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:
- Pensacola -new-
- Two Figures In Gray -new-
- On Behalf Of Italy -new-
- The Buddha's Stomach Growls -new-
- Achievement -new-
- A Replica Of Guantanamo In Nebraska -new-
- Little Has Changed
- The Eye Of Coquihani
- Found Art
- I Bathe In Verbiage On Your Behalf, My S...
- From A Chair On The Deck
Lawrence Beck Poems
The Passage Of Time
I see a little kid. She's on a bicycle, She might be four, proceeding most Unsteadily, a look of concentration On her pie-plate face. A few steps
I'm on Lake Street. All the gangsters, Friends of friends, have told me that This isn't where a white man goes. You hear the guns pop in the night.
I Like Rainbows, Too
The memories, in time, turn two-dimensional, Like photographs. If they can be recalled at all, Their circumstances, how they felt, and what Was heard, and how things smelled, have
Across an impressive expanse of nothingness Another universe exists, and, in it, what has not Yet happened here is settled fact. The properties Of those who had been rich beyond imagining
Let us say, for argument's sake, that this Hasn't been such a terrible week. Let us Say that my car isn't back in the shop, That the pool's walls don't crumble to
Between the pills and your withdrawal, Almost all the drama that afflicted me Two years ago has ebbed away. The Pendulum which swung insanely from
The Woman With The Dog
She glides. That's how she walks. She glides Along the sidewalk, tall and stately, led by Her enormous dog. When I see her, I stop And stare. I'm safe. She never turns her
That urgent, almost frenzied, movement One sees on the sidewalks of a city Doesn't take place here. The people Almost all are old. Half the buildings
I like it here. It can't be home, but I'm At ease at last within this realm of Pumpkin-colored rocks. There is no Sound, except the wind. A river rushes
Wouldn't it have been romantic if I'd thought of you When I received that first shock to my heart, or when The second hit me like a lightning bolt, a bomb, or Something? But I didn't think of you. I thought,
The Difference Between The Republicans A...
I'm a communist because there isn't another Place for me to go. Capitalism is sick And unfair, and can't be tamed by high-minded Types to be beneficial to those who it uses.
Sometimes, The Magic Isn't Strong Enough
My goal, of course, had been to be the shaman, Who crept from the darkness to your room To enslave you. So lovely you were, so Susceptible, it seemed, to spells I learned.
The day ends as it started, in the flat And hopeless light beneath a suffocating Bank of clouds. The sky is gray. The Ocean's gray. The sand upon which
No Strong Feelings Either Way
Five days hence, I'll go into a hospital To have a doctor wire a device to me Which is designed to thwart the better Judgment of my heart. The old thing
Bells don't peal. There's no church near,
And, anyway, I have no faith. Nobody
But my wife and me laments the loss
Of what, because it's gone, cannot
Be seen. The sun writhes through
The rows of houses that were built
Across the street on land on which
The deer once grazed. They're ugly
Structures, painted as if stuccoed