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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire  9/17/2014 6:33:15 PM
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  397.     

White Knight

I am your Lancelot
You, my Guinevere

Have you not recognized me
In the far-off meadows of your heart
Racing my stallion o’er the wild-flowered fields
Daring the dragons of lust and desire
Their fiery teeth scorching my breast
Drawing the blood of memories lost

And I, captive there
Have laid down my gauntlet

A fight to the death
Let no man intrude
Let time itself my second be
And stay the tide of idle dreams
Onlookers' murmurs to distract
A blunted will

I wear your colors, madam
The green of your eyes
The rose of your cheek
Spur my steed to its final chase
We fly in the wind
A reckless charge to Destiny.


(Previously published in Emotions, Summer 2000)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  398.     

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
   
 

   
   
 

  399.     

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
   
 

   
   
 

  400.     

Wind Whipping (haiku)

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