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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire  9/19/2014 8:54:25 PM
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  81.     

Rumpelstiltskin

I weave the gold with clandestine fingers
In silken thread of head and heart

A skein of treasure lying on the floor
In a humble cottage of a far beyond wood

No passer by would think to look
Or care to consider the fortunes lost

When wayward men refuse the hearing
The spinning wheel behind the door.


(Previously published in Miller's Pond Poetry Magazine, January 2001, vol.3)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  82.     

Slave Ship

I lie on my back
Look up through the grate
Light streams in bars across the planks
The black and white reflection of an angry god
A pair of shoes walks across
Keeping watch with silk-stocking regularity
The slow, insistent plodding of minutes lost
Happy in his stuff-bellied fortune
He breathes clean, salty air.

We here below packed in chains
Swallow the thick foul vapors of human waste
Rolling in filth with each turbulent toss of the wretched vessel
The moans of the dying and the bones of the dead
Join in eerie incantation
Knocking
On the doors of conscience
A haunting litany to invoke the spirits of the wind…
The seas revolt
Hurling epithets of froth and foam
To wash the sin away
The gull shrieks
An agonizing plea
For mercy
But deaf and blind, haughty lumps of men
Shut all sense and stop their hearts
Their thirst for gold will not be quenched
Till millions die in shame
Their pockets lined
With generations
Of untold wealth.


(Previously published in Avalon, Oct.1999; Honor and Remembrance, Indelible Mark Publishing,2007)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  83.     

Some Old Guy Named Keats

Some old guy named Keats
Keeps singing in my ear
Lilting melodies of long lost lore

While Byron and Shelley
Croon their bitter
Sweet harmonies of love

Rappin’ on my shotgun sensibilities
Modern improprieties shod with lust and gore and
Bloody insatiable war

Hard-assed verbiage too rank
To hold a purity that harkens
To a simpler time

A simpler place
A simpler way
Of being

But don’t let me go, boys
The tuning in and out of syncopated time
Spans eons of dreaming nights

Till a new heart burns with the hearing
Of an ancient voice
In an ever-ripening world.


(Previously published in Art Villa, Aug.1999)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  84.     

Split Second

The push of that hard hand propels me down
My knees scrape the ground
The knots tight upon my wrists
I wait
Feel him there behind me
The cold aim of the weapon
Impossible to understand
A split second before the blast
Man’s inhumanity to man
God if you be
Grant me the courage
To die with—

Dignity.


(Previously published in Poets4Peace, Nov 2000)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire