reflections on a muddy puddle…

The rain falls today

like questions

mostly untenable

unstoppable

continual

unanswered

reverberating

in my thoughts

some troubling

still bubbling.

The intensity

varies with

the moment

answers

lay in dirty puddles

where true

or false

don’t matter

they float

together –

reflecting a rainbow

of light

on the surface

on the edge

of believing

knowing

and understanding

to be netted up together

washed off

hung up to dry

closely observed

by some of us

discussed

or not

by others.

Many questions

and answers alike

are ignored.

A great many

are tossed back

into the muddy puddle

or pond

not unlike

the questions

about the world

being round,

or about women

being equal to men

before they demanded equal rights

or racial equality issues

argued over years

as blood spilled

into rivers and ponds

similar to this one.

They each came down

as drops of rain

in a raging storm

of questions

ideas -

falling on a pond

or puddle

only to be

scooped up

laughed at

thrown back in

for seventy five or

a hundred years

to gather dust

simmer and smolder.

And now perhaps

the rain falls again –

as black rain

this time

and the questions resonate

on the pond

as they are corporate

money questions

effecting all sentient beings.

Global warming

on our round

atmosphere punctured planet,

hydraulic fracturing

safe clean drinking water

the extinction of coral reefs –

and the food, fish and economic health

they provide world wide –

all tied to the extinction of

the human race.

Shall we just toss these questions

back into the puddle

for a hundred years

or provide the glib answers

the over paid CEO chides

this time perhaps -

it may be too late.

Doug Claybourne – 08.07.12 – for Marea & Signe 

Copyright © 2012. Doug Claybourne All Rights Reserved.

a disaster…

The house is a mess

the floor’s a disaster

toys, stuffed animals

books and smiley

faces replace

the normal unassuming

household apace – ugh.

Letters, numbers

half inch foam pieces

of pink and brown

cover our once beautiful

hard wood floors -

and this is just

the beginning

of the change one

should expect

with a new infant.

No sleep, no sex

no late night romance

not many movies,

and fewer dates

and the ways of old

have closed their doors –

gone for the time being,

at least till baby sitters

might stay for a night –

without fretful tears

free of babies’ deep anxiety

separation it seems

and we can breathe again –

that we might regain

our solid footing -

taste the taste

of our old love.

Until then

it’s me whining

and complaining

it is bottles –

putting out dirty diapers

full of poop

and wet wipes,

with all night wake ups,

and one of us

sitting with patience

running thin

under fans in our darling’s room

on hot summer nights –

rocking, rubbing, soothing

sympathetically

and waiting for sleep to come.

It is pacifiers,

spoons, bowls and plates

loading and unloading

our dishwasher

with bottles, nipples and more

bottles it seems -

naps, formulas, creams, juices

booster seats,

spitting up on Mom and Dad.

It’s funny –

after all this

the lack of sleep

and the late nights -

just observing

her two toothed grin

just listening

to her funny little laugh

reveling in her innocence -

while staring up from dark young eyes

It seems to make up

for all those rocky nights

of whacky sacrifice -

and when her tiny hand

grips, holds tight,

she speaks the nonsensical words

the “dada” “cat”

the who knows what

and her eyes light up

and my night turns

upside down to day.

When all the dirty diapers

dissolve

and simply - go away.

Doug Claybourne – for Marea.

Copyright © 2012. Doug Claybourne All Rights Reserved

Miss. Firecracker…

Lunch with my daughter.

Screaming

yelling

grabbing

kicking

screeching

all out

full vocal

mind boggling

crying –

ear piercing

brain numbing

psychologically excruciating

tear bringing

fear bringing

anger making

hair fraying

all decibel spraying

never ending –

no never ever ending

crying.

Indiscriminating

incredible

unstoppable

and the most amazingly

effortless

crying -

nine month twenty five day old

crying.

This is insistent

independence seeking

discovering herself

kind of crying

perhaps -

finding the teenager

early

kind of crying.

Yet, as I am blinking

now shaking my head

thinking –

wondering

what could this be -

I try pears,

peaches, prune juice

apples, yogurt, bananas

then finally –

before committing

hari kari -

before throwing

my hands up

in desperation

in complete frustration

in Absolute vodka drinking

exasperation –

I try

a diaper change

and a bottle of  formula.

Aha – and

immediately

as if turning

off the water

quiet is restored –

blessed, sacred quiet.

The angel face,

the tiny hands and fingers

of the Princess appear

and the darkness parts.

Tiny Rose now sleeps –

ten month birthday

arrives this week

delicate

endearing

her wishes now

finally imparted.

Our roman candle

now burned out,

beautiful and mysterious

when flaming into a night sky,

hot, multi colored and insistent

fury departed -

No doubt, a vision of pure delight

in this moment unobtrusive and

in quiet respite.

Doug Claybourne – For Marea – 10 mths – Sept.21, 2011 – Philly Girl Copyright © 2012. Doug Claybourne All Rights Reserved.