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All posts for the month September, 2013

Geisha Drawn In A Kyoto Hotel Room

Published September 29, 2013 by rlmcdermott

Geisha Drawn In A Kyoto Hotel Room

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Thief Of Color

Published September 13, 2013 by rlmcdermott

You can
steal my
poems,
the pain
is mine;
I earned
the rhymes
with failure
and its bright
consequence.

Too young
to love;
too old
to be loved–
I loved.

I put ear
to ground
and listened
to the music–
an infra-sound
of beating hearts.

I threw my
gauntlet down
and rushed
into the light
to find myself
alone except
for this small poem.

So take it all
the words,
the images,
the rhymes
but leave
behind the
color, please!

I wear it when
I’m blue and red
and all the leaves
have fallen from
the trees and all
the music’s fled.
The Thief of Color

Waiting For Orpheus

Published September 13, 2013 by rlmcdermott

I waited for someone
who never came–
a woman in black
sitting beneath a paper tree

I saw an old man and his wife
the woman was bent like a harp
he had played her for years
black notes falling from her spine
a song sung over and over until
she disappeared inside her bones

this is the price of love
the fine white powder
of her back scattering
with the white blossoms
falling from the trees
the sap of his bitterness
sealing her fate

this is the garden where I remember my life

blue flowers on a red blouse
the sweet smiles of lost friends
the geometry of an old woman’s back
white cherry blossoms and a stone bench
a little girl who could not be loved
a woman who could not stop loving

the poem in my heart
has no words–it waits
for them like I wait
for you in a Kyoto garden
beneath a painted moonWaiting For Orpheus

Borrowed Time

Published September 10, 2013 by rlmcdermott

this is the
moment that
has been
hunting you

you are left
with only
a pen and
a blank book
to rewrite
your life

remember
the day that
you took two
hundred pills
and laid down to die

where’s the difference
between a soldier with a gun
and you with a vial of pills
you both alter flight

you hear your future
a dangerous cat
padding down the
corridors of it’s
accidental habitat

the rattle of pills
still in your brain
their coated surfaces
dissolving as memory
spills into your periphery

yet you go on
a predator of your
own life sleeping
in the shade of forgiving
trees until sunset when
the wild bird sings and
moonlight enters your dreamsBorrowed Time