Amy Kitchener's Angels Without Wings
Presents the maiden voyage of the space ship
AZNATSYROTS
Introducing crew member

AL BECK
Monroe City, Missouri;

A KID WRITES

As
I suddenly
began to create
rhyme, I found myself
about to commit a crime.
Oh, nothing for which I'd be
put in jail; but writing a poem
which could easily fail unless I could use
as verbal resource a limerick or jingle without being
coarse. How about stuff my mother used to read to me?
Her favorite words she'd bring-'em, sing-'em, fling-'em, even sling-'em
about like a Byzantine banshee. . . So when at
school the teacher expected us to write,
I took a book and snatched
ideas from it cheering my
cheating because I was
needing a neat
feat for:
deceit


HALF-CENTURY LATER

Now
fifty years
have disappeared and
seriously. . . it's as I
feared: the guilt is gone
like a fresh four-footed fawn.
It bled out -- not when hit by
a car -- but at the point where it
seemed so bizarre to presume how comfortable we are
when mentally wounded by piracy we only perspire -- you see?
Today I'm a braying big buck -- horns and all --
paying no attention to the hungry Hunter's call.
And if His shot finally rings out,
it'll still give time to shout:
"It wasn't a matter of
stealing truth; that issue
degenerated as I
lost my
youth."
Other entries by
Al Beck

ANTI-HALLOWEEN

A THOUGHTFUL VIBRATION



Scroll down
for second half

HALF-CENTURY
LATER


Index of Poets