Friday, December 31, 2010

in a rush...

In a rush it came swirling

a locomotive – with cars and engine –

the full train came

whirling to a full stop

in front of me -

and I wondered where?

Where did it come from –

as dream or a vision

full of bellowing steam and power

unlike anything I knew

as I wake up

covered in wonder

all poetry

and confusion

to scribble the lines

so as not to forget.

In a rush it came swirling

as love

the full train came

whirling to a full stop

in front of me

and I wondered where

did it come from?

J.E. Dorsey – 12.31.10

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.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Bonneville is Dead…1963

I heard you passed away today

red goddess – long sleek hydro-matic angel.

I heard you died of old age

after eighty four good years.

I remember you in Junior High School

your deep burgundy red body

and the dark power you concealed so well -

only a pedal push away.

I reach up into my memory

Trying to smell the smell of you again

Taste the speed and exhilaration of seventeen

The thrill of that new modern adventure

I slide into your wide front seat, turn the key,

And here the purr of America, 389 hungry horses.

J.E. Dorsey – 10.31.10

Copyright © Doug Claybourne 2010. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnett CCXXVII...

I observe the feint moon,

rise into an eastern blue sea,

lingering for long moments

low – then climbing the summer sky.

I think of you

warm and satisfied,

a petal wrapped within his arms -

silk & pearls strewn thoughtlessly,

your lean fingers entwined

in his like stems of the wild sage,

holding onto the evening wind,

bending in a will-o-the-wisp way.

I consider your naked feet, painted toes,

once trembling with my kisses.

J.E. Dorsey 06.26.99 - Rev. 10.31.10 - Week #26

Full Moon...

A full moon is swallowed

into the gray night sky,

riding down the mountain

past a naked ridge -

flying by - all black.

Thin arms reach out

to the dark high sea

of stars, as fishes, swimming

while life exquisite passes

in front of me.

J.E. Dorsey 05.30.99 – Rev. 10.31.10 - Week #22
"Dorsey's Violin House - 52 Weeks"

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Light...

I have never seen

a ball of light,

so solid -

at once amazing

twice gigantic -

I am staring right
into this orange,

face of fire,

sinking,

fast below the palms

and slipping into

a vast ocean.

Don’t go,

don’t leave me here I shout.

Then,

for seconds my muse disappears,

hidden by buses, cars,

trees and trucks -

the entire disc whose wide radius

I seek is gone.

A breeze blows -

just a sliver appears,

just a slice,

only a small piece remains,

a swath of delight against

the brilliant sky for seconds more -

then dissapears again

to absolutely nothing

but my longing and this memory.

J.E. Dorsey 05.20.99 – 10.30.10

Week #21 Poem - from the book "Dorsey's Violin House - 52 Weeks
"A poetic journey through the year 1999."

Haiku Poems New York...

A violin plays in my heart

my grandfather passes

before the notes run out

…

My daughter on the telephone

that voice

a new love note

…

My son loves trains

as I loved hot choo-choos

on Saturday with my grandfather - Boppaw.

…

New York vibrates with fall excitement,

breathes life into the artist,

excites the inner self.

I see them early

each and every morning without delay,

metal soldiers of the night -

they pick up our trash.

…

Few words are precious

except those

present in each moment.

…

Sunlight through

blooming flowers

hides winter through my window.

…

Listen – and watch

your August breath

it is quiet -

satisfied with itself.

Friends,

loves, wine and children -

life & perhaps sweet with time.

…

Quietly listening,

I see this day

with my eyes closed.

J.E. Dorsey –aka Doug Claybourne - Rev. 10.30.10

I remember...

You have a thing

about abandonment –

being left alone

and sometimes when I do –

leave you on your own

for a while –

the panic takes hold

and the blame sets in

and the fear

runs out of your body

turning over into words

sometimes, harsh phases.

I remember – shut up.

Then later the tears

as you comprehend

I am human – I am here

until the light falls off into black -

that glorious light of our memories

swallowed at the edge of an event horizon

and a black hole

of a new life turns

ever smaller – and ever larger,

into a final immense density

of energy –

pure love.

J.E. Dorsey – aka. Doug Claybourne – 07.21.10

Rev. 10.30.10

Fragility - the melting...

Snow covered tree

barren of leaves

a backyard in February

lay quiet – frozen -

shadowed with blue gray

afternoon light -

an empty bird feeder swings musically

in the breeze.

Through a glass door

a view of this moment

glistens – a snowflake in the brilliant light,

a picture of life’s fragility –

before your kisses or darkness.

Before an earthquake, or the phone rings,

or the answer yes arrives, or a plane lands -

before the smile I know – or the dark eyes look,

or the off hand broken silence of caring

takes the place of individual attention.

The moment before anything

you might imagine – wonderful

might – happen.

This is the melting of fragility into joy

accepting love as a gift -

and the beauty of the dissappearance of icicles.

J.E. Dorsey - for LDN - Valentine's Day 02.14.10 - Rev. 10.30.10

Listening to the Rain...

I listen to the rain –

at five am – I drift

in and out of uneasy sleep

darkness, mystery and sensuality lurk

as the future steps into the present

for one moment - challenging – exciting

all at once eerily intense.

Listening to the rain becomes –

a stretching spiral galaxy,

expanding far beyond

these individual drops of glorious precipitation.

I study the sound – perplexed, with hesitation

At the loss of a kindred human spirit
and that friend – finds his way into this Zen meditation.

Ah - one of so many losses during this sad January

Two thousand Ten.

Yet O this tragic passing gives way

to a rising as our friend succumbs

to the natural rhythms we all accept

and hold at bay -

while he makes his last flight home.

<<< >>>>

As I wake now – hours, perhaps lifetimes have passed

the rain has turned into a light snowfall -

leaving a thin sheen of glistening beauty.

Sunlight glances across the white frozen pond

and a fresh clean world awaits -

Angels have spread their magic dust –

blessing those that pass away

and those of us that one-day

will certainly follow.

J.E. Dorsey – aka. Doug Claybourne – for Coleman

01.27.10 - Rev. 10.30.10

Thursday, October 21, 2010

We Step Out...

We step out under

the winter sky – 

a chilling cold 

twenty degrees or better – 

crunch our feet into the two day snow – 

under the clear night – 

unlike a lot of things in life.

We tighten Orion’s belt

with our gaze

follow the milky way

to a long engaging kiss - then

let go.

After, we say goodnight 

to the shivering silhouettes of trees

long blue shadows,

the black bear

and the family of deer we missed today

on their walk 

at the edge of the field at sunset.

The big bang...

Two hundred million years after

The big bang

I met you

appearing from a deep fog

out of transparent space

stripped clean by de-ionization

and at this exclamation point in time –

the first galaxies

were formed –

exploded, expanded and melded together

into this expanding

universe we are today

in constant movement – all change

a living mystery.

J.E. Dorsey – 01.12.10 - for L.D.

J.E. Dorsey was a violin maker in Houston, Texas and the grandfather of Doug Claybourne. The pen name keeps his grandfather alive in Claybourne’s heart.

Poetry & Pictures . Doug Claybourne