of the Great Beyond.

There under a sturdy pine, he gently laid
His friend.
Respectfully, he carved an epitaph
In the ancient bark.

‘Here lies Chain,
The one and only indomitable Saw,
May He Rest in Peace.”

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
January 18, 2019

Heroes have their ways.

Not mere mortal strength, instead

Steel burnished brightly.

 

Straight as lodge pole pine, 

Agile, bending with the storm,

Righteous without pride.

 

Pure hearts, minds, bodies,

Sinewy in their beauty

Never lost for words.

We have lungs that breathe
As happy hearts pump red blood
Through our joyous veins.

Souls that yearn brightly,
Friends knowing a heartfelt laugh,
Children who love us.

Unexpected, these
Wondrous happenings, by design
Are called miracles.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
December 26, 2018

A pint-sized Socrates
Returned from an
Enlightening morning,
her first-day-ever at the
Pre-school academy,
Mira positioned her lawn chair on the sun deck,
Stirred her pretend herbal tea,
And cogitated on the wonders
Of the universe.

She must devour more
Thermodynamics by tomorrow
When she, and her new friends
Will gather at the water fountain
To demonstrate their dexterity
In its use.

Life is strenuous, even with
Unbounded three-year-old energy.

Sometimes you just have to take a spell
To meditate on existence, stir your tea
For new insights, hear the murmur of
The wind in the cedar tree,
Close your eyes,
And nod off for a nap.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
12/23/18