My Poetry

Twin Towers I was deeply shocked and saddened by the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001 and these verses are my attempt at expressing my emotions. ©Lionel Beck September 2001

Twin Towers Terror in the name of God! - distorted fundamentals - Holed a building with five sides, demolished high twin towers. People falling, people burning, heroes cruelly crushed Beneath the weight of murderous humans' evil heartless powers. History's trail of human life is fouled with false religion; It seems that good cannot exist without attendant evil. Twin towers of faith but only one is built upon A rock called God. The other's false, it seems to be the Devil. Eleventh day of the ninth month in year two thousand and one Burned in collective memory of the land of the (no longer) free. Under the cloak of duty to God - or Allah - matters not the name The tyrants of old updated their hatred, displayed for all to see. We saw the towers fall. We sat transfixed near little screens, Was this a dream? Some Hollywood nightmare epic? Tumbling towers combined the rituals of burial and cremation Whilst towers of crooked faith grew high, enough to make us sick. Love in the name of God - essential fundamentals; Whole new buildings; hope resides; life's garden filled with flowers. Tyrants falling, passions burning, heroes we can trust Beneath the flags of peace and love - our spiritual twin towers.

E-mail Female Dedicated to our first American internet friend, found via my Website in August 1999 ©Lionel Beck March 2000

E-Mail Female American woman, so far and yet so near. She gives much pleasure and meets a spiritual need. In the garden of our minds she is a flower, Yet sometimes sees herself, so wrongly, as a weed! But I believe this is her womanly jest; She knows the truth - she brings perfume and laughter. I sent a flower bouquet some long time past - She tied and dried and hung it from the rafter. Life's garden has many weeds, yet she's not one. The saying goes that as we sow, so shall we reap; And we should well remember - when all is said and done, To grow the flowers of friendship before our final sleep. Jackie

Fate on the A38 I've long since thought of you, my love Yet failed to write these words About my feelings and my sorrow, These cursed piercing swords. Will you not return? From the very day of birth, my love You illuminated life. From toddler through to teenage years We kept you safe from strife. Will you not return? How did you think of us, my love; On our parental trail; We loved you, dearest daughter, but Did we blindly fail? Will you not return? Long brown hair, and eyes, my love That gazed in similar hue And sometimes deeply, deeply sad, Revealing soul so blue. Will you not return? The early years were rich, my love, And childish games we played. How soon those hormones played their tricks, You loved, and were afraid. Will you not return? We could not help your sadness, love, Your self-destructive reverie. These times were bad, and they are burned Into my memory. Will you not return? The day you said goodbye, my love, We joked and hugged and smiled. Off you went to Cornwall's coast With boy friend we thought wild. Will you not return? And on that black night drive, my love Did you see - or feel - or hear The crash of metal, glass and bone, That took you far from here? You will not return. That fireman who cut you free He was a funeral guest. He said he'd heard your spirit voice "My boyfriend - do your best!" You will not return. The time we saw you last, my love You laid in lifeless pose, With long brown hair and eyes now dead. You're just a photo now, (with rose). You will not return. Where are you now, Jackie my love, Does life exist beyond? I pray it does, and pray for you, And want you to respond. One day it will be my turn.

Strawberry Blonds This is for a young girl I used to take to school when her mum was ill with terminal cancer. After her death she and her brother moved 250 miles away to live with grandparents; but the Strawberry Blonde kept in touch with us, and still does to this day. She is now a beautiful and smart young woman soon to be married. ©Lionel Beck August 1999

Strawberry Blonde I once knew a girl, she was only eleven, Her hair was the strawberry blonde kind. She was fair and demure, and snow-driven pure; And a great source of joy, to my mind. I had a son, but my daughter had gone To wherever you go when you're dead. My career also died, now a taxi I plied, Taking children to school now instead. I drove every day, through forests sublime, Then one day this new girl appeared. I took her to school, on time as a rule, And my life lost its troubles and fears. She didn't say much but she smiled quite a lot, And there wasn't much more I could ask for. When she spoke it was, well - a silvery bell, And it did me much good, I am sure. She lived in the forest, surrounded by trees With horses and dogs and much more. But then came a day when she went far away And I thought I would see her no more. But imagine my joy when one Autumn day My trough of despond was no more. The first letter arrived, and my spirits revived; Why she wrote to me I am not sure. But the letters kept flowing, and mine in reply, First hand-written, then we went high-tech; Computer word-processed, and e-mail as well, For response with a speed that was breakneck. The strawberry blonde has now reached fourteen, And I'm older and balder, (and whining!), I'm missing my youth - I'm too long in the tooth But my pen friend, she stops me from pining. Now I think of the time when I was sixteen, A girl of fourteen took my heart away. It cannot be long before love's sweet song Takes the strawberry blonde the same way. When that boy comes along with love and romance And hormones that make him feel fond, That day will be fateful, but I'll always be grateful For my knowing the strawberry blonde.

Forest Shadows Dedicated to two special children who had to leave the forest. (See my comments on "Strawberry Blonde" above) ©Lionel Beck October 1998

Forest Shadows Forty years and more between us, yet we share some common themes; The love of life and loss of life, the shattering of dreams. To rant and rave at fate, or God, are irresistible temptations, But dare we ask ourselves the question, "Are there any compensations?" Those we've loved and lost, I know, would surely understand, should we Through circumstances new be pleasured to some small degree By the flowers of new relationships unfolding in autumnal sun - The consequence of two short lives so fleeting and now done. First my teenage daughter in tempestuous love; (and I ask why Her life should be cut short in just the winking of an eye). The shock too great to bear for all, despair and apathy resulted. The daily toil, the normal pleasures, all had been disrupted. And now, a young and fair-skinned mother, porcelain doll in forest glade; Older, yet not old enough, to take that journey to th’unknown shade; Two children watched her illness, undeserving of such sorrow, And the man who loved the porcelain doll was robbed of all tomorrow. Between these deaths the trees did shed their leaves nine times perhaps, And those the teenage girl had left behind were lost without life's maps. Father, so long bereft of useful purpose, embarked upon a quite new life Driving children to their schools, spending more time with grieving wife. Nine years or more he drove children through the northern forest trees, Sharing in their laughter, silly jokes, and sympathizing with grazed knees. Then two more children of the forest joined the school-bound car. The man who'd lost a love found friends in those whose own loss was not far. There came that day when forest glade stood silently, bereft of charm. The man who drove the car was told the news that filled him with alarm. Life's final sleep had drawn its veil across that glade of tears and love. The children would no longer stay amongst the green, they'd live far off. In one short day the school run changed, transformed into a trail of sadness. The man who drove the car felt grief, and pondered on life's madness. As golden leaves gave way to mists in November's usual manner, The car man's life lit up one day: A letter! "Please write soon, love Hannah!" And so began, remarkably, a dialogue of some great duration, Letters from Hannah, and from Sam, could this be some strange aberration? Surely no - for more than two years now some thirty letters and above Show, whilst death is surely part of life, life's compensation is pure love.

Fate on the A38 In June 1987 my daughter's car crashed head-on into an oncoming lorry. She was killed instantly. She was 19. It was 14 years before I could think about writing these verses. ©Lionel Beck January 2001

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