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:
- Xmas Heartache -new-
- Along A Lake -new-
- She Got What She Wanted -new-
- She's Far Away And I'm Not All Here -new-
- Box Office Bomb -new-
- Pondering The Corrosive Power Of A Singl... -new-
- Break-Up -new-
- Gerard Manley Hopkins -new-
- Thoughtless Suitor -new-
- Catching Up -new-
- Predator -new-
- Don't -new-
- Nothing Like Nostalgia
- I Wonder, Sometimes
Lawrence Beck Poems
The Stranger Next To Me
I don't know what she wants from me.She keeps me near, But to what end?I do not go, and I know why.I love the way She flatters me, but does she see, and does she want, The adoration with which I repay her?How am I to know?
There is no shortage of poems written by besotted men, Extolling the virtues, real or imagined, of women with whom They have fallen in love.I've composed a large pile Of the things myself: heartfelt bleets and wounded howls,
These lurid wounds, these leaves, confirm the rumors Of the lady's fading health.The earth is soon to die, To be laid out beneath a shroud of white, and that's All right with me.I'm in the mood for mourning
Mccarran Airport Rental Car Return
She said, "Take me with you" out of earshot Of those she was with, halfway joking, Halfway not.I said, "It's a deal; get in, " And I was deadly serious.She knew
A dismal time-share condo on The Strip: It's like you've found a heaven someone You don't like designed.A musty antiseptic Smell pervades the place.There's not much
I Need Some Air
I must turn and go back, darling, Though I know the clock ticks on. There's so much that I left behind: The cool and damp of lawns in fall,
Las Vegas With J
Still in the back of a cab, I stare at the ring of jagged And waterless mountains, stare at the looming Cathedrals of sin, aware of the score of the game Not yet played.She's bringing along an entourage:
The asp has wrapped itself around my leg, And sinks its fangs into my hip.Its eyes Look up at me.No real words issue from Its mouth, but its thoughts are quite clear
Do You Have Coffee?
I would like to sit down at a table in a small cafe A thousand miles or more from here.I'd signal To the waitress that I'd like what someone near is Eating, fish perhaps,or taro root, but also coffee.
It rains.The leaves are turning, soon to fall.The world goes About its business as I sit inside, intent on getting back to it. Four weeks of watching out my window, shadowed, wincing, Wishing I was well enough to rise and walk among the semiconscious
A Rainy Day
The sky's been low and full of mist since light. The lake is dark and dappled by unending rain. A loon is on it, paddling westward.It creates A V which spreads across the otherwise
High hopes; of course.The Western spawn of Marx And Norman Vincent Peale, the poor, myopic bourgeois Man, who willfully misreads the labels on the gifts Of privilege to be rewards for jobs well done,
An October Evening
"Have you thought about what 'placid' means? , " I ask As I poke at the burning wood, not to enhance the flames, But to provoke a cloud of sparks to rise into the lightless Sky.It's autumn, and the air is cool.She turns her face
Land Of Opportunity
After an interval which may have passed somewhat Productively, I fall back into my still-warm chair. Another codeine pill consumed, a hip which goes On aching as if kicked by a malicious horse
She'd always lied to him, and he, so vain and, frankly,
Stupid, never once believed she did.The clock
Was ticking.Nearly thirty, plain, without her sisters'
Charms and lovers, with a crummy job, she let him
Put his paws on her, his drunken lips, and, in due time,
She made it known that she would have a child: theirs,
And hoped he had the decency to do the proper thing.
Mixed blessing, that, she realized, and asked herself
From time to time if her life might have turned out