Lawrence Beck


Lawrence Beck Poems

1. Sore Thumb 6/25/2015
2. A Dash Of Bitters 6/25/2015
3. Bonsai 6/29/2015
4. The Warm Glow Of Reflected Glory 6/29/2015
5. Come Join The Islamic State 6/30/2015
6. Delicate 7/2/2015
7. Happy Times! 7/2/2015
8. Another Pair Of Eyes Or Something Else For These To See? 7/6/2015
9. Dry Redhead/Wet Blonde 7/6/2015
10. Late 7/7/2015
11. For My Therapist 7/8/2015
12. A Rash Act 7/9/2015
13. Two Backward Glances 7/13/2015
14. Look, Jack, I May Be Miserable, But I'M Not Insane 7/13/2015
15. Birds In Hand 7/14/2015
16. Thirty-Four Years Kf Marriage 7/15/2015
17. Viewing Pluto 7/16/2015
18. A Car Wreck Seen From Three Angles 7/19/2015
19. My Gift To You, Long-Suffering Reader 7/20/2015
20. A Picture In The Hallway 7/21/2015
21. Antidepressant 7/23/2015
22. The Price Of Pretence 7/25/2015
23. Another Weekend 7/27/2015
24. A Trifle 7/27/2015
25. It's Best That The Past Has Passed 7/28/2015
26. Salvation 7/30/2015
27. Which Best Suits You? 7/31/2015
28. Not A Haiku 8/3/2015
29. Black Hole 8/3/2015
30. The End 8/6/2015
31. Red Cliff, Colorado 8/7/2015
32. A Quartet 8/9/2015
33. Cad 8/10/2015
34. Solitary 8/11/2015
35. What I'Ll Never Say 8/17/2015
36. Incomparable 8/18/2015
37. Charley And Me 8/19/2015
38. Lunacy -new- 8/20/2015
39. Ill-Defined -new- 8/25/2015
40. Domesticity -new- 8/25/2015
Best Poem of Lawrence Beck

Lost

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.

Read the full of Lost

A Dash Of Bitters

Of all the women, who I know,
None mentions Michelangelo,
Or global warming, even elves.
These women talk about themselves,
And they, it seems, believe that I
Am rapt, though audibly I sigh,
As they go on about their pains,
Their disappointments. There remains
No time to learn how I have been.

[Hata Bildir]