Hers was widely-known.
His was legend.
And at this Centenarian’s birthday bash,
The truth of the best would be told.
An epic event.

Neither would back down.

Each determined, wearing sophisticated taste buds.
Each weighted approach precisely defined—
Ingredients, Process, Technique.

She, left much to sparse individual effort,
time restraints, coarseness.

He, banked mostly on exceptional chopping.
Bladed precision never sacrificed.

And the Prize?
So ephemeral.
No one would mention it again
But the Town would know
Who had won out.
Who had prevailed.

Table ready.
Croissants and sour dough warmed.
Faces eager.
Mouths watering.
Reporter scribbling.
Photographer clicking.
Ballots ready to count.

Whose would it be,
The Cavalier Caterer or the Conscientious Chopper?

One taste only, all it took.

Then the emergent winner
Shared his secret.
Two droplets of old-fashioned
White vinegar
Clinched his Crown.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

The night,
Darkest night ever descends upon me.
Vision cloaked, never again to recover.
No reality pokes through.
Day in, day out
No harbinger of joy.

Yet I must survive
Like a child of war or famine
Eating through every sinewed
Scrap thrown my way.
I must stay alive
When hope abandons

Paltry box labeled
My Life.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

Like nothing else,
The sound creates
Notes and clefs without a pause.
Each onto itself a Symphony.

Purposed by God
For all the reasons
Humans will never know, He
Dressed feelings in finer cloth.

He wakes the calm
With taps, and raps
That live a decibel past where
Wonder dare not roam.

A Gift, prepared with care,
Delivered in surprise
The jump of joy
Each droplet makes.

Ah, marvel of true,
Peace-filled energy
Stunning in simplicity,
A Miracle of deftness.

Past the barrier of logic,
I burrow in for a Magic Morn
With
The Gentle Rain
Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

Gentle rain can be
To souls, like birds’ songs, flown high
Beyond earthbound joy.

How could she do it?
Write a better poem than mine.
Create a WONDER world so
Full no other sphere
Is left to me.

Oh rogue woman,
Painted as a sweet old lady,
Cane gathering sympathy,
Catching thoughts
Ideaed so fully that none are left for me.

Nothing.
No way to capture creativity’s glow
On my turf, a race un-won.

Ah ha!
I think I’ve got it.
Sing a song, she won’t
Follow me there.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

Words cluster around letters.
Think about it!
They gravitate, coalesce
For their own benefit,
Recognizable as sharing an attitude.

Mighty “B”
Sits second in the string of 26,
Unconcerned it might get lost in the
Shuffle.
You Barely notice it.
Nearly Blind to its import
But, it is well-used
By Buglers Blasting Blue notes.

It is Brilliant.

Exercises in “B-ness”
Bring Blushes into
Boudoirs.

Now,
Consider the Beauteous
“B’s.”
Blond Braids, Beads, Bagatelles,
Bibelots , Bracelets,
Baroque Bibles
Borne By Bald Barmen to
Brides along with Bawdy Ballads
Borrowing Bells Brandished on their bunions.

If all seems Banished from your Brain
There ‘s always Be and Being to Bring it
Back .
But By now you might feel Batty,
Battered,
Brain-Buzzing
Like a
Bee.

Beleaguered.
Believing
Bare Bears Belong Behind Bars on
Biedermeier Banquettes Bloodied By Blackbeard,
Blurred and Blunted,
Beginning the Beguine
Bursting Balloons and Bubbles.

Betrayed bloodlettings
But Bloodless Bodies,
Beaten, Bitter, Barely Believing Baseball Banter.

Blessed Bromide!

So what’s next?

BINGO !

Place a Bet, Begrudgingly at Baccarat
On “T”or “G”,
See where it takes you.
Barnstorming, Bandstanding, or Beguiled,
Breaking the Bank,
Or
Broke,
By God.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville,Virginia
July 30, 2018

With no idea why it was in my mind,
I’ve always wanted a pair of
Wooden Shoes,
Authentic, direct from the land of
Tulips.

Now I have them.

Swooped up from a thrift shop bin,
I am a cute Dutch fashion plate
Or would be, were it not for
Senior Fear
The constant dread– the fatal fall.

Oh, Sweet Clogs,
Why did I wait too long to make you a home,
Bring you in from discardment ?
I might have clip-clopped my way through
Bulbs and bulbs and bulbs
As splashes of flower hues stained my
Thoughts and dirndl.

Alas, instead my cane
Rackets its melody of age.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
July 22, 2018

Bad Moon called Blue Moon
Conjures fear in us, until
Stars come out to play.

Charlene James-Duguid
AMISSVILLE, VIRGINIA
JULY 22, 2018