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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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145.
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Burning Wood
Logs listen
To the stories we tell
Around the fire
Carry our dreams
In ashes
A circle of stone
To remind the future.
(Previously published in The Breath E-Zine, Sept.2003)
Laurence Overmire
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146.
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By Chance, While Jogging
Jogging down the road, bright clear warm day
Past a home for the elderly, retirement place of some sort.
Old, old man in front of me, barely moving, foot by foot, seeming lost.
I pass quickly, meaning to avoid some interaction.
He stops. “Help me, please. Help me.”
I stop.
“Can you help me? I need to cross. Fire hydrant.”
Fire hydrant? There is no fire hydrant. “You want to cross the street? ”
“I want…I don’t feel so well. I shouldn’t have come out, but…”
“Here, take my arm.”
He grabs hold, a frail tiny man, stooped a bit, maybe five feet tall.
Down from the curb, his weight drops to heavy-soled shoes.
I raise my hand to stop an oncoming car.
We cross slowly, step by painful step.
The River Jordan was not so wide.
“You going to the bus stop? ”
“There.” He points to the bench across the way.
We reach the other side, leave the vast asphalt expanse behind.
He heaves his leg above the opposite curb, a landing of fresh-mown grass.
“You okay? ” I ask.
Catching his breath, “My name’s Jack McGrath. I’ve lived there 25 years.”
We shake hands. “Thank you, ” he says.
Our eyes meet for the very first—and last—time. “Thank you very much.”
Old gray eyes deep set in a grizzled unshaven face. “You’re welcome.”
We understand each other in this timeless moment.
We both see the future.
And for a moment we are brothers on the same journey.
Our hands unclasp, I turn my back and walk away.
Then run, alive into a gust of wind.
Looking back, over my shoulder, I see his small form huddled on the bench.
Waiting.
For a bus to come
And take him away.
(Previously published in Kookamonga Square, July 2000)
Laurence Overmire
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147.
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Candy Dish
The language positively soared
A beautiful weaving of sound
And image, perfectly punctuated
And arranged with exquisite
Skill upon the page!
Unfortunately
For all its elegance
It didn’t mean a #@+*%$#! thing.
(Previously published in The Underbeat Journal, July 2003)
Laurence Overmire
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148.
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Card Game
Do me a favor and have the guts
To show your face
Lay your heart upon the table
Not hidden up your sleeve
Waiting for the chance to
Cheat
The hands you’ve not been dealt.
The fan that blocks the beating of your lashes
The made-up beauty of your seemly look
Is but a temporary obstruction
The dissembling of a mean intention
Is not so easy to mistake.
In the backrooms of your mind
An upstairs bed awaiting
The dash of the stranger
Boots to the floor
May succumb to the whim of indifference.
But the holster laid upon the nightstand
Carries the bullets of love’s lost cause.
(Previously published in The Underbeat Journal, July 2003)
Laurence Overmire
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