Lawrence Beck

Lawrence Beck Poems

1. A True Story 4/16/2015
2. The Gloom Moved With Me 4/18/2015
3. The Future Revealed In The Front Yard 4/21/2015
4. Aimless 4/23/2015
5. You Never Hear This Side Of The Story 4/24/2015
6. An Enduring Mystery 4/26/2015
7. The Eunuch's Lament 4/28/2015
8. Sure, Let's Talk About The Riot 4/29/2015
9. Over 5/3/2015
10. What Must Be 5/3/2015
11. Fantasies 5/4/2015
12. Fido 5/5/2015
13. On A Gloomy Day 5/6/2015
14. Boo Hoo 5/9/2015
15. Overcast Am, Partial Clearing Later 5/10/2015
16. John Locke Spins In His Grave 5/12/2015
17. Solipsism Summarized 5/14/2015
18. Flogging A Metaphor For All It's Worth 5/14/2015
19. Now, The Metaphor Flogs Me 5/15/2015
20. Red-Haired Woman With A Sponge 5/17/2015
21. For Those On Break 5/18/2015
22. Incongruent 5/20/2015
23. Something Like Emancipation 5/22/2015
24. Happy Memorial Day! 5/24/2015
25. The Toe Actually Is More Dangerous Than The Heel 5/26/2015
26. On Golden Pond 5/28/2015
27. Unappealing Unobscured 5/30/2015
28. The Swing Era Begins 5/31/2015
29. The Terms Aren'T Synonymous 5/31/2015
30. Edward Hopper's Realm 6/1/2015
31. Gravity 6/6/2015
32. In The Absence Of Facts, Speculation 6/7/2015
33. Refugee 6/11/2015
34. Syrup To Vinegar 6/11/2015
35. Kindred Spirits 6/13/2015
36. Talking Shop With The Good Doctor 6/14/2015
37. In The End, The Solipsist... 6/14/2015
38. Goodbye 6/15/2015
39. Siddhartha's Headed For Vegas! 6/16/2015
40. Submerged 6/18/2015
Best Poem of Lawrence Beck

The Gloom Moved With Me

The rain is different here from
How it was where I was growing up,
More vicious, with a shorter reign.
It wounds, but quickly moves away,
And then the sun begins to heal.
Where I grew up, the rain would
Stay. It didn't sting, but slowly
Ate away the hopes of those
Within it. I have moved, and
Learned the rain is brief. The
Sun soon will return, but, unlike
Those who grew up here, my
Hopes don't blossom when it
Does. The drizzle washed them
From me many years before
I came.

Read the full of The Gloom Moved With Me


That would be me, in a suit, at a bus stop,
Going to do what I couldn't do long.
That was a future I'd had, but it passed.
Now, I shuffle among piled stacks
Of mementos, each a point plotted
In retrospect, reached on a map
Of a journey devoid of a plan.
I still own those old suits, but I
Don't ride the bus. I can't say what

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