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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire  8/22/2014 4:49:24 AM
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  101.     

Autumn Fall

I remember the autumn of that year
Her long brown hair
The soft gentleness of her eyes
The playful squeeze of her hand
Unseasonably warm November days
We walked hand in hand, arm in arm, heart in heart
Kicking the leaves in Central Park
Watching tiny sailboats glide like feathers on a glassy pool
Lying in the shade of oak and maple
While the sun fondly bid the day goodbye…

Love, in an instant, had banished sorrow
And time stood still for a second or two
But the winds of December were not to be denied
And as the new year dawned
I died
The blasted shell of a man left to its decay
Through the dark black night of winter
Slowly
Imperceptibly
A new-born wing emerging from the ruin
Phoenix heart rising.


(Previously published in Nomad's Choir, Vol.8, Issue 4, Fall 2000; Poetry & Art, Feb.2001)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  102.     

Back Turned (senryu)

Back turned without thought
careless crossings of tired eyes
malice unspoken
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  103.     

Bad Hombre

Jimmy was being pulled
By a hormone
Through his turbulent adolescence.
The hormone’s name was “Bob.”
Bob was a bad hombre.
He picked fights with little pimple-faced kids
And then forced Jimmy to do all the dirty work
Throwing punches and getting kicked in the eye and so forth.
And Bob used to whisper nasty things in Jimmy’s ear
About bras and garters and quivering thighs
Jimmy got so excited
He hung out at the pool hall, drank beer and punched holes
In the cigarette machine.
And the worst thing Bob did was tell Jimmy
That he was a man.
And Jimmy spent the rest of his misguided life
Trying to prove it.


(Previously published in Pigs 'n Poets, Feb-May 2000)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  104.     

Bards In Arms

Poetry is the last bastion of free speech
The people's pure unfettered voice
We shall defend it at all costs
Against the numbing multitudes
The clamoring adversaries of the free word
The dull-witted patsies, posturing poseurs and
Picky pedants who would
Clamp our verse in chains

Make us conform

To rules and pleasantries and ways of being
Morbidly conventional
In strict accordance with the finite aspects of their minds.
No! Our cause is just.
Ten-Hut! You battle-tested troubadours!
Present arms!
And hearts and souls!
We! Shall! Prevail!

(Previously published in Art Villa, Aug. '99)
 
Laurence Overmire

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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire