Poetry: Gary Beck

Gary Beck

Detonation

The children were playing

a silly game,

tossing sticks

that would later be used

for firewood.

Their clothes were tattered,

but no one noticed

since all were tattered

after years of war.

Suddenly a great roar,

a ball of fire

consumed

the innocent children,

shadows covered

by a mushroom cloud.

*** 

The Music Goes Round and Round

Music has reflected

American society

since the 1890’s,

with barber shop quartets

stolid, predictable,

mildly entertaining

as we searched for identity.

After World War I

the pace picked up.

We danced to a different tune,

frantic, abandoned,

fueled by illicit alcohol,

banned by the Volstead Act

that spawned organized crime,

more important than 

guzzling booze.

The Great Depression

uprooted many

and lonely voices sang

to lost people

of better places

that once we had,

or hoped to have.

World War II

had us swinging

to a faster beat,

helping us forget

home, sweet home,

while millions killed millions

and those who survived

rebuilt the ravaged world.

The Cold Wat threatened

extermination

that we drowned out

with sweet crooning

as if all was well

and nuclear peril

didn’t exist.

In the 1950’s and 1960’s

music was labeled

rhythm and blues,

rock and roll,

similar to art,

Abstract Expressionism,

Pop Art,

separating cultural levels

as we began to forget

majority rule,

minority rights.

Urban isolation

spawned boy groups

that we adored,

singing to the lost,

idols rampant,

the odd phenomenon

of the 20th century.

As we became

more detached from the land

heavy metal deafened us,

followed by

the angry, bitter howl

of rap

and anyone could speak/sing,

capture an audience

with their grievances.

I cannot predict

what music comes next,

possibly impersonal sound

for an impersonal era,

while anguished voices

sing accusations

that fall on deaf ears,

with no redress

for just complaints.

***

Sovereignty Violated

When the Russians invaded

my friends and I

joined the army.

We were afraid

because they had everything

to fight a war.

We had little,

but it was our country.

The President surprised us

when he came to our training camp

and urged us to defend our land.

We fight bravely,

but the Russians keep coming

and most of my friends

who enlisted with me

are dead.

When the guns are silent

we talk together

and try to understand

why American students

support terrorists,

but won’t support democracy. 

***

Company

I sit by the East River

the water so dirty

I cannot see

past the surface,

yet it’s the only river I have.

I think of the poets

who sat where I sit,

Poe, Whitman, Crane, Corso,

others who left no mark

on the crumbling walkway,

but whose words I remember

as I watch an elegant gull

soaring in the summer breeze.

***

Patience

I’m a home care attendant

six nights a week.

The old biddy never sleeps,

so I don’t sleep.

I go to nursing school

four days a week,

but it’s real hard

cause I’m always tired.

I work all day

Friday and Saturday

Sunday’s my only day off

and I got to do everything then,

laundry, shopping, cleaning,

the list goes on and on.

The old biddy won’t let me eat there,

so I’m always hungry.

No matter what,

however long it takes,

I’ll become a nurse,

have a decent life

taking care of my patients.

***

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Setu, December 2025