Poetry

All posts in the Poetry category

The Apple Tree

Published June 12, 2012 by rlmcdermott

When I was
seventeen
I was old–
a girl in a window
about to be brought
and sold by grief.

The tree across
the street
knew my name
and called
it every night
to comfort me–
a murmuring refrain
of leaf on leaf.

I asked it questions,
will I be happy,
will I find love,
will I survive,
until it could
not answer–
so overwhelmed
it ceased to sing
and stood silent.

My only friend,
that tree, stopped
singing to me
because it could
not bear my sadness;
and in the fall it fell,
yellow, gold and red,
it bent its head
and wept us both
into a living death.

To My Father (Poem by me, Drawing by my sister Patricia)

Published June 12, 2012 by rlmcdermott

What a spring that was
the season that I spent
in the hollow of your bone.
Sweet amputee, how
do I forget those sleeping
days and the sour sweat
of death against the shining
bandage of your smile.

We counted flesh like coins
that dropped from our hands
half spent–so little did you
bleed, so quite was your death.
Sweet amputee, how do I
forget those sleeping days
and the intensity of eyes
that never left my face
except to die unchallenged
while I slept.

Kyoto Botanical Garden

Published June 1, 2012 by rlmcdermott

What kind of trees
were they that
broke the color–

all tall and green
and dancing
in the slow sunlight
of an April afternoon?

Women in blue
kimonos stood
beneath the
delicate branches
snapping pictures
digital and bright.

Children played,
young mother’s
strolled, stooped
old men finished
with their lives
sat on stone benches.

An artist crouched
in a flower bed
like a wounded animal;
linen canvas stained
with a furious red.

I had come here to meet a
god and found instead a man.

We are not seen by the people we love,
but are loved by the people who see us.

That afternoon,
five thousand miles
from my home,
someone saw me
and asked where
I was from in
perfect English.

Beautiful Vampire

Published May 23, 2012 by rlmcdermott

How many years
have I waited
in this place–

no shadow
sheltering me,

no song
giving comfort,

only memory
holding me
in its closed hand?

Then one day
I asked a question,
threw it in the air

and there you were–
a creature, different
yet the same,

tortured by a demon
that has so many names
it thinks that it’s a god.

And so for you;

I’ll wait beneath
these paper trees
for all the sunsets left to me–
I’ll be the water in the fire,
the blackened stone,
the insect at the end of day
all leg and tender bone.

Job Description

Published May 23, 2012 by rlmcdermott

I grew outside your
window. I came every
evening and knocked
at your door. I
kept watch in the
sky while you slept.
I was there, I was constant
and I was invisible.

I was the moon,
I was the shadow
in the field at sunset,
I was the red poppy,
the blue hydrangea,
the yellow coneflower.

This is who I was
and who I wasn’t;
I was all things
to you and I was nothing.

I will never love
like this again–with
such an open hand.
Remember when you
can remember nothing;
I was the song in the wind,
the flower in the garden,
the moon in the moonlight,
the memory in the forgetting.

Unrequited

Published May 9, 2012 by rlmcdermott

there must be
more than death

we sleep eyes
opening only
to see each
other’s face

sweet face
a mouth
I’ve never kissed
I wonder if your
lips are warm

I cannot move
to put you
in your place
somewhere
beneath my heart

am I alive
to love so silently

they move me
side to side
and call my name
and I am lonely
in this crib of pain

between the bars
I see your eyes
and remember
when I was young
I knew a god

Moonlight Sonata

Published April 25, 2012 by rlmcdermott

and so this wintering
is a chilling by degrees
the sting of loss
slowly frosting all I love
or all that might
have ever loved me

where are those
easy days of light
the long walks
beside a blue lake
the yellow coneflowers
the sun’s burning kiss

now I am all shadow
and sadness
at this slow goodbye
this fading into gray
that has become my life

you could have loved me
but you were too afraid
mistaking all this death
for who I am

while all this time
I was in the color
undamaged and intact
ablaze with life
and its sweet repititions

Medusa’s Sisters

Published April 16, 2012 by rlmcdermott

It came

as a

surprise;

she looked

at her

sister’s hands,

weathered,

mishapen,

and realized–

they had

grown old.

 

These two

had seen

the worst

of it–voices

in the darkness,

murderous intentions,

and a shield

made of

snakeskin.

 

How it

sparkled

when he

held it up

the day

they lost

her;   there

had been

no blood,

just the

sound of

wings opening,

and the dark

cave suddenly

filling with light.

 

They spent

their lives

on that island

trying their

best to

get off, but

something

always

defeated

them–

it was not

their fault.

 

Still they

watched

the horizon–

hoping.

Sometimes

a great

white horse

would cross

the sky,

the sound

of its wings

would bring

them to

the shore,

and they

would stand

breathless

holding each

other’s hands.

Still Life

Published March 14, 2012 by rlmcdermott

She loved the

moon light in

the moonlight,

the ceaseless

murmuring of

her own leaves,

the hard wood

of her hardwood,

and, yes, the

dark forest.

 

She loved the

shadow in

the shadows,

witness and

companion,

sentinel to

her sadness,

rooted in

the moonlight,

rooted in

the trees.