Wednesday, November 17, 2010

we lost a baby...

We lost a baby today.

Before we saw her face

Before the name came

Before all the hugs and kissy face

Before the car seat

And the tiny diapers snapped in place

Before all the late night howling

We expected, the anticipated yowling – we were zapped.

We lost a child today

And the profound adoption blues set in

When our trusted birth mom changed positions then

Influenced by her own estranged family lines – repositioned

That elusive family support she always dreamed of -

But knew she might not ever realize

Drugged and dazed by long lost sweet attention

Needed desperately, not received and only briefly mentioned.

We lost a precious girl today

To unknown egos and grandiose ambitions -

And for her sake, these dreams, we too desire -

Yet history written seems unlikely to transpire,

Farewell - to the ghost family we heard was ever distant

That in that decisive moment became perfectly resistant

Our sadness is beyond words and solemn letter spaces,

It is our hearts, two empty vessels, needing warm embraces

Knowing – it is every thing – even time, that our love replaces.

J.E. Dorsey – 11.16.10 for Doug Claybourne & L.D. Napier

Friday, November 12, 2010

Darcy, remembering Christmas…

It’s late –

I’m sitting

surrounded by

wrapping papers -

and open boxes

in a tiny room

of my apartment.

Yours is the last gift

to wrap,

as I look out

the dark window East

I pause to consider

Christmas again.

So many memories are stirring.

Early morning under

a lighted tree,

half eaten chocolate chip cookies –

a half full glass of milk -

that first peek out of my door

down the hallway before the break

of dawn.

There was so much happiness

in my childhood -

it comes flooding over me

fresh with these morning memories.

I hear the sound of Christmas music,

Johnny Mathis and Ray Conniff –

our parent’s favorite albums –

thirty-three and a half rpms,

of scratchy, sentimental music

monuments to the 1950’s.

It’s late –

but I stopped to think of you

love you for a few minutes

free of all distractions,

push all the years back

that get in the way of holding

one another.

So this Christmas –

when you open your presents,

read these words,

receive this gift,

know that you are each,

so much a part of me –

connected by these sweet memories.

You are with me every Christmas,

as I move down

that dark hallway

to take the first peek with you –

each and every Christmas,

until the day I pass away.

J.E. Dorsey – 12.23.02 – Rev.11.24.03 Rev. 11.12.10

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Reading the The New York Times…

I didn’t kill anyone today

nor blow up car or truck

nor bomb an airplane

or throw a deadly grenade.

I targeted no mosque or church

neither did I torture, nor wound

or kidnap, or kill a Christian,

or a Jew, or a Muslim, not a woman, or child

or a black person, or a brown person and no Indian.

No man or woman died by my hand

not harmed for that matter.

no vengeful names were spoken,

no racial slurs or epitaphs were hurled at human beings.

We know the words – cracker, white boy, trailer trash,

nigger, jig, spic, Jew boy, Polock, greaser, wet back,

camel jockey, towel head, goyam – on and on

those word bullets, those word IEDs,

I didn’t kill anyone today.

But, I wrote a poem

And I’ll write another tomorrow

and another the day after.

to balance explosions with exploration

I say - hang poetry in the streets of Baghdad and Kabul

From artists around the world – not politicians,

not investment bankers, not business people,

not weapons makers – post poems.

Let poetry stop the war.

I’ll write the first one:

There are five million orphans in Iraq

who want to go out and play

could the grown ups get off of the jungle gyms

and give the poor kids their day.

Could the Sunnis put away their weapons

might the Shiites check in their guns

perhaps Americans will finally get the message
stop the money and send the whole circus home.

J.E. Dorsey – 11.05.10

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

I awake in the dark to dress

unusual for me – being alone

as you are usually next to me –

you and your stuffed animal.

but once a year or so

you go away a week to write

and I experience my late nights again

being a faux bachelor

and missing you

It is good the missing

to know the hurt of absent love

embrace the emptiness of loss

a reminder of the past

the years before your warm touch

and the shower of those joyous kisses.

J.E. Dorsey – 11.01.11 – for LDN – my love.

the stranger...

I watch you

walk to the sea,

hear your light footsteps

splash against my soul.

I notice the way

your feet -

naked delights,

fall against the sand -

each step rightly placed.

You are mysterious,

standing close to the water,

waves falling at your feet,

keys in hand.

You are a captivating image.

I notice your hair,

the dark curly tresses,

are sensual and lovely.

The silk dress you wear

clings against your body -

revealing with the on shore breeze.

You walk thinking,

A siren at the sea

and I wonder,

what brings you here

what thoughts,

what tragedy,

what tryst or trial

do you carry on your journey.

I watch you linger,

by the sea,

then disappear -

melting into the hulls of boats,

vanish with the squawk

of sea gulls voices.

J.E.Dorsey 07.23.99 - Week #29 – Rev. 11.02.10

Later, when this woman walked by me to leave, I spoke to her. She had a retainer over her perfect teeth and a wide smile, making her face light up. She was embarrassed when I read the poem outloud. She said it was true, that life’s trials did bring her here. She did not realize it was so obvious, nor that I was so intuitive.“You brightened my day,” she said. “May I keep the poem?” “Yes, of course” I answered, and what is your name?” “Laura” she said. She smiled, took the poem and walked away. Copyright © Doug Claybourne 2010. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry & Pictures . Doug Claybourne