Laurence Overmire Poems

Some old guy named Keats
Keeps singing in my ear
Lilting melodies of long lost lore
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We forget that air
is a substance
we can’t see it
but it’s there
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I think of you now
My 10th great grandfather
I think of you now when
I should have thought of you
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Words have no meaning in the language of the heart

No sound
No syllable
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There is a poem in everything

If only we’d understand
No rules exempt
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Sitting Bull saw it in a dream
White men falling from the sky
And for a time
We believed
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Poetry is not a certain this or a certain that.
With or without rhyme. Beat or academic.
Uplifting or depressing.
Accessible or obscure.
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There is a poem
inside the heart of mankind
waiting to be born.
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Some would call him an
Aerobacter
A short, rod-shaped, Gram-negative
Bacteria
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What is the value of a human life?
In the doing or the being?
In both? or in neither?
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