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
I dream that I am saving her, the aging Lifeguard churning through the waves To where she flails. She's doomed. The tide has taken her. She's so far
Is this what I am to you: That boy who won't stay In his seat, the one who Doesn't do his homework,
The Eye Of The Storm
Her picture's in its modest frame, Upon the mantel, fixed and Reassuring, as all else blows by. The price of oil jumps and falls.
It's barely there, amid the noise of traffic, People talking, music, television's drone: A tiny mass of silence, yours, a thing Which, hidden, slowly grows. I feel as
Five Am -new-
Do you see what's around you? Of course not. It's dark. Do you see me, in silhouette, inside A window? I'm trying to read. My mind Drifts away. I put on the light, so you'd
Why, Ms. Turtle, You'Re Naked
I will say the sun is out (it's not) , The weather (which is cold) is warm. I'll say that I'm at ease, afloat upon A bed of stale misgivings, poised
On The 12: 30 From Denver To Omaha
He beams. He seems a little shallow, Suit and tie, a laptop and a sheaf of Boring-looking papers poised to slide Off of the tiny table top in front of him.
Let's say we're Plato's playthings, in a Cave, and we are watching shadows. Chained, we'll never know what's real Among all that is said to be, and I imagine
Welcome, Islamic State
The end arrived as we were saying How we wouldn't mind an end. The seminar had gotten long. The faces all around the table
Go Out With A Win
Pull the string. That's how you are, And watch, or tell yourself you've Watched, a world (all imagined, It would seem) unravel. Close
A Quiet Afternoon At Home
'Let it die, ' the serpent says. He means my love. I understand. 'She doesn't love you, never will.' 'That isn't true. I think she does.'
Almost Obscured By Chatter
Language! Jesus, what's its use, A droning bit of background music, Truths and falsehoods intertwined, And mouthed to serve the self who
To The Faerie King
I'm sixty-one, too weak to ape you, Ed, And allegories, frankly, leave me cold. Your verse is splendid, as so many said, But I've no use for language falsely old.
A Perfectly Ridiculous Poem
When all else fails...that's not The word; when all else cannot Nourish, one must dig the earth To find ideas, and chew them,
A Pair Of Dismal Poems
The sun has gone. It can't be
Blamed for killing off a wretched
Day. The clock has ticked and
Ticked. The time has passed
With almost painful slowness.
Somewhere, she is doing
Something. Here, I wonder
What she does. I doubt I'll
Ever understand the pressures,