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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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441.
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The Second Coming
You wont believe me when I say this
Indeed I speak it still in fear
But the memory lingers with me, like the wound of a rusty nail
I saw the face of Jesus
Yes its true
No please dont mock me
I did not believe it either, I did not recognize him at first
But then neither did the twelve in that dim ether long ago
His eyes were filled with love, inexplicable to me
And yet there was an anger and a sorrow, even fear
His hair was matted, rather dirty
And the clothes were worn and tattered, hardly elegant or refined
Yes, you laugh
And think Im crazy
But I tell you that its true
I saw the face of Jesus
Imploring and alone
If only Id seen him sooner, but I didnt recognize him, you see
Till his body lay stiff and cold
Swaddled in the corner of the subway station, only ten or twelve years old
Homeless and forgotten
And believe me, you who will, with more venom than the Pharisees
Pontius Pilate and the rest
We have crucified Him
Again.
(Previously published in Poetry Soul to Soul, Dec.2006)
Laurence Overmire
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442.
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The Seeds Of Power
were sown before I was born
in another mans field
from the window of my small hut
I watched his mansions grow
the servants bringing news of the secret lives there led
the dalliance of love without effort
romance on the deck of a sailing ship
rendezvous and midnight soirees
Grand Balls at the Governors Palace
polo with the Prince on his chestnut steed
I often wondered had I been granted
the reins of fortune
without the means to suffer indignity
would I attend the play
take the mallet
with a mighty swing chuck
the troubles of this world
galloping through life with only the thought
to finish the day in
winning colors?
(Previously published in Some Words: A Place for Poetry, Aug.2004)
Laurence Overmire
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443.
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The Smoke of Gallipoli
Nineteen years old
He lost his legs
A field of shard and wire
Trench and bunker
Bullets flying
Australians and Turks
Fighting
For what?
He wont ever be able
To answer the question
Or waltz with Matilda
Again.
(Previously published in Poets4Peace, Nov.2000)
Laurence Overmire
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444.
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The Truth About Poetry
Poetry is not a certain this or a certain that.
With or without rhyme. Beat or academic.
Uplifting or depressing.
Accessible or obscure.
Poetry is all.
At its heart, simply, a condensed form.
Free to violate the strict rules of prose.
Free to explore the subterranean
Passage of mind and soul.
We must allow it to be
Whatever it needs to be.
Only then will we realize
The vitality of its song.
(Previously published in The Poet's Porch, Aug.2000)
Laurence Overmire
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