Wednesday, November 16, 2011

After making love…

 



After making love
we are quiet,
breathless and exhausted
yet somehow we are born again
refreshed and reminded
of our first kiss.
our first touch,
our first hot embrace
that transported us naked
reaching out into this wild,
fleeting lifelong adventure.

After making love,
we are moist and dripping,
we are sometimes sweating profusely,
our hearts racing and yet
we are calmed
as we lay side by side
trembling with satisfaction
for a few thoughtful moments
before you run,
tattoo glaring and sexy
on your bare ass to the shower
through the candle light.

After making love
we breathe in deep breaths
in a sighing of understanding
that these two bodies in the universe
are still bound by the same unseen forces
the same inexplicable laws of quantum mechanics
governing planets moving in vast space
we are atoms and molecules of energy
finding one another among quarks, waves
and mathematical formulations -
yet, we have hearts, far more complex than
Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle
and we revel in their beauty
their mystery and their ultimate magic.

After making love
we are mountains,
we are rivers
we are cold streams
and we flow together –
always meeting at the same place
always meeting at the wide sea.

Doug Claybourne aka J.E. Dorsey – for L.D. and for Sam Hamill- inspired by his “Mountains and Rivers without End” - Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

Mourning…

 



What is mourning
if it is not a kind of death
before death – a knowing.

And you say,
what do I know.

I know loneliness
without my children
two I have loved – half a life
which seems a lifetime – of years
in words not spoken.

Being heartbroken
by silence
this is mourning –
by day
by night
by candlelight
a loss is a loss
by death
or in life.

The loss of love
the lack of sweet kisses.

This is what mourning
truly looks like
even tears
that are wiped away
so friends do not see
the truth of it.






Doug Claybourne – inspired by “A Woodsplitter's Meditation” by Sam Hamill – from his book, “Almost Paradise”
Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

Love is…

 



a single rose – or
the slender glass
cylinder
holding it - or
the tiny yellow orange buds
of miniature roses standing
side by side - now
three aging flowers
cut from our front yard
held in that same three inch
diameter perfectly round
eight inch container.
It soars
proud
clear
resilient
radiant
in the brilliant
morning light
of this crisp fall day
in Brooklyn.

Love is -
seeing it
smelling it
knowing it
moment by moment
breathing it in
holding on to the vision
as long as you can
like a child
gripping a special toy – a bear, a blanket.

Love is -
recognizing that joy
as we walk down the long tunnel
of understanding nothing.

Doug Claybourne aka J.E. Dorsey – for Sam Hamill

Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Father and son...


We are the same
you and me
we come from the same blood
although –
we fought in different wars
we pulled the same trigger
looked through the same sights
we loved different women
laughed,
drank cheap wine
and hot beer
we cried,
we dreamed
and came to blows
in the backyard
ending up,
bloody with friends.

We are the same
you and me
leading drunken brawls in bars,
found in passionate embraces with female strangers,
yet – we are the same
you and me
we are father and son.

Today,
you lay struggling to live,
tubed
taped
wired
wrapped
blanketed
heavily drugged
but loved
and cared for
flushed with
Vancomycin and
Mycostatin
quieted by
Morphine or
Acetaminophen
when necessary.

And we sit attending
listening
helplessly sometimes
to the painful moaning,
brothers and sisters
hands on your arthritic hands,
or on your forehead
holding
cold wash clothes
hearing the sounds
trying to be words
coming from your mouth.

We can only soothe
with ice chips
or wet wash clothes
as when we were sick as
children, laid upon our own faces.

Father, we are the same
you and me
and I weep
for the loss
of the body
that carries your spirit
alive,
strong
and wiling
yet besieged to discover a
suitable place to sing again.

Yes, we are the same
you and me
father and son
joined by love,
sperm and egg
attached by birth and always death
children and grandchildren
the ever revolving
merry-go-round of life.
It began when
a man and woman
connected and
joined
attracted in some
magnetic and magic
moment that
changes one another’s history –
creates a life
and a certain genius…

Einstein
Neruda
Freud
Hemingway
Picasso
Frost
Michelangelo
Dante
Gandhi
Mother Teresa

We are the same
you and me
father and son
joined by love
and a grand mystery.


Doug Claybourne – for Wayne Claybourne – 11.01.11 In hospital in Oklahoma
Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.


Tuesday, October 25, 2011

I asked about our father...

I asked
about our father
and my sister answers…

He loves
a cold wash cloth on his head
and rotated often.
He likes to brush his teeth,
dry no water or paste,
his nose runs constantly
so he asks for a tissue often.
He loves an ice cold coca cola
and ice water,
but sometimes he can't manage
to reach it
or hold the cup.

He loves chocolate
and ice cream
and half and half from Braum’s for his coffee -
he loves their milk too.
He loves his wife Linda,
their French bull dogs,
and he loves to work – he always has.
He loves to read
The New York Times – cover to cover
each weekend,
and he love science
and to be clean –
probably in that order.

He cleaned our many houses
and enlisted all the children
to help each Saturday morning,
likely a trait left over
from the U.S. Marines.
Lastly and thankfully
he loves all four of his children
to the best of his ability.
And like most people his age, 85
he needs a full time advocate
at his side until he and God agree
for him to pass on to the next place
as there must be one – another adventure
another place to use all we learn here
a place to put all this love we discover.

So, you asked about our father.
Call when you can sweet potato...xxoo


Doug Claybourne – for Darcy – using your own words
Copyright © Doug Claybourne 2011. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Last Words....


September 11, 2001

8:46 am



Sipping my coffee -
the shudder I feel,
is unlike anything,
I’ve ever experienced before;
there is fire in the sky,
ashes, then smoke in the air.

I stand - at first,
with curiosity,
some of the others,
make telephone calls.
I observe,
as co-workers look out
through their windows -
at debris floating down,
hundreds of stories over Manhattan.

Alarms start to sound.
We move for the stairs,
orderly - even cheerfully,
yet - a feeling of terror
runs fast through
my body - this is real,
terribly, truthfully,
real.

Into the stairwell - going down,
the heat is unbearable -
we stop,
move up again -
finally out,
breathless,
now running
to a second stairwell,
there are forty behind me,
men and women,
people I’ve known,
people of all ages
and in a kind of
slow motion moment,
I look to their eyes,
where I see recognition,
apprehension and fear -
as fate has it’s way with us.

The second door is an oven,
too hot to open -
my hand drops immediately,
with sorrow, then surrender.
We are trapped,
in this building,
with fire at our feet,
and sky in our faces;
there are screams now and tears,
total hysteria -
windows are broken
and panic takes over.

As I write these last words,
there is a terrible rumble,
the floor tips
and shivers,
friends jump to their death;
yet I -
sit propped here -
quiet and still,
holding a crying woman,
tearful and terrified.

the building smokes and sways,
I see fire in the sky,
In the walls,
in the floors,
and I know that this,
may be,
the moment before death -
just seconds before throwing,
these last words out to you,
my most vivid memories,
flying through a broken window,
into the morning blue sky,
as tears floating down,
to cleanse the sweet earth.

I want my last thoughts,
and my last blurry words written to be,
words of love -
thoughts of love -
love for our children –
love of life.

J.E. Dorsey aka Doug Claybourne
With love and respect for each of those 2996 people that died not knowing that September 11 would be their last day on earth. Each a light for us to discover peace out of the ashes.


J.E. Dorsey is the pen name for Doug Claybourne – J.E. Dorsey was Doug’s grandfather and this is the way Doug keeps him alive in his memory.
Copyright © 2001 thru 2011. J.E. Dorsey aka Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Irene...



We wake up to you
wet, torrential
dangerous and
lightning beautiful -
as I think about the days before
when we prepare for your arrival
buying food and water;
we set the table with
batteries, clothing, and documents
cash and small gifts of penlights,
Swiss army knives,
water bottles
and cat food.
Our go bag is packed
if you are naughty
we plan to leave
without goodbyes,
with only the pack on our backs.

We made lists
and crossed off each item
several days before
to welcome you,
but also not to become a casualty
of some freak accident
during the occasion.

We worked all day
on Friday – August 26
preparing for our special guest,
you Irene – you are large
and furious we hear.
We cook a special oven chicken.
A three day feast
that should make you happy.

When our eyes opened this morning
the fans are on – a surprise.
We expected to lose power
when you landed in New York.
Unlike other guests,
there is no need to pick you up
at Kennedy or LaGuardia –
you arrive at both airports
simultaneously and they are both closed.

We watched “War and Peace”
last night – made in 1972;
I see my old friend Anthony Hopkins
as a young man playing Pierre.
He is wonderful.
We lay awake talking about you until midnight.
We are excited to meet you.
We have heard so much about you.

We wake to our first call at 7am.
Funny, we rarely answer early phone calls
But today – because you are coming – we answer.
Sisters, mothers and friends ask about you,
but, you arrive late – and you are quiet
and unassuming on arrival.

It seems we are over prepared
for you Irene – we have too much food and water,
your bed on the first floor is not required.
The water in the tubs, and many containers go unused.
The buckets stand at attention, but will not see duty
And now at one pm – after one hundred years of waiting
we think you may have spent the evening elsewhere.
In New Jersey perhaps, or Red Hook or Coney Island.

We are grateful for that Irene.
Although we waited for you – we heard you knocking,
felt your breath on our front door,
it was good you found another place to land.
As, when you broke water in Brooklyn there was no celebration,
you made the roads impassable
closed our bridges, flooded our streets,
and moved a lot of people to places
they never wanted to go.
So conceivably,
you might choose to wait another hundred years
before you come again.
Don’t take offense – you started as a depression
became a tropical storm
and someone gave you a name Irene.
Perhaps, that became your motivation to see New York.




Doug Claybourne – 08.28.11
Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Our life together...


When one sings
We all sing
When one speaks the truth
We all understand
When one dances
We all know the tune
When one falls
We all fall
When one passes away
We all pass through
When one succeeds
We all succeed
When one fails
We all fail a little
When one loves
We all love
When one kisses
We all kiss
When one embraces life
We all embrace it
When one sees the stars
We all see stars
When one loses sight
We all lose sight
When one stumbles
We stumble in unison
When one learns a lesson
We all learn something
When one hurts deeply
We all hurt
When one cries out for help
We all cry out
When one travels far and wide
We all travel there
When one listens intently
We all listen
When one loses something precious
We all lose some joy
When one grows older
We all grow older – together.


And, when one of our children passes
            taken in a sudden gust of life’s unpredictable wind
We are all lost a little, suddenly
            sharing a dark unbearable pain inside
Knowing our hearts are aching with a
            great and inescapable hurt.

Understanding –
When one falls
We all fall
When one cries out in need
We all cry out
When one grieves
We grieve together
And when one loves
We all love -
This is friendship.

When one learns to watch contently
            and listen to a falling rain
We all learn to watch contently and listen
            to a falling rain
Cleansing – soothing – forgiving.




Doug Claybourne - For my friend and teammate for life – R.S. and family.
 Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Our guest...

A solitary waxing moon
winks
sinks
dips
drops
floats
falls
sits
sets
seemingly sways
and romantically weighs
against this magic hour
lays in  
a classic crescent
low on the darkening horizon
on this early August evening.

Our silent dinner guest
we occasionally
glance at her
sometimes speak to her
but our guest,
polite
moving ever out of sight,
as always
remains quiet.

She eats nothing –
says nothing –
does nothing
to alter
her ever
observing,
unswerving
and always unperturbing
nature.

The perfect partner –
never
a cross word
nor argument
nor disagreement
much less
a sideways look that says
I am frustrated
or angry
or upset
or pissed off
or you missed
my point completely.

Ever discrete,
projecting a serene understanding
the patience
and always the open ear
of a dear friend

available to listen –
with no interruption
for as long as necessary
then disappears

without comment.



Doug Claybourne – for L.D.
Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

How lovely…#2



How lovely it is
to go to sleep with you again
lie close as spoons
then -
quietly
in the blue morning
of  Saturday
after a week of being alone
I feel the warmth of you
next to me
and it is firmly reassuring.

I awake
pleased to greet
the day
begin writing
while listening
hearing the sounds
or our glorious weekend
as you move
to make tea.
I understand clearly
without a doubt
that this is joy,
this is bliss
in all it’s glory.

In this few moments
even the muffled sounds of cars passing
outside on eleventh street
are rose petals falling around us,
the kettle steaming
is a clear stream
and you cuddled back up
next to me – is stored away like a special secret
shared by two children at play.

The cats are waiting for
their morning treats.
This is what we
hope for –
live for -
this bliss –
these moments of grace.

J.E. Dorsey – for L.D. – 2nd draft.
Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.

how lovely...



How lovely it is to go to sleep
to lie next to you.
Then -
quietly
in the blue morning
of  Saturday.
after a week of being alone
I feel next to me
the warmth of you
and it is firmly reassuring.
I awake
pleased to greet
the day
begin writing,
listening
hearing the sounds
as you move
to make our tea.
I understand clearly
without a doubt
that this is joy,
this is bliss
in all it’s glory.

In this few moments
the muffled sounds of cars passing
outside on eleventh street
the kettle steaming
and you cuddled back up
next to me – is mined as secrets.

The cats are waiting for
their morning treats.
This is what we
hope for –
live for -
love for -
this bliss –
these moments of grace.


J.E. Dorsey – for L.D.
Copyright © 2011. Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.