Tag: poetryinthemoment

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.”

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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.

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Quench your thirst for more poems HERE.

And in case you’re interested, BOOKS HERE.

Checking-In: Not a Newsletter

~ Greg Beckman ~ 1 Comment

Halfway through summer here in the Greater Los Angeles area. We haven’t been hit too hard by hot weather but there’s still time to join the club.

I hope you are well, grand, and finding yourselves adventurous. Stories are my way of staying all three. I’m especially fond of micros, a new playground that keeps me honest and under-300-words-succinct. Find them here.

A few new that bought a wow:

Pomes! Just like poems, only without the pedigree. If you’ve ever adopted a dog rather than bought a breed, you’ll understand.

This time, I’m happy to report I was invited to a reading for a pome published in the latest issue of Sortes. Jeremy Tenenbaum kept ten writers to ten-minute time limits AND played some of the most eclectic interlude music I’ve heard. Only glitch: I guess I move around a lot when just sitting still and the Zoom camera did a great job of repeatedly inflicting my video feed on unsuspecting viewers. The whole evening was NOT about me; it just seems that way in the beginning.

Soooo….if you would like to see me fidget AND read four or five poems in a great shirt AND hear some other fantastic work, hit the link to the Youtube video HERE. (I show up at 1:14.55, but really do take a listen to the others. Julia Yong is especially cool.)

And just because it’s easy to get lost on the internet, I’ll re-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! Play around with the website’s buttons. Thank you for your follow, your thoughts, your care. Until later, best of life and love to you.

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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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Power

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment 
Montecito.  Atascadero.  Paso Robles. 
Monterey. Santa Cruz. Your smile.

Places more magical than real,
more past than present,
traveled through.
They live in my memory.

I write them because I miss them.
And I was told naming something 
gives you power over it,
fixes it in place.  

Well, then:

money wealth recognition words
anonymity hands night sky
ocean breeze sage and iceplant 
arches 
Redondo
quick intake
you.

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I went looking

~ Greg Beckman ~ Leave a comment 
I went looking for a feeling today,
that one special feeling I once caught
somewhere, maybe a river in Wyoming
slipping by wild grass or a night when,
still studying philosophy, I looked up
from my book and noticed the soft-light
of my little dorm lamp and loved it.

I hunt this feeling, trap it with 
Grandma's plastic tablecloth that was 
padded so no waterglass could be placed 
on it without almost toppling over
and her tossing a tennis ball to a dog
in the backyard, the distant sound 
of a train rolling down dark tracks 
as I slept.  

I surround it and demand its name.
It smiles at me and slips through the
gaps and the hunt is on again for that
feeling I'm looking for today,
maybe walking down a dusty road in
Sacramento and seeing a lizard dart 
off into the bush and then my shoes
seemed quiet under the hot-white sky and
for a moment I forgot where I was going.

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