Biography of Lawrence Beck
My advice to anyone reading one of my poems: read it so quickly as you can the first time through. Since I write in a rush, my melody will become most evident if you read in a rush.
I have a web site, www.lawrencebeck.net, which contains more of my recent poems than the 50 I leave up here. I refresh this site every other month.
Alas, I must add this: if you write to me asking me to read your poems, I may, but I will not comment on them. I am very sick of numbers hogs who troll through a day's list of contributing poets, and ask each one to read his or her poem. If you write well, someone may notice and comment. If you browbeat people into reading your poetry, the comments you receive are worth nothing.
Lawrence Beck's Works:
Lawrence Beck Poems
The child fell from far above. The ape, Harambe, looked at him, Unsettled. All the years of being Trapped inside his prison cell,
The Badger Decides To Mimic The Otter
I've been taken to task for being a grump. I am; less so today. I hear the birds. I am Not sweating. I'm not even hungry as I Sit outside and see, but do not look, and
The moon will shine on both of us. Neither of us will be pitied. Ms. Moon Has no sympathy. Instead, she sends A heartless light which shows us
A Void At The Center Of The Known Univer...
In space, in anguish, silent planets Circle an uncaring sun. I circle, too, But you are gone, the reasons for your Abdication known to you; to me
The Anthropogenic Era
Dense, gone white from water vapor, This unyielding prairie sky leaves Creatures panting in the shade. The Wind has died, the first to go, but
Here's the fact: on Saturday, I spent The night out at a bar with my love And some friends of ours. My love Said not one word to me, not "hello, "
A Bit Of Nonsense
The sun arrived here, springtime sweet, The lover mincing comely words, A fine and fresh bouquet of flowers Offered. I, swept off my feet,
You don't see what you think you see. You can't. It couldn't come to this: A flabby man who sits all day inside An off-white cubicle and does
She's good. I have to give her that. She circles slowly, drawing nearer, Like a jackal bent on getting her Share out of wounded me. She'll
Newton's First Law
She does her dervish dance each morning, Driving me, her stolid husband, nuts. She's lost her keys again. She finds Them, starts toward her car, then
Drunk already, on the plane, thirty Hours stuck on standby done. At Last, I'm going home. The flight Attendant does her spiel. Cinch up
In The Hollow
What sort of life is this? , I ask myself, Though I already know. It's all around My creeping car. The mine is closed. There's little else, some logging.
Some Confusion Surrounding The Exact Def...
We're done. That isn't what I want. It's what she thinks we ought to be. I'd hoped that she would change her Mind, but months have passed. I've
Sorry, Dear, Your Lease Has Expired
Her eyes light up, as yours did before You turned your back to me. She Waits for me to call her name, and Stammers, as you used to do, in
You don't see what you think you see.
You can't. It couldn't come to this:
A flabby man who sits all day inside
An off-white cubicle and does
Exactly as he's told until he gets
To go back home to sit some more,
And watch TV. Oh, no; it hasn't
Come to this. The frontier hasn't
Disappeared. The flabby man