Battle of the Old Pear Tree

The Old Pear Tree groaned
For he didn’t fancy
Reporting the loss of his fruit
To the Master Farmer.

First, this year, there was the
Agricultural Expert’s penultimate disappointment.
No tomatoes to harvest.
Cold night temperature had stunted their growth.

Now a band of Midnight Marauders,
Too close to humans in skill,
Let alone appearance, descended.

The rapacious Raccoon , a horde,
Raped the stately, gentleman-like
Tree of its pommes.

“Two week before they are
Ready for wine, jam or pie.”
Said the hell-bent Leader,
“We’ll eat up, fine enough for us.”

Flanked by his orderlies
The Commander ordered his
Ultimate charge. ‘Scavenger the branches,
Drop the fruit for the underlings below to gather
And head for high ground.

Meanwhile, as the Farmer,
Disappointed for the second time
Had no recourse but to
Feverishly shake his head
And admit,
“Well, they with those long fingered hands,
Bandit-masked eyes,
And sparkling night eyes.
They put on a good show.”

“My bounty, my bounty, stolen cried the Tree
What a crime—thievery.
Unabashed past the misdemeanor of
One fruit pinched, a few here or there,
Not my whole crop.”

“Looks that way, Tree.”
Said Farmer,
With a healthy grin, he
Engaged his electric zapper.
“Looks that way, to me, Old Tree.”

Charlene James Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2021

Birth Right

One soul
Soars grandly, lyrics in tune
Pitching with wafts
Of his secret, exclusive riffs
To the tiny part
Of his universe.

He will grow,
Easily — loved,
Whispered upon
From moment to moon
As needed,
Not much more
Nor less.

By winds, then water,
Pure and clear,
The trees arranged
Just right.
Blue will be his favorite hue.

His life,
A Series of “Soul Stories”
His name changes by the day
And task.
Arranged by magical folk
Of clan and kin,
With languages, he’ll never learn
Welcoming him to this plot, this play.

Prayer warriors, the god mothers,
Eccentric people
On his path to happiness
Secure their spell
Better than one would guess.

Never a ruffle in the waves
Merely the baptismal spring
‘’Today his name is,


Tomorrow, who can say.”

Charlene James Duguid
Amissville,VirginiaJuly 28, 2021