Celebrating their Mediaeval lineage,
The companion harts
Take stage.

A modern fiefdom
Relished with mighty timber,
Elysian waterways, and lesser creatures at their call,
The magical deer hold court.

‘More beautiful than ever I have seen.”
The Lady of the manor decrees.

The Lord, already convinced
He has hoofed Royals on his land,
proclaims with the surety of his ownership,

“No Hunting here.”

“They will abide with us, my Lady,
Bring fortune and magic to our realm .
Turn sad days to festive , no, lusty celebrations.
Turn back the clock and make us young again.”

Peace.
The wonder of Peace.

Then in a horrid moment,
An errant shot rings out.
Oh no, the poachers disturb the calm.

In fear, the Lord and Lady steel themselves for the slaughter.
The blood, the silent carnage of the brother bucks.
Now all wishes will go unfulfilled.
Joys dashed.

“But, but, but, look there my Dear,”
Amazed the Lord.
They are truly of magical birth with
lives of beauteous perfection.

Still standing their ground unafraid,
Confident in their being,
Content with their ways.”

Slowly, without effort they begin
A stylish gavotte through the glen.

The Lady sighs, the Lord breaths easily
Knowing the Visitors to their dominion
Will return again.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville,Virginia
December 1, 2019

No crowns, or orbs of gold
As playthings, only the promise
Of a hug and a kiss, precious to
Those who had been lost.

In brambles and bushes, set aside as waste,
They survived by an unknown grace
To live out one more day.

The kindness of strangers takes on a true,
Bell-like sound as they clap their hands
In Welcome.

The Trinity comes in human form
Another day’s table will be set
Another night’s crib will be fresh
With sheets of care.

Tomorrow, citizens of a new world,
Today, bundles of delicious, warm, infant-kind
Waiting to smile, to giggle, to coo,

Trusting, for now,
The Almighty, and Good Souls
Will provide.

Char Duguid

Who killed my granite
Pig
And why?

Equipped with an Agatha Christie state-of-mind,
I reviewed all the clues,
Weighted possible options,
Deducing the need for strength,
Stealth, mixing in motive, opportunity,
Means, basic to the task.

Predator must be found
Or what is his next victim ?

My concrete angel or
Tin-wrought wind mill.

You can’t be to careful when you live
In the country.
Humans go amok and animals can play havoc
With your property and possessions.

A marauding bear, an errant deer,
Even an aggressive wasp can upset
The tranquility.

But back to my Pig, currently suppined
In the glen. Did he have the will power
To scratch the name of the
Culprit in the dirt, or will the perp go free?
A grand conspiracy afoot
To thwart my investigative skills,

Only to fall into a cold case file
Labeled
“Just Another Granite Porker.”

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 1, 2018

If I were a tree,
A Magnificent Maple,
Stately with age,
I’d yell Bloody
Murder
If one branch, just one, defied nature,
Turning autumnal orangey-red
In July.

That cheeky Miss Twiggness,
How dare it cross
Mother Nature
But even worst,
Me, its life’s blood, it’s only sustenance,
Doing the Impossible, midsummer.

Non-conformist, grabbing at notoriety,
Sensational allure, via spectacular color
Ignited
When the rest of us play by the book.

Break the mold, Rebel Child.
If you can’t walk, dance.
If you can’t talk, sing.
Find your own stories to tell.
Carefully,
Believe in what you do,
Or you’ll return to green.
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
August 2, 2018