Poetry

All posts in the Poetry category

Eurydice’s Complaint

Published March 13, 2013 by rlmcdermott

I ask for gray;
he gives me blue.
I ask for light;
he gives me night.

A willful god,
my god he is;
this god
who all the gods resist.

I write him poems;
he writes me songs.
I am his lyre;
he does me wrong.

I cannot stop
this love I feel
it turns my heart into a wheel.

I turn and turn
and only see
that turning brings me
back to me.

What kind of love
is this that stings
and brings me
to this narrow road?

We climb and climb
and never see
an ending to this misery.

He looks ahead
and I am found.
He looks behind
and I am gone.

We are a paradox
this man and me–
a story,
a myth,
a mystery.

A Sailor’s Fate (For SJ)

Published March 8, 2013 by rlmcdermott

shoes by the door
a red cap hung
on a coat rack
a giant’s jersey
a man’s ring
a loved painting
we are nothing
but gestures in
these moments–
what does grieving
have to do with death

the moon
the cherry blossom
the blue wisteria
cannot stop the bird’s fall
everything goes to ground
and we are weeping
in the middle of a bright afternoon
taking pictures of ourselves
to remember we are still alive

we leave
the people
we love
in the places
where they lived
and say goodbye
to red-haired boys
as gray battleships
Bataan
Missouri
Wisconsin
come in from memory
and we bury
our love at seaSJ Mac

Writing Poems In Tokyo

Published March 8, 2013 by rlmcdermott

can you find them
laying loose on the ground

letters about color
color about words
words about you

what a fool
I’ve been to think
that language
can save me

that love can fall
from the sky
and make poems
out of glass and steel and concrete

an old man sat beside me on a traffic island
somewhere between Tokyo Station and Ginza

he smiled

I threw a word at him
he caught it in his hat

he knew me for what I was
someone who would always be waitingFlowers

Words

Published March 8, 2013 by rlmcdermott

I am thinking
a poem can save love
a poem can save a life

I open the book
I close the book

the man across the hall
is crying out blue words

I do not speak his language

knotted words are
tightening in his chest

what keeps the
secret of a heart

a poem
a song
a picture
folded in a well-worn wallet

who are these women
and what do they mean to him

I open the book
I close the book

not even love can save a lifeFlowers

Ariadne

Published January 19, 2013 by rlmcdermott

Who was Ariadne anyway?
Could she see the stone in the stone,
the moonlight in the moonlight?

The hard mirror told nothing of her face,
head bent in concentration,
hand moving up and down,
sowing thread upon thread–
so intricate a seam this seam
sown seamless in the great
blue gown of the sky.

She loved nothing but her art,
the poems she wove,
the poems that grew into great clothes,
great elaborate poems
that failed to rhyme,
songs that refused to be sung–

the poem that would not rhyme,
the song that could not be sung,
the portrait that would not look back.IPHONE Painting

Geisha

Published January 17, 2013 by rlmcdermott

She was a dangerous girl
all darkness
kept in a shoebox in his closet

at night she’d listen to his heart
a glass harp
played by holding her hand
just above his breastbone

this is love she thought
this silence
this slow descent into suffering
this dancing on the edge of a glass
eyes closed arms akimbo
splintered feet bleeding

she wouldn’t have it any other way
this music
this dance
this love

in the spring
there will be cherry blossoms
walking in her favorite garden
camellias and the eastern sunIPHONE GEISHAA

Listening to Music

Published January 17, 2013 by rlmcdermott

Listening to Musicpeople sing
they sing in their bodies
they sing in their lonely places
oh the heart of it
a chorus of individuals
breaking notes
upon a page
black-headed
measured
solitary
catastrophes
throbbing vibration
this is the music of it
symphony
cantata
a welling of voices
rising beneath
the horizon’s baton

we are vagabonds
of our despair
hopeless
hidden
castrati
begging in the night
be still
while I listen
it’s ok to wound
it’s ok to be wounded
we are all in danger
of memory and its consequence

DEROS

Published December 14, 2012 by rlmcdermott

He came
air evac’d
from Camp
Red Cloud;
a thirty mile
flight seizing
all the way.

They stopped
the seizures
but could not
stop the blood–
we worked
sixteen-hour
shifts for a week

His mother came
three days before
he died. She
held his hand
and asked him
if he couldn’t stay
a few more days.

He died on my day off
when the dragon flies
low to the ground
and the ginkgo is full of fruit.

We Go Along

Published November 29, 2012 by rlmcdermott

we go along
as if nothing
is happening

as if the cancer
is a dream
and we can
wake up
and you’ll
be there
young and strong

today
I drew a picture
I wrote a poem
I peeled an orange
and listened to a song

these things I do
while you fight
to stay alive

the picture wasn’t beautiful
the poem didn’t rhyme
the orange was sour
and the song

there are no songs
that can comfort you
you are the one
who is fighting
for your life

a visit from a friend
tickets to a Giant’s game
your wife’s smile

these are the things
you do while I fight
to stay alive

two diseases
both cruel
mine is a secret
your’s belongs to the world

you long to be private
while I long to be seen