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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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65.
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Another Cup of Tea?
There are poets
In comfortable houses
Clean beds
Who write of grass and trees and
Flowers
They sing melodies that concord
On tuneful ears
Sing babies to sleep
And say
All the world is well.
Twould be nice to be
Such a poet
To not know and not care
Not really
Not seeing, not dreaming
Not alive, not dead
Just falling
Like a green leaf on a
Summers day.
(Previously published in Apollo's Lyre, Spring 2007)
Laurence Overmire
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66.
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Another Sunday Afternoon
Another Sunday afternoon
in fall
in Brooklyn
dead leaves rustle
over the cracked sidewalks
mixed with the trash
of careless minds
the September sun
is a golden orb
spinning on the web
of the azure sky
and the sound of
children
laughing
dapples the eager air
breathe deep
and feel the warmth
that penetrates the bones
when time is a pendant
you choose not to wear...
A crowd on the corner
women and men
idly
passing the quiet hours
in casual conversation
I pass
and there before me
ten feet away no more
a crumpled figure
in the gutter
drunk asleep? !
a long and frivolous night, my friend?
(chuckle softly
do not wake)
But then...
the smooth line
yes
near the head there
trickled, dried
of blood
is almost
imperceptible
the crowd on the corner
patiently waiting
for someone
to take him
away
Another Sunday afternoon
in fall
in Brooklyn.
(Previously published in Ygdrasil, Nov. '99)
Laurence Overmire
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67.
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Arrivals and Departures
Damn, the coffee tasted good
Sitting in the airport
So relaxed, slow breath in, breathe out
Steady, quiet rhythm
Some kind of resignation had morphined its way
Into my face and arms and legs
All the stress, the headache
Gone.
I didn't know what was to come
And in that moment I didn't really care
Nothing seemed to matter except the soothing warmth
...of that coffee
Cupped in my hands like some reverent libation
To the gods.
The cold, gray Minneapolis sky should have portended
The days ahead
I wouldn't believe it, not then
When coffee tastedand smelledso good
How could we be so trifling in our affairs
To let the best of life slip away
...so easily
No. Not now.
But I was wrong.
The plane pulled up to the gate
People laughing, smiling, hugging their loved ones
But as she came toward me
The look in her eyes
I knew.
(Previously published in Some Words: A Place For Poetry, Feb 2000)
Laurence Overmire
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68.
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Artful Dodger
Motifs in my life
Recur in my art
Like some persistent beggar
Demanding some final
Restitution
For the travesties he's
Endured.
(Previously published in Psychopoetica, No.45, Spring 2000; The Poet's Porch, Jan.2001)
Laurence Overmire
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