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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire  7/10/2014 12:18:04 PM
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Nuclear Age

The child came into the world with a nuclear bomb
Hanging like a mobile over his head.

At any second

Every thing
Every place
Every body

Could be vaporized into nothing-ness.

What innocence is lost
When the mad grown-up world
Like a rapist in the night
And shoves a cold cocked revolver
‘Neath the covers
In the crib?

(Previously published in Eclectica, Vol.3, No.4, Nov-Dec '99)
Laurence Overmire



Nuclear Fission

Most of what makes me
What I am
I am
Ignorant of
Not understanding
Much of anything
About the mind
The body
The spirit
How can I pretend
Then how
Can anyone
To take this vast uncertainty
And claim it be the absolute

(Previously published in Boloji, Apr 2003)
Laurence Overmire



Ode To A Hummingbird

Light shot through diaphanous wing
Fifty beats per second

Its long beak dipped in the flower of
Life’s sweet nectar

Too fleet to see without an informative eye
A blur in the green gasp of forest needles
Yet when spied, delight

The happenstance of cat’s catching
Fate’s vivid colors dancing

In the rainbow shade
‘Twixt day and night.

(Previously published at Wayne Owen's Humabout Hummingbird Photography,2003)
Laurence Overmire



Ode to a Lost Soul

Who was that girl?
Her beauty—it was Helen’s
That launched those ships, we’re told.
Within those eyes
A man could lose his soul;
Those pouting lips would beckon
Like the Sirens’ song of old;
The slender legs and lovely breast
By Venus were bestowed.

Norma Jean they called her,
A plain, unassuming name—
Give her another—
It’s not good enough
For a goddess.
And her hair—much too mousy,
Unfit for a living dream.
We’ll send her through our factory
And make her new again
Then watch them drool and sigh and throw their pennies to the wind
To see that smile, hear that voice…
We’ll call her Marilyn!

And somewhere in the dazzle
That accompanied her fame,
Through the glitz and blaring fanfare
And the whirlwind of the game,
A tiny voice was calling,
But no one heard…

Sleep on, sweet stranger—
To a dream world you have left us
For the real was too cold.
Who was she?
Her beauty it was Helen’s—
But that is all we know.

(Previously published in Mobius, Nov.1999; Poetry & Art, Feb.2001; The Poet's Porch, July 2001)
Laurence Overmire
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Poems By Poet Laurence Overmire