Tag: poems

Two Dramatic Poems

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment 
We're in it now.
Walkers and wipes from here till the end.

People will say "How wonderful they
take care of each other."
People will say "They have each other."
Smiles will barely mask pity
as I become your good deed.

I don't think I'll care about good wishes.
I'll be grateful for you, I hope,
in-between bouts of awareness.
You'll love me until I die,
and then love me more until you smile
for the time I was once whole –

when there was no walker,
no wipes –
when we thought death was the worst, 
some far-off place, some mirage.
We thought we'd escape –
took long walks across the bridge
and ate food, fun food, hamburgers.
I took stairs two and three at a time,
and you attracted guys in the showers,
just washing yourself you attracted life.

Jealous old men shot proverbs:
"Enjoy it while your can."
"Things that don't go wrong before
fifty...do after.  Beware!"
Pity crossed our lips but we stood sure
age was someone else's war,
someone else's ward,
the cost of ignorance.
Choice.
Never bad luck.
Never true.

Now everything we do is timed.
Weighed. Purposed.
My body isn't mine anymore
though I placate it with spinach
and cardio and porn.
He's tending toward home,
breaking me into the grave
slowly, surely, 
ready to lay down
as I conjure stairs
taken two or three at a time
and showers, those showers,
filled with beauty,
mine for a few minutes more.

*

There are books. Such books. Click here.

And if you like poems, click here.

Next

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment 
He knows
	he has nothing to fear
	from Court to ballot-box.
	A woman-Turk-academic?
	Nothing to no one, meat to
	howling Christians. Beautiful.

They know –
	masked ICE agents
	stalking intelligence,
	scenting terror: 
	the red-hats want this, want it bad;
	make it scream, haha. 
	
America knows
	“YOU’RE FIRED!” 
	as the show goes on because
	no one cries over spilled milk and
	breaking eggs is the business
	of America is WWJD. “WWJD!!!”

Rümeysa means
	shining star
	accomplished
	graceful and noble –

	next?

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“If we lose freedom of speech, it’s never coming back.”

Elon Musk 

A California-cool option for Late-Night readers…

~ Greg Beckman ~ 1 Comment

You can read my latest poem collection, Late-Night Lucid, through your local library! For free! Through Indie California, library patrons throughout The Golden State have access to an electronic version of the book that already has one 5-star review on Goodreads. (It’s the only review; we all have to start somewhere.) I am proud to have had my work selected by an organization whose purpose is the promotion of independently published books and their authors, and am delighted that you have access to it through your local California library. Suits my ethos.

If you would like the give the ebook Late-Night Lucid a try, click here. It pops right up.

AND if you so enjoy the poems that you just need to have a copy for yourself, click here. Sometimes you just want to hold a book.

Some words on The Indie Author Project:

The Indie Author Project (IAP) is a publishing community that includes public libraries, authors, curators, and readers working together to connect library patrons with great indie-published books. IAP has helped hundreds of libraries engage their local creative community and assisted in getting almost 20,000 indie ebooks into their local libraries. Most importantly, the project has worked with top curation partners and librarians to identify hundreds of these as the best indie ebooks available to readers—so they can be sustainably circulated to library patrons with confidence.

For more information — and instructions for independent writers wondering about how to participate — click the State.

Happy reading (and writing)!

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“Libraries are one of the few public spaces where you’re allowed to exist without the expectation of spending any money.”

Neil Gaiman

“Conversations I didn’t hear

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment 
[note: best if read on a device that preserves indentation/spacing]

                “After everything he’s been through…”
“Sports’ll knock some sense into him.  Teach him something.”
                “He’s smart – he’ll figure it out.”
        “Just don’t say anything.  You always say something
        and it always lands wrong.”
“Life is going to hit that kid sideways.”
        “He says he wants to go to Japan.  Live there.
        What’s he think he’s gonna find?  Big mistake.”
“Football?  Right.  Cheerleader more like it.”
        “You’re one to talk.  Exactly how many times you
        land on your back?’”
                “He’ll find his way. He's gonna be happy.
                Gonna surprise everybody.”
        “How am I supposed to raise a gay kid?”
“Maybe the swim team?  Don’t they like that?”
        “You love him, you horse’s ass.  That’s what you do.  
        Every single day of your life.  You love him.”
        “You always defend him.”
“You’re supposed to be a teacher.  Shut the fuck up.”
        “You’re supposed to be his father.  Act like it.”
                “I’m that boy’s Grandma 
                and I say he’s gonna be fine.”

*

More poems here.

Short on time? Try a micro or four here.

No need

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment 
I wonder where my hand is in all this, 
this marsh where moss floats and webs 
stay put, bugs plane pond-skin unafraid 
of the sleepy-eyed frog just back from the edge 
and full.  Here is safe and here is calm;
nothing ever happens here that wasn’t
fore-ordained, announced by ripples or
sudden silence.  
It feels like death.
Happiness would be a shock.
No need.

I’ll bide my time, lay here wild, 
skim this unmade life, this greenish 
eden-bayou, this unfriendly not-mine
as all eventually devour this man, 
whispering via mosquito-buzz: 

there’s nothing you can do to stop me.

*

Quench your thirst for more poems HERE.

And in case you’re interested, BOOKS HERE.

Résistance

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment 
Resistance is not wearing a pink hat
or marching with a million people 
or speaking your dreams 
hoping to tame wild beasts.
That’s solidarity, and it won’t work.

Resistance is not trusting love
as the enemy nails beams together.
It is not honesty before Pilate. 
It is not true to Self.
Truth is for Jesus, aching to die.

Resistance is silence as you speak lies.
It is saying yes to Christian neighbors
and doing what you can
as you work, as you wait.
It is letting proud boys believe they've won
and their women, that you've found home 
as you sow faith and community –
beautiful vines that slowly grow
inch by inch, season by season,
year by year.

Then, then…

when need’s grip snaps grieving sons
and senseless tears, forgotten daughters;
when bereft and lost they reach for 
friend, family, husband, wife;
when only hope shields pain
and you stand firmly between 
the question and its adjured answer:
then, then remove your mask, 
then and only then let it slowly slip 
from your always-enraged face —
show them your ageless hate
just once, lonely soldier,
so that as they sink
their departing view

is you.

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Sortes 18 — A little night reading

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment

Writers published in Sortes 18 gathered July 7 to read recent and previously published work. Stories, poems, musical interludes, artful inspiration — is there a better way to spend the evening?

The writers/poets/artists (in order of appearance):

  • JULIA YONG
  • MARK RUSS
  • DANIEL RABUZZI
  • MARTE CARLOCK
  • CHARLES ALBERT
  • JAKE SHEFF
  • MICHAEL THÉRIAULT
  • DIPTI ANAND
  • GREG BECKMAN
  • ROBERT POPE

Enjoy! With thanks to editor Jeremy Tenenbaum for the invitation and awesome atmosphere.

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My reading included poems from Beginning Middle Man, So…What Do You Do?, and Late-Night Lucid. Each is available HERE. Or you could just hit the BOOKS menu button up-top.

Checking-In: Not a Newsletter

~ Greg Beckman ~ 2 Comments

A way to accomplish two hugely important goals:

  • avoid spamming your email every time I connect a couple of words
  • let you know what I’ve been working on — maybe something will tickle your fancy

I’ve been writing some micro-fiction, stories under 300 words that take a minute to read but hopefully stay with you longer. If you want to try a couple, just click:

Then there are a couple of new pomes on the site I think you’ll like. Pomes are just like poems, except they love Jim Beam and leave Chartreuse — the color, the liqueur — on the shelf. Waiting. Alone.

I’m still trying to get the novel published. Thoughts, prayers, and magic gratefully accepted. Until Fate and Fame decide to show me how really, really happy I was before they knocked, I’ll direct your attention to a few pomes that have been published off-site. Tap a mag below and fall for words again.

That’s it! Until later, best of life and love to you.

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