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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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261.
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Maybe The Trees
Maybe the trees have lost their eyes
And the wind its wicked wisdom
The sand sifts through the glass
Unnoticed
The rivers cry in the dark phase
Of an old moon
Hear me, O Sun
Give life to the branch
Soil to the root
Fast water, graceful rain
A rising tide to wash away
Sorrow
We must emerge
Together
The upheaval of a great mountain
Through stratified rock
A peak of glistening snow
To claim the heavens as our
Own.
(Previously published in Autumn Leaves, July 2003; World Poet's Society, July 2006)
Laurence Overmire
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262.
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Medicine Man
My totem is the eagle
That flies through the spirit world
Seeing from above
All that lies below
On the wing of my words
Hear
The sigh of the wind
That carries the feather
To Earth.
(Previously published in PRIVATE Intenational Review, No.38, Sep 2006)
Laurence Overmire
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263.
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Mentor
Looked down with a scowl
Irritant disapproval
Chastising the independent deviation
From the quo, status not to be
Challenged, words of shame poured
From those reverent vials, heavenly lips
Of wisdom, never questioned
Threatening to destroy what had taken so long
To build.
The time had come.
Telemachus shield forged in ancient fires
Burnished by the gods, leapt from
The iron of tyronic breast, taking shape of will
To deflect in obedient force of honor;
The sword
Sheathed from the beginnings of silence
Ripped from its scabbard, swung in bold arc
A flash of light trailing in its wake
Severed the masters head.
(Previously published in Boloji, Apr 2003)
Laurence Overmire
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264.
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Message in a Bottle
The television creeped in through the back door when we were on vacation. It stole into the living room disguised as a necessary component of a modern-day lifestyle. So we didnt notice it for quite a long time.
It seemed harmless enough. Kind of cute actually. But it began to grow. We fed it little bits of attention at first, but soon it wanted more. And more. And more.
We threw it scraps of idle moments and snippets of an hour, but still it grew and grew and grew-till huge chunks of an afternoon and evening, whole weekends and slices of terribly gloomy days were not enough to satisfy its need.
It spread its boxy fingers into every corner of the house. Up the stairs into the bathroom, down on the mantel in the den, then to the kitchen and the bedroom, even beside the babys crib. And still it sucked away the hours, gobbling fortnights with a trowel.
We, desperate for some respite, gave it everything we hadour hearts, our minds and even more. And now this huge invasive caterwauling psychoblob of perfidious bizznobabble is holding an advertisement to our heads and threatening to take over the world!
Its too late for us, but if you get this message, please, whatever you dorun, hide, anything, butSave yourself! Before its too late.
(Previously published in ZZZ Zyne, XXVI, Jan.2000; Winner of Barnes and Noble's Fahrenheit 451 contest, March 2004)
Laurence Overmire
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