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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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81.
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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
Mans 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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82.
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The Closed Mind
No battering ram can penetrate
Walls that have no logic
Make no sense to common
Knowledge.
Why waste the energy
In siege against a fortress
Hot oil and arrows
When the war is not worth winning?
(Previously published in The Poet's Porch, Oct.2000, winner of The Poet's Porch Award for excellence)
Laurence Overmire
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83.
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The Iranian Girl
Theres a hole in the ground
A moving of earth, now made
A sad depression
Where once she played in
Puddle-rain
Splashing with the joy that comes
From child-like feet
The sound is still here
In the air, the breeze yet carrying
The secret laughter
That haunts the waking hours of those
Whove lost the way
How vain to think that
Memory can be erased
All will remember
No one escapes
I wonder if she saw it
The moment before
Her hair still flying free
The metal catching that last
Pure glint of sun
Did she hear the explosion
That made no sense
Did she feel
Her body come apart
And fall like dust, too soon
Does anyone ask
Whatever she felt, whatever she dreamed
Her dreaming time is gone
And no lofty word of God or
Glory will ever make it right
Dare to listen and you will
Hear her
Dare to open your eyes and see
The Iranian girl
No different
Like you, like me.
(Previously published in StopWarOnIran.org, Nov.2007; Tucson Troops Out Now Coaltion,2008; The Magical Blog,2008)
Laurence Overmire
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84.
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The Whistle Blower
Took the sins of the Corporation
Upon her shoulders
The indignity of her firing
Struggling to make ends meet
Unemployed, without prospect
Children crying, hungry
Yet she endured
The barrage of punishing lawsuits
A legion of lawyers platooned
To make her life unbearable
Anonymous threats
Phone calls and burning
Mailboxes
Almost beaten, she clung
With bleeding fingers to the
Inviolable Truth
Truth that held her steady
Truth that wouldnt let her go
Truth demanding apology
The gavel came down.
Some hear screams in the dead of night
Most continue dreaming
The bed so comfortable, and the morning
So far away.
(Previously published in The Hold, July 2003)
Laurence Overmire
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