|
|
|
|
Best Poems From LAURENCE OVERMIRE
|
|
| |
|
|
237.
|
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
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
238.
|
Heads and Tails
Foolish humans we
must realize
(at our peril)
in the course of diminishing time
that
opposites are merely
different
unlike sides of the same
coin.
(Previously published in The Oracular Tree, Feb.2003; Poetry Soul to Soul, Jan.2005)
Laurence Overmire
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
239.
|
Hereafter
How could heaven be
More spectacular than a sunset
Draping its scarlet mantle over a ridge of snow-crested mountains
More beautiful than a waterfall
Plunging through the branch of lush green forest
More serene than a glassy lake
Reflecting the first golden embers of the morning sky?
We need not die
To apprehend the bounds of heaven.
This miracle Earth:
All we need do is open our eyes.
(Previously published in The Gentle Survivalist, Sept.1999; Irish Stew, Summer Issue 2007)
Laurence Overmire
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
240.
|
He's in Jail Now
So cute as a baby
If you could have seen him
So innocent and pure
But mother wasnt there
Too young, too
Well, you know how it goes
Father none, not even sure who
And foster homes, several
Bounced around he, cant really
Take the place of, why I dont know
By ten, you could see
His eyes were, how can I say
Already dead, and grandma thinks
That somehow shes to blame
But then, her mama was never
There, no not really, not for her
Either, not in any, that is
Not in any important way.
Do you know what I mean?
(Previously published in Circle Magazine, Vol.4, Issue 3, Summer 2000)
Laurence Overmire
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|