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:
- Elevator -new-
- America, Somewhere Behind Me -new-
- Stephanie -new-
- The Badger Decides To Mimic The Otter -new-
- Nightlight -new-
- A Void At The Center Of The Known Univer... -new-
- Harambe -new-
- The Anthropogenic Era -new-
- Fact -new-
- A Bit Of Nonsense
- American Machismo
- My Jackal
- Newton's First Law
- Last Leg
Lawrence Beck Poems
Greetings from Atlantic City There's a tear in the casino lobby's carpet, Crudely patched with silver tape. The kid
The fire's banked. It isn't out. The house is warm, the man Within resigned. Alone, he Falters, moving numbly, here
One holds out inexplicably for just such things. The forecast storm has come. The ground is Soaked. A limb was ripped out of a tree. Some Poets' group has sent me seven blobs of hackneyed
Facing A Blank Screen
His own tale, having staggered toward an end Of sorts and gotten dull, the poet searches for Some other subject about which to write. The love thing's done. That was his tale.
The Drowned Man
Perhaps, because she felt that she would Sink beneath the waves again, she flailed, And her arms strangled me. I'd come to Try to save her life, and, in those final moments,
A Garden Of Earthly Delights
Selkirk I thought I'd cheer up myself, American style. I'd dress up a little and go blow some money.
Emily And Me
In the end, we seem too much alike, Two cripples holed up in their homes, In love with people who aren't there, Our grief spelled out in cryptic poems
It's rained for days. The river's up And running fast. I watch a tree Trunk spinning slowly as it's carried Past the banks. I envy its mobility.
How did I become the monster? You're the one Who said don't go. I held you in my huge brown Hand and told you you were someone special. I said I would rather die than hurt you, and I
The cicadas have come after seventeen years. Rising up, they are rasping their joy to be living. Meeting their mates, like couples in airports, They'll mill for a while. I watch from a distance.
Was A Cowboy
The truth was what I thought it was. (Whenever is it otherwise?) My horse Was chestnut, sixteen hands. I rode It on adventures over empty east
Reconciling The Internal And External
I'm going to go up to Baffin Island, Stand on the rocky shore and watch The cold, gray ocean's ceaseless waves. I no longer know how to have a good
You know all the cliches of erosion. Hills go flat. Cliffs fall into the sea. Months have passed And my love hasn't faded.
Miles west of Ellensburg, the north fork Of a river, named Teanaway, goes Burbling across brown-colored, Mossy rocks. A meadow spreads
Miles west of Ellensburg, the north fork
Of a river, named Teanaway, goes
Burbling across brown-colored,
Mossy rocks. A meadow spreads
On either side. I've not been there
For fifty years. I'd go back now
To feel the sun, to hear the sound
Of water flowing, willows rising
Overhead, but I won't return