Flight 17

Published July 23, 2014 by rlmcdermott

In a month
we will not
remember,

an open guidebook,
a child’s drawing,
a map of Bali–

dreams scattered
in an open field.

The sun will
rise and set,
moonlight will
be moonlight–
indifferent to
the mean ambitions
of men with guns.

Only the
earth will
remember
what we
choose
to forget–
red poppies
falling from
the sky.Red Poppies Falling From The Sky

The Kiss

Published May 15, 2014 by rlmcdermott

Who’ll sing
my song
when I
am gone?

Who’ll paint
the sky?

I live
for love
who can’t
be loved–it
is my fate.

I am root
and I am
flower–soon
will be my
bitter hour.

A knife,
a rope,
the wind,
the sea,

these are
the things
that call
to me.

You stand up
and I fall down;
I dance for you
who cannot see.

Is love
what I am
all about–
I sell my soul
and I sell out?

A pair of eyes,
a wisp of hair
and I am lost
and I am there.

Wars are wars,
countries fall,
children die and
I am born.

Again and always,
I return to find you gone;
there must be something
more than this–someway
to end this bitter kiss.The Kiss

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