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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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169.
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Drum Solo
Shut down your mind and
Be the drum
Pounding up and down
The heartbeat
Booms swinging round the forearm
Up the ear behind the head
Crashing cymbals sprayed in finger
Dust
Rolling, reeling, rocking kettles spilling
Thunder through the air
Electric
Charge!
Wham!
Sucker punch inside the gut
Ah! Oh! Man!
Now youre jazzin, Satchmo!
(Previously published in The Short North Gazette, July 2000)
Laurence Overmire
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170.
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Dull Revenge
Shakespeare must have seen it
400 years ago
How everything seems trivial at a certain
Point in time
Hamlet looking back, Polonius tombed,
From a hill of Fortinbrasd fortune
We too, with our dollars, accounts and bills
All these things to do
To stop ourselves from seeing
Death
Come to the doorstep, knocking with a
Cold hand
Those who dont even know us
Convinced that we must die
I dont know why
We need to feel superior
That God is on OUR side
But both sides are wrong somehow
Killing themselves
For no apparent
Reason, godlike gift permit
To fust in us unused
From this time forth, yea
All these thoughts, our weaker minds
Make bloody
Something or profoundly nothing worth
On these of all occasions
Sad history
Do indeed inform against us.
(Previously published in The Scrivener's Pen, Vol 3, Issue 3,2003; CER*BER*US, Apr 2003, #49)
Laurence Overmire
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171.
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Dying Breed
Most writers embark upon a legacy of prose
the most lucrative venture in an unyielding sea
only a fool would choose
poetry
to chart the circumference of a life
no profit to be gained
and
very possibly
obscurity in the passing
unless
there be some deeper truth
to plumb
a reward of soul
unfathomable to the surface
of a word.
(Previously published in The Odeum, Nov 2001; The Poet's Porch, Jan 2002)
Laurence Overmire
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172.
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e.e. cum c (a tribute to e.e. cummings)
e. e. oh oh you saw what where)
principles laid (remarkably in tight too
no one diddle daddle up) down (sides
round a bramble stick thorn in
hollow heads? fly mooned cow space
low-downed Revolution tat-a-rat tat
Oh! you hit apple pie ala
mother lode:
tipped open shut doors
spilled milk muddied minds
blast wide furnace words
sharpened Keyholes edge
wise) e.e. oh oh ho ho ho
my tip tap off hat (you!
(Previously published in Aileron, Winter '99)
Laurence Overmire
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