Gary Beck


Two Beach Songs


The beaches of summer

spawn many daughters,

bringing more each year.

They come to sun, swim,

pose on gritty stretches

of scouring sand

bronzed figures

creative as sculpture,

resonant too.


I recline

leaner and hungrier than Cassius

dreaming of power.

Rarely do I dream of power,

but now,

watching almost naked flesh in undulations,

joining a group of pimpled teens,

I dream of the abuses of power.




My aches grow more painful

than the festering world

and the Circe of corruption

sings softly in my ear.

 I run down a country road,

chasing a brown and white puppy.

No, that was forgetfulness ago.

Now a bent one,

once straight and strong as anyone else….

I almost remember how fast I ran….

But youth is past.

Now I trek the grey road.

I go home and wash

with a gritty cake of soap,

dry myself with threadbare towel,

then whisper goodnight America,

land that I love,

may you awaken a better place

in the hopeful morning.



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Sentinel Poetry (Online) #41

INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF POETRY & GRAPHICS...Since 2002     ISSN 1479-425X     April 2006

Editor: Amatoristero Ede

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