Lawrence Beck


Lawrence Beck Poems

1. Somewhere Else 5/13/2017
2. I Like Rainbows, Too 5/15/2017
3. Fictional 5/17/2017
4. An Ordinary Day 5/19/2017
5. Welcome Back 5/19/2017
6. Horror Show 5/21/2017
7. A World Apart 5/24/2017
8. Post-Traumatic Stress 5/25/2017
9. Still 5/27/2017
10. Patiently Enjoying Memorial Day Weekend 5/28/2017
11. A Common Man 5/31/2017
12. God Is A Printed Circuit 6/1/2017
13. Anywhere, Nebraska 6/2/2017
14. Wandering Around The Louis Salk Institute 6/3/2017
15. I Never Saw It Coming 6/5/2017
16. Post Traumatic Stress Revisited 6/6/2017
17. Three Weeks Hence 6/7/2017
18. Potato Eaters 6/8/2017
19. The Night The Ship Sank 6/10/2017
20. To Live 6/13/2017
21. Dinner Stop 6/14/2017
22. Misanthropy 6/15/2017
23. From A Chair On The Deck 6/17/2017
24. I Bathe In Verbiage On Your Behalf, My Sweet 6/22/2017
25. Inescapable 6/24/2017
26. Found Art 6/24/2017
27. Greatness 6/26/2017
28. The Eye Of Coquihani 6/28/2017
29. Little Has Changed 7/3/2017
30. Moonrise 7/5/2017
31. A Replica Of Guantanamo In Nebraska -new- 7/8/2017
32. Achievement -new- 7/8/2017
33. The Buddha's Stomach Growls -new- 7/10/2017
34. On Behalf Of Italy -new- 7/13/2017
35. Two Figures In Gray -new- 7/17/2017
36. Pensacola -new- 7/19/2017
37. Arneshia 4/20/2017
38. Sprawl 4/23/2017
39. No Strong Feelings Either Way 4/23/2017
40. Kalaloch 4/25/2017
Best Poem of Lawrence Beck

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
Back, her mother looms, a mixture
Of amusement and concern upon her
Face. She's wearing shades. The sun
Is bright, and my life, taking place
Across a hedge, in shade, upon a chair,
Obtains release through such a sight
From fear of my defibrillator, loathing
Of the status quo, the dully gnawing
Knowledge that the substance of
Existence has diminished here across
The hedge since those days when
I ...

Read the full of The Passage Of Time

A World Apart

The grass is getting long again at home, I guess,
But I can't tell for sure from here. The sun,
The television says, is warm, but I can't feel
Its heat. The throngs of people on the streets
Below have places they must go. I don't.
I'm in a hospital, a world apart from everything,
And time seems almost to have stopped,
In here, at least, though not out there, and that
Is why I'm sure the grass has grown.

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