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,
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
On Something Like My 22,885th Day Of Lif...
A gray dawn arrives, a day without promise. A list of tasks I ought to take on lays upon The kitchen table: monument to pointlessness. Each one undone won't lead to ruin. Each
Well, then, here we are. We played charades. We didn't have much fun. The bar lights And the rums and Cokes convinced me That she looked like someone I keep trying
The trip up had its charms, I guess. A scholar might have liked the way We droned within a Chinese painting: Mist and half-seen rocky shores. The
There's no breeze to stir the stifling humid air. The sun is low. It's almost gone. Its final Rays have cast the shadow of the master's Colonaded home so long across the land,
A drifting cloud will block the sun, And I will think of Ariel. An empty Chair will speak her name. The Months have passed since she has
Stranger things have happened, I suppose, Though none has been revealed to me. I left one morning for a town a good four Days away from mine. My horse and I
Good News, Citizen
There was no flood, they tell us now. "Rumors, meant to harm the state, " The man behind the lectern said, Demanding that we doubt our eyes.
The world's gone green, in spite of my darkness. At odd times, I take in the sunlight which filters Through ashes and maples, the dew on the lawn, The small bands of turkeys which wander the
Queen Anne Hill
Creatures of our twilit time, we sit in Chinese folding chairs atop the roof Of what had been a hospital.. It isn't Now. It's an investment someone's
Samsa And Delilah
A cockroach came, a wretched thing, Appearing from a shaded corner, Wanting nothing more than to go On with its unquestioned life. I flicked
Queen Anne Hill
Creatures of our twilit time, we sit in
Chinese folding chairs atop the roof
Of what had been a hospital.. It isn't
Now. It's an investment someone's
Made, an empty hulk to be demolished,
Condos put up in its place, to bring in
Snots who crave a view, and price out
Clerks and fishermen, who've held this
Hill since Viet Nam, or earlier. It's hard