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:
- Gazing Out To Sea -new-
- I'll Have Another Cigarette. That Shoul... -new-
- A Mismatched Pair -new-
- En-Ti-At-Kwa -new-
- Of Two Minds -new-
- Dunce -new-
- National Anthem -new-
- Two Poems -new-
- 63 -new-
- How It Is -new-
- A Grainy Photograph Of A Side Of Beef On... -new-
- The Regenerated Limb Always Is Smaller
- The Unsent Gift
Lawrence Beck Poems
The child fell from far above. The ape, Harambe, looked at him, Unsettled. All the years of being Trapped inside his prison cell,
Twilights come, the earth's and mine, The ancient planet creaking on its axis, Moving toward the night, the man, A minor perturbation, slumps upon
Mid-July In Mead, Nebraska
Just past four at Third and Main, The sun has moved off west enough To cast the brick facades of all the Store fronts into shade, and yet
I made a diagram which illustrates Why I am done with you. The first Wedge notes that, though you loved The way I would attend to you, you
The clouds draw down into the branches Of the trees across the lake. The raindrops Strike the cold, black water. I am underneath A cedar, soaked, brought back into the womb.
The storm came in the night, and, in this Early light, the sky is streaked in shades Of gray. The ground is soaked. The air Is cool and calm. In a chair on the
(the Other) Saint Lawrence
Like some sainted monk whose name Is known to hardly anyone, I minister to Broken souls. They seek me out and Talk to me. So desperate for recognition,
A Bigger, Better World
Someone else holds her within his arms. A rubber raft has me in its. I'm on a Sandpit lake, some hours to the west Of them. The water's cool. The sun
Isolate, the noun, the thing Produced by isolation, sits Among some other things, Though clearly it is on its own.
The Second Noble Truth
A bird flew by and pissed on me. Its motive? None; it had to pee. The world is filled with such Misfortunes, odd events which
Better Off Away
Nothing's quite so sordid as an aging, Married man who sidles up, proclaiming Love for you, and nothing's more pathetic Than the way he looks, the way he waits,
I shall examine my life today. There isn't much to it. This Shouldn't take long. I sit in A basement and stare at a
Keep the pedestal, my love. It's all I ever gave to you, And you're resplendent on it. Let the others crane their necks
America, Somewhere Behind Me
Like some Tatar hothead on a horse, I'll fly to Kyrgyzstan to camp out on The desert there. I'll view the mountains Through the heat, and ask, "Am I still
The child fell from far above.
The ape, Harambe, looked at him,
Unsettled. All the years of being
Trapped inside his prison cell,
Of being bored to worse than
Death as apes of other sorts appeared
Beyond the wall to leer at him.
At night, sometimes, when they
Were gone, he'd stare up at the