Lawrence Beck Poems
- Lost The cloud has come again, the prairie fire Smoke, and ...
- Repeater It is better to be in the dark, I suppose, I get ...
- Come Join The Islamic State They sat with you for years. You...
- The Warm Glow Of Reflected Glo... I don't know who's more ...
- Bonsai The birds are making conversation. I'm not. I'm ...
- A Dash Of Bitters Of all the women, who I know, None ...
- Sore Thumb People have to do these things, I tell myself, A...
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.
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The cloud has come again, the prairie fire
Smoke, and all is wrapped in darkness.
That is what I see. The pills, it seems,
No longer work. The faint pinpricks
Of light, recalled, unfelt, are far off in
The sky: that precious woman and
Her love, the gently swaying summer
Trees, the voices of the ones who want
Me here as I consider leaving. What
Could be is suffocated, what was,
Ashes from the flames. I'm teary-eyed
And blinded, wanting nothing more
Than to lay down. The prairie fire's
Smoke has come again.