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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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77.
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Autumn Fall
I remember the autumn of that year
Her long brown hair
The soft gentleness of her eyes
The playful squeeze of her hand
Unseasonably warm November days
We walked hand in hand, arm in arm, heart in heart
Kicking the leaves in Central Park
Watching tiny sailboats glide like feathers on a glassy pool
Lying in the shade of oak and maple
While the sun fondly bid the day goodbye
Love, in an instant, had banished sorrow
And time stood still for a second or two
But the winds of December were not to be denied
And as the new year dawned
I died
The blasted shell of a man left to its decay
Through the dark black night of winter
Slowly
Imperceptibly
A new-born wing emerging from the ruin
Phoenix heart rising.
(Previously published in Nomad's Choir, Vol.8, Issue 4, Fall 2000; Poetry & Art, Feb.2001)
Laurence Overmire
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78.
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Back Turned (senryu)
Back turned without thought
careless crossings of tired eyes
malice unspoken
Laurence Overmire
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79.
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Bacon Shakespeare
There are some people who think
Bacon wrote Shakespeare
(Sir Francis, that is, not Kevin)
I wonder if theyve ever read
His poetry, Bacons that is (not Kevin)
Its almost as bad as mine
And Im no Shakespeare
Let me tell you.
Why, if Sir Francis were here
Hed tell you, too
He may have done a lot of things well
But poetry wasnt one of them
Oh, he could write mighty fine prose
And formulate ideas with the best of them
But poetry is a mystic sort of thing
Theres a music in the soul
Shakespeare had that music
And if Bacon had had it
(No, no, no, Francis, not Kevin!)
He was smart enough to know
Hed better put his name all over it
Instead of spending his time
Stuffing chickens with snow.
(Previously published in Pleasant Unicorn, Feb 2001)
Laurence Overmire
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80.
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Bad Hombre
Jimmy was being pulled
By a hormone
Through his turbulent adolescence.
The hormones name was Bob.
Bob was a bad hombre.
He picked fights with little pimple-faced kids
And then forced Jimmy to do all the dirty work
Throwing punches and getting kicked in the eye and so forth.
And Bob used to whisper nasty things in Jimmys ear
About bras and garters and quivering thighs
Jimmy got so excited
He hung out at the pool hall, drank beer and punched holes
In the cigarette machine.
And the worst thing Bob did was tell Jimmy
That he was a man.
And Jimmy spent the rest of his misguided life
Trying to prove it.
(Previously published in Pigs 'n Poets, Feb-May 2000)
Laurence Overmire
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