Lawrence Beck Poems
- A Late Fall Day My past is here, a heap of shards, and, on A...
- I Won't Be Staying I'm aware that I've a knack for Being a ...
- Who'd Have Thought? One's apocalypse may strike someone ...
- Living Inside The Box I will go back to living the life of ...
- Thinking Inside The Box We should be strangers again, I ...
- Not A Life, An Existence I don't wish that you were me. I ...
- Offspring Of An Era Of Diminis...
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.
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A Late Fall Day
My past is here, a heap of shards, and, on
A day like this, so gray and cold and
Claustrophobic, I can sit and sort through
Them. I find a walk to second grade
In sloppy snow. The streets are black,
And little rivers run along their sides.
I see my feet in them. A sunny day
Sometime in summer, laying on a
Towel on a rock above a frigid
Stream. I shiver, freshly out of it.
My father's on the other bank. My
Sister's in an inner tube. My guinea
Pig is dead. The neighbor's dog
Came in and killed it in my room.
My own dog at my side, I slip ...