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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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333.
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On Jack's Planet
Everything was in order.
Temperatures recorded in diary of
Every days life, sentences uttered
In blankness of white page
Passions played in scrutiny of detail
Pictures placed with certain emphasis
Moments not to be lost in mind.
Even the Christmas tree year after year
Stored completely decorated in a closet
Each ornament hanging in its place
Strictly maintained, not to be disturbed
By the random chaos of a disjointed world
The arbitrary chance that makes living
So difficult.
Coming as he did from an unruly upbringing
Cold martinet father, dotty lesbian mother
Who left (little Jack) to hack a path to freedom
Half-brothers, foster mothers, back and forth
Without a home, no wonder the need
To right the haphazard fall of
Obstinate blocks.
The alcohol slipped so easily through the bars
A parched throat gasping, the anesthetic coat
So soothing to the chill in his breast, the drums in his head
Pounding
Saxophones jazzing through the dark pull of night
Yearning for release in notes of
Pure unfettered music, tamed in sameness
Finally
Doing what people do in order to survive.
His wife, his children, perhaps
Could never understand, too close
To see the sanity of his madness
The way the holding of opposites together
In perfect alignment with fixed patterns
Made a kind of grounding gravity
Alien to the visitor, but completely logical
On Jacks Planet.
(Previously published in MiPo Magazine, Winter 2004)
Laurence Overmire
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334.
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On the Bottom Shelf
the poet's words lay
dried-up in a book
untouched, unsung
how he wished he had the power
to give music to the song
the unheard symphony
that pounded on the strings
of his heart
no fingers to key
the silent instrument
that refused to be mastered.
(Previously published in Poetfest Anthology, Summer 2000)
Laurence Overmire
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335.
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Once a Year
At Christmas
We pay our respects to the truth
The interconnection of all
Mankind
Then we lay our sentiment
On a New Years day
In a freshly dug grave
And go on
In the ensuing winter spring
And fall
With our enduring
Malefactions.
(Previously published in The Hold, Jan 2004)
Laurence Overmire
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336.
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Once in Camelot
The girl on the hill
runs across the fields of my mind
strewing flowers on the parchιd ground
lost in Camelot
where the mighty King must weep
for love betrayed.
She holds a basket
of secrets
dewdrops gleaned from distant clouds
long since passed upon the breeze
and lets it open for me to see
I reach to touch
my hands too numb
I cannot
grasp.
She sings a song Ive heard before
in some forgotten dream
of some forbidden time
the verse is new
the meter blank
I want to sing
but breath is
out of tune.
She stands there blushing
then skips away
laughing in the gypsy wind
rushing to the castle
beyond the ridge
beyond my view.
I sit alone
pick up the flower she dropped behind
innocently on the dust
and a dewdropp trickles down the severed stem
like a tear that stings the heart.
(Previously published in Potpourri, Dec. '99)
Laurence Overmire
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