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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire  7/14/2014 10:10:49 AM
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  397.     

Who's Glad To See Me?

The dog in the house
Always cheerful, tail wagging
Love offered without condition
A refreshing breath

(I kid you not)

Sweet sanity in a maze of
Humans gathered
Within walls, knocking heads
Against their many wills.


(Previously published in The Short North Gazette, Apr.2002)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  398.     

Willie at the Foot of the Bed (An Ode to Mary Todd Lincoln)

Every night he comes, Mary
Do you see him?

Smiling as he did before
No pain in those forgiving eyes

Can he put your mind to rest?
Give you comfort in these terrible times?

A world gone mad
The thunder of guns pounding in the brain

Fires burning, men running, screaming
Limbs falling, hand and foot, out of the sky

Blood oozing in rivulets from the sodden ground
This nightmare we dream together

Why can’t we will it, ever to end?
Pull the bed sheets close, Mary

Willie, take your mother’s hand
Your father weeps outside the door

And the night, so long and cold
May never end.



Historical Note: Willie Lincoln, son of President Abraham Lincoln, loved learning, wrote poetry, and excelled in math. He died in Feb.1862 at the age of 12. His parents were devastated. Afterward, the grieving Mary Lincoln slipped into mental instability. She claimed, 'Willie lives. He comes to me every night and stands at the foot of the bed with the same sweet adorable smile he always has had.'

(Previously published in Ancestry.com,2003)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  399.     

Wind Whipping (haiku)

Wind whipping through bone
slammed against a wall of air
each step contested
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  400.     

Winners and Losers

As an outsider, looking in
You might wonder why
No glory, no golden global Oscar
Is bestowed on those
Who survive—quietly behind closed curtains
Rejected and defiled in
Swamps of Hollywood slime
Egos sucking blood out of
Dead turnips
The two, three, four, five, six-faced
Fiends fingering foul figures of
Obscene wealth
O why not those others
Those true believers be
Applauded
Their honor and dignity yet intact
Motives still pure
Unsullied by political machination
Why not these in any walk of life?
We might well ask the question.
Where are those survivors?
Can any pass through inner sanctums
Narrow corridors of gust and glitter
Without offering
In rites of filial obligation
Sacred sacrifice
Of heart and soul?


(Previously published in Kookamonga Square, Feb 2003; The Hold, Feb 2004)
 
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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire