Laurence Overmire Poems

There’s a lake
—Water—
Not ice, not nice
...

washed up

on the beach
high tide’s brief wasting
...

Light shot through diaphanous wing
Fifty beats per second

Its long beak dipped in the flower of
...

Farewell
Fond traveler
Your ship sets out to sea
With only the stars to guide you
...

Michelangelo
Was born black in 20th century America.

He was a shoeshine boy and a waiter
...

Nineteen years old
He lost his legs

A field of shard and wire
...

How many years
A city, a country, a people sliced in two
Look back
Upon a simpler time
...

As an outsider, looking in
You might wonder why
No glory, no golden global Oscar
Is bestowed on those
...

The serpent slides through the birth canal
...and out into the fullness of a life

writhing its way around the spiral of the years
...

Sunlight through the window
birdsongs catch the morning mist
day dreams taking flight
...