Richard T. Beck
One of our Readers from the Saturday Night ALL KINDS OF CRAZY LOVE - POEMS ON LOVE shared these poem of his. Thank you for your gift, Richard.
To my wife as I grow older
Because I favor you amongst all others
I can pick you out amongst the crowd.
Sense the direction to turn to find you
know which room to search that hides you.
When asleep I am awakened by your absence.
My need to have you closest to me
even when the noblest glow of rapture rings
in celebration of all my doings and things;
I am nothing by measure without you.
It's a cultivated presence over the years
that has made me so tentative and residual.
When we are not together I feel ashamed.
Feel unwholesome and strange
as if an unattached appendage claims
it should be through severed nerve reclaimed.
That my every conscious moment is missing
its definition and affirmation;
if you are not witness to its confirmation.
Time is fleeting when I am with you.
No pursuit is worthy to forego you.
How strange it is to upstage the man
as the pendulum swing slows in demands;
that my love for you would gain momentum
even until the very last diminution of sand
falls from the speeding hour glass.
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Turn as the Seasons are Changing
Standing still on a snowy hill
crying tears on an empty ocean.
They fall like stones but never reach bottom
for they are weightless and their need is to travel.
Traveling in circles, seeking a shelter,
they drift on the waves and the currents.
But they'll never see sunset only horizon,
for their visions can never arrest them.
Standing still on a snowy hill
reaching for the eye of heaven.
My touch is stung by a thorn of time
bleeding for the dying of the season.
Earth gape and swallow my heart
to wait for" the day of harvest.
To wait and to wonder on the step of my lover,
the step that can never be taken.
Standing still on a snowy hill
whispering my words to the winds.
I leave my mark to flee and turn,
turn as the seasons are changing.
I curse lost days and time-full night
measured sleepless by a tapestry unfinished.
For my love has no borders, no threads to be woven,
woven to blanket the oceans.
Standing still on a snowy hill
watching the flickering sun hide.
The clouds it draws are the smoke of dreams
that vanish to dew in the dawning.
The weather impatiently stirs the darkness
like a dreamer caught between waking.
Waking too early, for the morning is raining,
raining on an empty tomorrow.
3/19/79
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when i have fifteen minutes
when i have fifteen minutes
there are a few things I like to do
finish my cup of coffee
lie down next to you
ripple your skin at the hairline
but not go too deep
just deep enough to arouse you
from your morning sleep
if I have fifteen minutes
before I go to work
I like to lift your nightshirt
and put your breasts to work
you cuddle in the blanket
pull cover to your neck
go go go you say half sleeping
one kiss upon your lips
in my last fifteen minutes
before I depart the world
this is what I plan to do
to show my love for you
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