Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places


Best Sidney Beck Poems

Below are the all-time best Sidney Beck poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Sidney Beck Poems

123
Details | Sidney Beck Poem

EXERPTS FROM HITLER'S DIARY 1941

EXERPTS   FROM   HITLER’S   DIARY   1941

"I never travel without my diary, one should always have something sensational to read . .
 . " Oscar Wilde, 1891 

Tues    May  9:   
Just when I was busy with plans for Russia, Rudolf Hess dropped by with  crazy notion of
flying to UK for peace.   Said he bought  some new boots yesterday   for the trip  - 
dead   shiny .  I’d like a  pair like that.    I told him  -  forget the trip   and tell
me where you got the boots. 

Wed     June 22:     
Invaded Russia.   Eggs for lunch  -  hard boiled again -  I hate that. Must speak to Eva
about it.

Thurs    June 23:      
11:00  am - heard Chamberlain on radio again – that dreary voice!  that paper-waving 
droopy-moustached  old gopher!   My small black moustache  is much neater.     
12:30 pm -   inspected new bunker in East Prussia  with smoother concrete walls .   Eva
wants  to wallpaper  them    (nice little red flowers) and why  not?    
8:00pm -  after dinner,  practised  arm-gestures for  big Nuremburg speech  on Saturday. 
 Rehearsed a few ad libs. . . .  Eva liked them.

Fri    June24:      
Rained all day.   Slow day  (almost invaded Egypt) - stayed in and read.      Eva dyed her
hair  creamy-yellow.    ( I’m gonna start calling her Blondy.)           That new german
shepherd Bormann   gave me  -  I took her out for walk. . . . she's called Blondi  too  
 (Joke there  - the guys will like it) .   After dinner we all  listened to Franz Lehar’s
“Merry Widow” again.  I love it.   Eva fell asleep;    so did the dog.

Sat   June 25:   
Nuremburg speech went ok. Got all the ad libs in except one.    Rommel was on the phone
talking about Africa and Libya, and some place called Tobruk. Must make a note – where is
Tobruk? P.S. Must find out where Libya is.

Sat    Dec    6:  
Just read the latest in the newspapers....almost four million Russian prisoners  now.
 
Sun   Dec  7:  
Those crazy Japanese have  gone and done it. . . . oh  boy, they’re gonna be in trouble! 
               
Thurs   Dec 11:   
Oh, what the hell. . .  in for a dime in for a dollar :  this Russian war is too  easy,  I
need a bit of a challenge. Think I’ll whiz down  to the  Reichstag tonight  and tell ‘em
we’re declaring  war on the USA.    Might  get a pair of those shiny boots there too.  

……………………………………
Written by Sydney Peck  
for Constance La France ( A Rambling Poet )  -  Contest Name:  The Diary


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

MAKING SOUP

Always cold in the morning, this kitchen is warmed now
With a roaring fire and my wife working beside me making just desserts
We stand here two hours this afternoon doing one of our projects
Cooking soup and fish for this evening’s xmas party of friends. 

The ghetto, the Projects, contained me with the music of 
The school’s leather belt and cane.  And then 
Parents lost in a fire. 
              That was a tough xmas, alcohol boozy flavored in an
              Empty-bottle kitchen, crowded and smoky.
It was a tough meat just cut today red blooded, now pale in the friends’ 
Xmas gift, the tureen shiny clean. The soup’s              
Alcohol flavored in effort to disguise taste of the firm onion, now soft slop. Next, must
Empty bottle of sauce in …add spice…Oh, now chop more veg: and the 
Kitchen knife peels and reveals their secret inner fleshes,
Crowded and jostling with juicy tomatoes, now reduced to wrinkled skins; and
Smoky, tall, erect celery now chopped into mini-sets of false teeth

Innocence lost in the poisonous smog of Dublin’s
Orphanage hymns and anthems: God and the state will help
Uniformed religious staff and teachers to tell me 
I do not belong - I must reveal no secrets about being
Woken, shaken out of bed, taken (with no word spoken) from the 
               Cold dormitory, scaly hand on my knee:
               Drown in this grasp -  fish out of water
Cold.  A small shivering fish caught in net, taken now from its fridge 
Dormitory for this sacrifice: staring, unfeeling, cold-blooded creature, its
Scaly skin shining on my cutting plate.
Hand on knee, I sit down to gut it, gills first - which made him
Drown as he struggled in the tightened net; and 
In this grasp I cut the fish open - an old  
Fish which was still feeling
Out of water. It seems a silly, scaled creature now, lifeless, staring at nothing.

I lost my loneliness from that hostile world:
She gave me peace and serenity  -
Warm feelings of belonging ; and it’s
Christmas every day. 
                 She is sweet, inviting, colorful, and around her
                 Melt-in-the-mouth music plays.
She is the essence of sugar,
Sweet free-running chocolate,
Inviting me to dissolve all of her creamy meringue shells 
Colorful and delightful, which will swirl
Around her taste  and 
Melt like love on a summer’s day.
In the mouth of my hell, she has uttered  
Music, and forever now,  it
Plays sweetly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Written for and entered in Debbie Guzzi’s  Contest     GET SERIOUS


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

IN THE DENTIST'S CHAIR

IN    THE   DENTIST’S   CHAIR

Lean  back and just relax
Put on these protective glasses please
Injection  -   this will not  hurt  at all
He says in fluent dentist-speak
Man with goggles and mask like an alien
Probing me like an insect aboard a UFO
                 God  I‘m starving -  no breakfast

Oh , from the x-ray   looks like 
We  need a couple of fillings  
                And It  was cornflakes and fried eggs and bacon

I’m afraid it  will cause some discomfort
But just relax 
I look at the legs of his pretty assistant for comfort
                I was afraid to  come here at all

Delayed coming
Coward for pain in dentist’s chair
Put off and put off six months,   till now  - 
April is the cruellest month*
                Month  of early cherries from Spain  
                And   lettuce from the greenhouse
                And a cucumber salad upon a table in the garden

Like a patient etherized upon a table*
As the alien probes my molars
And asks me about football on tv last night
                Oh for a melon  big as a football  right now
                Sold by the shop on the corner  where the woman 
                Is so full-figured....watch her as she gives 
                Cucumber  to another customer

Yes  a bit of voyeurism  sometimes is fun
Dental  assistant’s  legs show nice muscles
As she reaches  up tip-toed  for a tall  
Pile of green  plastic rinse-cups
                Rather similar to a  cucumber

I try to answer the football alien
With a mouth  full of metal
I stutter and garble out a reply and the alien uh-huh s
Disinterested interest as they say
She looks into my face, concerned,  and  I am flattered
But she only sees my horrible decayed tooth
Unconcerned   concern
Now spit,    and again,    rinse,  spit
I am helpless like a beetle on its back
Wearing plastic goggles
Use this tissue
She’s so helpful,    like mother
Don’t  eat for six hours even if you have a good appetite
                Oh those melons….appetite

I am a man of appetites     
No !  I am not  Leopold  Bloom  nor  was meant to be*
My appetites are mostly for learning, for humor, for sorrow, 
But maybe a melon  tomorrow.       

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

NOTE

*These lines are quotes from   T S ELIOT   and   J  JOYCE,  both masters 
 of the stream of consciousness technique.  


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

LIFE PRECEPTS AND GOD

LIFE  PRECEPTS  AND  GOD



I want to mold no one, for what I believe   is suitable for me alone; 
Each must find a belief-path which suits perfectly, but suits no one apart.
Let me offer my beliefs only to show how a  path may be found  -
And advise you to believe nothing unless it is deep in your heart.

If my job as father  was correctly done, on their path  through life
My children will treat others as they themselves wish to be,
And will  look upon each person as a potential brother in need of help,
And seeing another’s misfortune, they will say -  it could easily be me.

They will look after each other and others who may be in need,
And seek no thanks or praise, but do the job secretly with no bother.
Love is shown only by actions, and in the  doing is the praying.
Their actions will be motivated by what is necessary for these others.

This is a difficult path to take and it is the right path:
But path or no path, I love my children - they are mine. And I believe this:
If I love my children as dearly as a father  can, then
How much more does God our father  love us.  We are his. 


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

SATURN - GOD'S FAVORITE

SATURN    -   GOD’S    FAVORITE


This  floating sovereign rules her black see *
Like an Inquisition bishop  -  perfect : accepts no plea 
No argument no competition,
Watching me watching her in adoration, 
Her cold unblinking eye
Reigning the black and silent sky.


Saturn, Goddess of bountiful harvests, of you alone
Unreachable, O favorite of the Lord, in brilliant isolation,
Of beauty pristine and colder than ice,
Is it said * that God doesn’t play dice,
But His spinning gyroscope globe He enjoys :
God’s spinning top  -  the best of toys.


O bisque queen, gem with halo rings,
Like a dove with wide-spread wings,
Hover like the Holy Spirit, float on the inky blackness,
Send me a message to fill my darkness.
Long in the ether your far-light lingers on high 
Before it is allowed to reach my eye;
O Majesty remote cold and beautiful,
Send me the vision of heavenly beauty bountiful.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .. 

Notes

Beauty turns me on.
Anyone who has seen the planet Saturn even in a small
telescope cannot fail to be awed by the beauty of the planet.

*   A   "see"  is the territory ruled by a bishop

*   The saying  “God does not play dice”  is accredited to Albert Einstein,
when explaining the workings of the universe.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



Details | Sidney Beck Poem

BETTER THAN GOLD

BETTER    THAN     GOLD

International literati pay homage
To our hero’s literary courage
Matching  Homer’s  and Cicero’s of old:
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.

Author of countless gems of art
Always a  SOUP  figure  right from the start
Giant of words and verse to behold:
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold.

Standards of style and lexicon to uphold
He often to me the secrets  has told
Occasionally has also needed to scold:
Dr.  Ram’s words are better than gold.

When needing advice or lost in a fog
When rhyme is a marsh and rhythm a bog
And  my  poem is stillborn, unalive, cold: 
Dr.  Ram’s words are better than gold.


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

THAW AT CROWSNEST PASS

THAW     AT    CROWSNEST     PASS  

Huge mountains massed and  cliffs  sheer.  It’s  March
And endless  blue  sky  cold is held back by the Chinook arch,
Snowy prairies rolling into their  thousand-mile realm  -  
The landscape  is gigantic, majestic, orchestrated to overwhelm.

But I stand and watch the lake-ice thaw,
Surprised by the tiny delicate music  -
Descant  ice -  jingling,  jangling,  tinkling
In delicate accompaniment  to the giant symphony.                                       
Ice chunks tangled in slow waves with the wind
Tiny  tintinnabulation before total ablation.
There is silence  and  harmony  around the sound,
The small melody of the ice breaking  into spring’s  chorus.




Note:   Crowsnest Pass is the southernmost way through the Rocky Mountains in Canada


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

BUBBLES OF BABBLE

BUBBLES    OF    BABBLE

A father sees his small children babbling and  
Blowing insignificant bubbles in the wind.
One child's lips blow a lot;  another blows only very few.
Yet these few are precious to the father.
The multitudes which peel  effortlessly
Off the soap-frame in the hands of another child 
Mean little individually - shining spherical pearls before swine,
Blowing randomly in the wind.

And prayers, too, fall sometimes too easily from the holy lips 
Of people kneeling in groups each day: and each babbling
Repeated mantra or Hail Mary has individually little significance:
And God is showered with bubbles of babble of all sizes and colours,
Some in clusters inside one another, with bits of extra soap dripping off 
Carelessly-formed sloppy glassy  balls.
Some of them expire before even reaching his throne,
So little effort was put into them,
So little intention of ever following their path upward.

But a lone figure lost, abandoned, in some black  
Perilous sea of troubles who, pitched headlong into a moment 
Of last helpless desperation, screams at the top of his soul 
To his God, and at  that moment is certain
That only the Almighty can right his troubled boat,
That he has exhausted all his own puny powers,
And recognizes the insignificance of his babble  -
Such a prayer is a precious gem, perfectly-formed and rising, 
Fast-track, directly thronewards, as it should.. . . . . 
A pearl of great price.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

THE BLOSSOMS OF HOME

THE    BLOSSOMS   OF   HOME



Heaven must be  this  sweet  -

Old Pilikov across the street,

The  Schillings there along the shore,

Apple trees  just outside door.  

In the softness of  lush pink shade

My  children  grew and played

With  their heavy  laden  giant  blooms  

And inhaled  their pure  perfumes.

To start each day in blossom,

In display perfect and fulsome,

Spread low over my transom  -

Is surely  life in heaven’s bosom.


Details | Sidney Beck Poem

BRIDAL DRESS FOR THE HAWTHORN TREE

BRIDAL   DRESS FOR THE HAWTHORN TREE

In  the  church  garden   fair,
One glorious  May day  near the ides  -
Blossom  on  gown  and   hair
Flowing,  floating  down her sides,	 
Bosom  and  bouquet  -  the    bride’s

Glowing  in  the  warm  spring embrace
Of  her  golden groom.   She  flowers
With bloom on her cheeks and  face;
Then,    in  light   petalled  showers,
She fills the wood’s fragrant bowers:

Blossom-confetti  litters and turns 
To white the  path through  her roots  unseen.
Then  the hawthorn  tree   returns   
Again  to  her everyday working green  -
From her role as May  Queen.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .

NOTE

The hawthorn tree in bloom with white flowers in spring is a beautiful 
sight, but lasts only a short time,  like a wedding celebration.  
Hawthorn trees are known as May trees, and they appear in the proverb  
“Cast ne’er a clout till May is out.”  Many people think this means 
you must  keep wearing winter clothers till the end of the month of May,  
but it really means until the May tree’s blossom-flowers  are  out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Written by Sydney Peck   2  February  2012
Entered in  Francine Roberts's  Contest  "English quintain a spring day" 





123