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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire  10/22/2014 8:49:34 AM
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  121.     

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
   
 

   
   
 

  122.     

Gypsy Heart

Place to place, always

Looking, city country farm
Or field, some small patch of
Ground to call “home” for a
Time, people passing in and out
Faces of a dream, disappearing
The sigh and moan of found and lost

Taking and giving bits and pieces of
Themselves, each memory a
Locket, worn close to the breast
Belonging nowhere and everywhere
A new road always beckoning
The future always unknown, always

Re-creating itself.


(Previously published in Autumn Leaves, May 2003)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 

   
   
 

  123.     

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
   
 

   
   
 

  124.     

Hang It, Dang It

Art is intentionally
Open to ambiguity

Like truth itself
Impossible to nail

On a per-particular wall
Without someone or something

Knocking it crooked
More than a little

Way off the mark.


(Previously published in The Short North Gazette, Jan 2002)
 
Laurence Overmire
   
 
 
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beautiful poems
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friend poems
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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire