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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire  9/1/2014 2:30:14 AM
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  89.     

Generation X?

The young must believe
The possibility of the near impossible
Ideals to lead a better world

If cynicism and defeat
Consume the young, years before the making
The future is, without contest

Lost.


(Previously published in Infinite Race, August 2000)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  90.     

Gunslingers and Mudslingers

The artist and the critic
Sundown showdown
At the OK Corral

The artist walks in the open street
Bravely, in the line of fire
Talent holstered on the hip

The critic, black hat and spurs
Hides in shadows, behind dark edifices
A double-barreled shotgun carefully aimed

The townsfolk look on
Wavering interest, fleeting expectation
Getting haircuts, buying shoes

The artist and the critic
One to live and one to die
Eat the dust sweet humble pie

As the sun sinks low
The duel is fated to a finish
The artist draws, the critic fires

Through the smoke, on bended knee
Maimed and bleeding, a paintbrush flies
Sticks the critic between the eyes

The bodies will not stay there long
Someone will pay the undertaker’s fee
An unmarked grave without a view

Such is the way of the wild Old West
Lawman and outlaw, artist and critic
Wise man and fool

Boot Hill always wins.


(Previously published in Zinos, July 2000)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  91.     

Hamlet at Wittenberg

Arrant knave that I am
What should such fellows as I do
Crawling beneath heaven and earth
Unable to pen the verse
The quivering pedant demands
Strict to the form, alas
Poor Yorick, they do not know him.

How stand I then
My truth beholden to the mirror
Which at the first and now
Was and is
To hold as ‘twere, nature accountable.
Am I man or beast
The chief good and market of my time
But to sleep and feed?

No more.
Let me not think on’t.
Here be the stops.
Though I may be fretted
I will not be played upon.
Should all occasions inform against me
The rest shall not be silence.


(Previously published in Some Words: A Place for Poetry, Aug 2004)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  92.     

Hanging With The Devil

I hung out with the Devil on Manhattan's
Lower East Side

Had a toke of poverty
long, slow, heavenly inhale

The hobos burning dreams
'round a trash can full of fear

Anesthetizing homelessness
'neath a cold, dark scrapered sky

Pimps and whores were ticking business
like Wall Street whackers on the Stock Exchange

Longing Johns laid with riches seeded
in the backs of black-glassed shiny white limos

The tenements lurched in the chains of their indignity
shutters cracking in the wind

Babies crying, dogs barking
unheeded or unheard

And when I asked the Devil what tunes he'd like to hear
boom-boxing with the fumes of brake-dancing automobiles

He smiled in his ghoulish way
with a glint of fire in his eye and said

'Gospel.'


(Previously published in MiPo Magazine, Winter 2004)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire