Laurence Overmire Poems

There are poets
In comfortable houses
Clean beds
Who write of grass and trees and
...

Damn, the coffee tasted good
Sitting in the airport
So relaxed, slow breath in, breathe out
Steady, quiet rhythm
...

As a poet
She knew what Van Gogh
Must have felt
...

glide

feather lost
...

Class is

A state of mind
...

It was all or nothing.

All the cards were on the table.
No aces up the sleeve.
...

Most writers embark upon a legacy of prose
the most lucrative venture in an unyielding sea
only a fool would choose
...

The poem is its own master
I obey

Commands I barely understand
...

Buttered toast morning
Coffee with cream

Sunlight streaming through the sash
...

In great hall
Kilt and bonnet
Crest upon the wall
...