When the Beck Is Lost His Calling Is Too ( “Beck” Collection )

When the Beck Is Lost, His Calling is Too



The hands together are a beck to God
but He sees the wink too and
twinkles the stars with atmosphere

Save the Beck

Endangered words need saving
even more than eagles
because like domesticated turkeys
they can’t fly.
Save the “beck”.

Becky’s best beck
was more seductive than the Sirens
though she could sing when near enough.

With the curl of her fingers of grace, she could
make the come-hither beck
lengthen the touch
shorten the distance, could
have it be that
sheltered travel to her in a fantasy bubble
would seem instant, riding on
the wave of her wave
a sound.

Save the beck itself
and it’s noun, because
sometimes the rose needs a name;
for in an instant there’d be
only one sweet rose
whose incantation is needed
just as a song needs a note

and sometimes the object
is beautiful to contemplate
before the action beckons

The endangered beck
beckons its own demise
by falling into
the beck and call of cliché

The beck needs no call, ’cause
isn’t the rose beautiful
even when it can’t walk

Beck at the Table

Nobody knows what his beck means —
come to the table for dinner
or for slaughter?

— Douglas Gilbert