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:
- It's Best That The Past Has Passed -new-
- A Trifle -new-
- Another Weekend -new-
- The Price Of Pretence -new-
- Antidepressant -new-
- A Picture In The Hallway -new-
- My Gift To You, Long-Suffering Reader -new-
- A Car Wreck Seen From Three Angles -new-
- Viewing Pluto -new-
- Thirty-Four Years Kf Marriage -new-
- Birds In Hand
- Look, Jack, I May Be Miserable, But I'M ...
- Two Backward Glances
- A Rash Act
Lawrence Beck Poems
The young man's on the platform, Toward the back. The stairs are Close at hand. He wants to be Invisible. It's late, and, since
In The Absence Of Facts, Speculation
Hearts don't plot. They blunder onward, As mine does, but minds must try to Know, and mine's perplexed by you. Your silence leaves it without facts
She is Venus. I'm the sun. That's simply How it has to be. She lives a life of joyless Toil, never laughs. She rarely speaks, And, trapped beneath her clouds of gloom,
Edward Hopper's Realm
Eventually, there's aftermath, and this is it, A man wrung out and staring through the Window of his rented room. The romance, Partner poorly chosen, never reached the
The Terms Aren'T Synonymous
He asked, “But won't you be lonely? ” “No, ” I answered, shut my suitcase, Said goodbye and drove away, and, Now, not many hours later, I sit on
The Swing Era Begins
The anger has more substance than the love Which had preceded it. The love was vapor, Little else, and hung, a fog, which left me Lost. I gestured in it. No one came. The
In time, the ghost will fade away. That's what They do. The minds which make them tire, And they lose the will to haunt themselves With made-up beings. Mine grows distant
On Golden Pond
The carp emerges, golden, from its blackness, Takes the piece of bread I've thrown, and Once more disappears. It doesn't linger On the surface, never asks me how I've been.
The Toe Actually Is More Dangerous Than ...
We shall leave it at this, then: done, never Started. I'll wave when I see you. You'll Smile. We''ll pass. Whatever seemed once Close won't come into being, and I, in exhaustion,
Happy Memorial Day!
We know, we all do, only vaguely, that our world's Going wrong. We think we know what once was Right: a land of yeomen, hardly saints, who Turned the lathes and worked the land, and
Something Like Emancipation
The fever's mostly broken. As it has, the souffle's Fallen flat, reduced to what it was at first: a simple Mess consisting of a woman who's been kind and Over-stirred a lonely man, and, in its aftermath,
Why must we persist with these, our sadly Bifurcated dreams? You are young and I am old, and all you want, I realize, is To be told that you're adored. No one has
For Those On Break
There's a poem to be fashioned from this emptiness, I tell myself, as I stand outside in a patch of sunlight, Smoking with the guys. It's nearly three. It doesn't Matter. Work will end, and we'll go home to work
Red-Haired Woman With A Sponge
Why does this have to happen like a metronome? What's wrong with me? I fall apart. I turn away, And leave a note which says, 'I'm sorry. I know I'm not good for you.' A full-grown man, all
Why must we persist with these, our sadly
Bifurcated dreams? You are young and
I am old, and all you want, I realize, is
To be told that you're adored. No one has
Told you this before, and all I want, all
I would ask, in return for my adoration,
Is that you would hold my hand, would,
Someday, somewhere, by a fire, sit by
Me and say you'll stay to see me through